Chapter 25
NATE
Within seconds of arriving backstage, I’m handed a microphone, a clicker for the presentation slide, and a makeup touch-up.
Don’t ask me how that last one got slipped in there. But according to the guy who so graciously blended beige cream under my eyes and dusted white powder all over my face, I looked like “a zombie that hasn’t slept more than three hours,” to which I said, “I haven’t gotten any.”
That comment earned me a playful slap on the cheek with a fluffy brush.
Noah, as indicated by his name tag, also wasn’t shy to reiterate that he hadn’t given Carter the same treatment. And that I should get on stage and break nothing “because I’m too perfect to be broken.”
I’ll give it to the guy. I’ve never felt more flattered in my life, but it’s the reassurance regarding Carter that I appreciated the most. It was nice to know that not everyone was rooting for my downfall, especially when the stage manager seemed to fall into that category.
“On the count of three, the stage lights will go on. Feel free to walk out at any time over the next thirty seconds. You can wait a bit or walk on immediately to get it over with. Beats me. Just make sure you get up there and give your talk. Got it?”
I nod in response, not liking the dirty look he gives me as he strolls away.
I’d like to say my previously good interaction balanced out this bad one—but God knows that isn’t true. The bad always seems to overshadow the good.
I do one last sweep of the backstage area and spot Vivienne, arms crossed tightly over her chest and a frown on her face.
Her expression softens the moment our eyes meet, a lopsided smile breaking through before she shoots me two thumbs-up. She’s clearly trying her best to be encouraging, but it’s obvious that she’s as stressed as I am.
Fake it till you make it. It’s been my mantra for the past few hours, but at this point, I’m not too sure how good I’ll be at faking it when my anxieties are running at lightning speed.
“Three, two, one.” The stage manager’s voice trickles through my earpiece.
I take a deep breath in and march out onto the stage despite the heavy beating of my heart.
I smile and wave into the crowd, who greet me with a respectful clap. It isn’t comparable to what it was once—the all-roaring cheers and whistles. But I’m just grateful that I’m not getting booed—or having tomatoes hurled at me in some great act of public disapproval.
“Good evening, everyone,” I greet the crowd, not having to wait long for the clapping to subside.
“You may be asking yourselves, ‘What is this man doing up there addressing a room full of brilliant minds with his shitty reputation?’ And to answer your question, I’m not too sure of it myself.
Someone on the board of directors must have thought this would be great for rage-bait publicity—so here I am! ”
A few chuckles, bordering on snorts, ripple through the auditorium.
Not the toughest crowd, it seems.
“To the students in the room, who may or may not have finished their posters and talks on the night before presenting—I’d like to say that I see you, I feel you, and I pulled an all-nighter to put this together as well. So if you see any mistakes—ignore them. You didn’t.”
That elicits genuine laughter from a handful of people, and the sound eases the tension gnawing at me.
This is what I’m good at—cracking jokes and making people laugh. They very well could be laughing at me, rather than with me, but I’ll take any deviation from the status quo.
Movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. In a sea of seated individuals, the blond man shuffling his way past endless knees to the last remaining seat in the center of the room wasn’t hard to catch.
A smirk makes its way on his face when he finds me looking at him. And while the sight has my blood boiling, I push away the animosity.
For now, at least.
I’m here to try my best—no matter what the outcome is—and if Carter Crawford wants to be there for either my rise or downfall, then he’s more than welcome to stay.
“Without further ado, I present to you Archer Aviation’s newest idea—the Particle Field Engine, also known as Ionstride.”
Skeptical hushes travel around the room as hundreds of eyes dart from one another.
“At its core, the engine creates a plasma envelope around the aircraft—a sheath of ionized particles that reduces drag and friction to almost nothing.
In theory, it would allow a plane to slice through the atmosphere at hypersonic speeds without burning up.
In much simpler terms, a usually seven-hour flight from New York City to Paris could theoretically take under three hours. "
Gasps of surprise echo through the room, and a satisfied smile takes over my face before I dive into the details. From the blueprints to the aerodynamics, and even its low carbon footprint—everything is covered.
And just because I had extra time sometime in the late afternoon, I include the cost breakdown of implementing this technology, along with its potential benefits for reducing aviation-related greenhouse gas emissions.
Like other presentations, I wrap up with the typical thank-you slide before another pops up—a picture of me, tired, hunched over my laptop while working on this in the wee hours of the morning. The dark Chicago sky and skyscrapers are visible through the hotel room patio doors.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry about that one—not sure how it made it in there.” I click back to the thank-you slide when the room bursts into laughter…and then applause.
One guy stands up, and somehow a chain reaction ensues. Someone else follows, and another, until everyone in the room is standing. With the exception of a little blond guy who’s no longer visible.
It’s only when a couple of minutes pass, and the applause hasn’t died down, that he stands up, a deep scowl plastered on his face as he tries to squeeze his way out of the row.
Things like “Brilliant,” “Genius,” and “Best aerospace engineer of the century” are thrown my way. And at that last comment, reality finally sets in. They weren’t applauding because I’d made them laugh—they genuinely recognized the engineering as great.
For the first time in a while, a sincere smile pulls at my lips as I address a crowd.
And I can’t help but take it all in. The last time I’d gotten such a reaction from the public, I was at the top of my career, riding the high of countless investors and high funding.
Now, at my lowest, it feels like a full-circle moment.
It’s only when I catch sight of a streak of gray within black hair that my smile falters, and my heart drops.
Everett Staines.
He’s standing near the back door, arms crossed over his chest, and lips pressed into a thin line. It happens in slow motion. The rise of his hands, the clapping as he joins in with the others. It’s slow, but it’s something, and that feels like an accomplishment by itself.
I take it all in one last time before walking off with a wave.
The backstage crew rushes to congratulate me, patting me on the back and trying to get me to stop and talk—the stage manager included—but I ignore them, walking straight through the commotion.
It was only an hour ago that they were rooting for my downfall—they don’t get to switch up on me when I’m suddenly liked again.
I do, however, stop for the blond guy I now consider my good-luck charm.
The makeup artist, Noah.
“Now that’s what I call a presentation.” He brings out that same fluffy brush, dusting powder all over my nose.
Noah flips open a compact mirror, angling it toward me so I can see my reflection. Though I’m not all too sure what it did, I can say I’m surprised that I don’t look like I’ve snorted a shit ton of cocaine.
“Gorgeous! You can thank me later. My Venmo is Noah0567 if you’re looking to pay for my education. I’m also studying aerospace engineering, and I have to say, shit is getting tough out here. Regardless, I'll stop bothering you. Your girl looks like a bitch in heat."
The guy leaves me with a pat on the back, and a big, stupid grin spreads across my lips when I spot Vivienne, dramatically fanning a hand over her face.
It takes all my restraint to walk over to her as casually as I can when my first instinct is to run, scoop her up, and spin us around till we’re both dizzy.
Somehow, I manage.
“That was hot.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “I know the focus was on reducing carbon emissions, but you. Up there. On that stage. Might have been the catalyst for more global warming.”
I grin at her playful comment, basking in her attention when she puts on her best serious face. Though the glint in her eyes does give her away.
“I’m serious. I didn’t think I was into engineers, but you changed that for me tonight.”
“Is that so?” I take a step forward, eyebrows rising in curiosity. “All engineers? Or one in particular?”
Her face turns to the side as she bites down her smile. “All engineers for sure. There’s something about the way they move, and the way they talk—”
I don’t let her finish.
I cup her face and crash my lips against hers, her mouth parting instantly in surrender. Our tongues tangle in a desperate, ravenous rhythm until we’re both gasping for air.
“We shouldn’t be doing this in public,” Vivienne says, leaning for a kiss. “You’re sort of cockblocking me from the other options. There was this one guy—”
I’m on her again within seconds, and this time around, she’s the one smiling against my lips. I can’t stop myself from reciprocating the gesture, not caring if our teeth clash. Eventually, I pull back, the tips of our noses brushing as we lock eyes.
Vivienne Brown—once my most alluring enemy, and now the most intoxicating addiction.
Her fingers intertwine with mine before she tugs us out of the backstage area and into a quiet part of the conference hotel.
I trail her like a fool, not giving it much thought until I’m pushed in an elevator, and she steps in like a siren.
I’ve never seen Vivienne’s pupils so dilated before. And fuck, with that fire within them—that passion and hunger for more, I can’t help but lean back against the railing and admire the view.
Without taking her eyes off me, she presses the button to our floor, her tongue sweeping over her bottom lip.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us.” Vivienne closes the distance between us in three slow, tantalizing steps. Her arms wrap around my neck, craning to meet my gaze even in heels.
“What are you going to do about it?” I quirk a brow at the insinuation behind her words.
Hungry hands glide down my arms, drift across my torso, and stop above the waistband of my black pants. She slips her fingers inside, teasing along the edge of my boxers before she starts fumbling with my belt buckle.
I catch her hand, stopping her before she goes any further.
“Not here.” My voice is firm and my gaze dark as I fight the hot rush of blood surging south.
It’s a lost cause—the vixen in front of me refuses to let me think of anything else when her palm lands against the ache behind my trousers. She squeezes firmly, eliciting a low groan from my lips.
This is hell bordering on heaven.
“Vivienne.” My voice grows wary when I see her lowering herself to her knees.
Her eyes never leave mine, but I can’t look down, not when I know I’ll snap from the desire.
Instead, I keep my eyes on the climbing numbers of the elevator. Twenty more floors
to go, and then we’re safe from the risk of someone walking in and the camera capturing more than it already has.
A sharp clink of metal confirms my belt is unfastened. And with one popped button and a swift sweep of a zipper, she’s tugging my pants down to reveal dark boxer briefs.
“Vivienne, get up. Not here,” I say, still not looking at her.
I’m bordering on the edge of insanity.
Her fingers tug the elastic waistband as the elevator dings to a stop. Relief washes over me that we won’t be doing this here—until I see which floor we’re on. Sixty-three. Our hotel room was on the sixty-ninth.
“Get up.” My hand grasps onto Vivienne’s wrist, halting her movements. There’s a pout to her lips. “Someone is getting on, Vivienne.”
Full-blown panic paints her features before she turns to see the elevator doors inching open.
The speck of a shiny, red bottom shoe comes into view, and within seconds, she’s standing, turning around to press her back against me.
Her legs close strategically to shield the evidence of what we'd been doing, but not before squeezing my dick one more time.
Tease.
I muffle a groan, waiting for the doors to slide open. And when they do, I’m making direct eye contact with the incoming passenger.
Like previous times, I should be angry with him, but I can’t find it in me when his inadequacy to think on his own brought me a standing ovation. And not to mention, this girl right into my arms.
“Carter.” I nod politely. “What a lovely presentation you gave the other day—very original.”
Animosity flames in his blue eyes as he presses the button to the floor below ours. He grumbles a string of curse words under his breath, and for once, I smile.
If only he knew what was coming his way.
Carter may have gotten away with it the first time, but this time around, I won’t let it slide. Our team of lawyers is on it. I’m claiming ownership of my company’s work, whether he likes it or not.
He chooses to ignore my commentary for the rest of our ride before he steps out onto his floor. The second he’s gone, Vivienne is turning back to me with this crazed look in her eyes.
“That was really fucking hot,” she admits, gripping the lapels of my suit jacket.
Passion, hunger—fuck, I don’t know what it is that’s going through her mind.
What I do know is that we can’t go beyond what we’ve already done, or she’s going to carve a permanent place in my heart, when no part of us was built to last.