She hung up.
Tate huffed out a breath. He was doing damn good work there, though good wasn’t enough. He could smell the cedar notes of his cabin, a Pavlovian response when he talked to his mother. Her raspy smoker’s voice and impossible standards made him yearn for his happy place. Though he’d let “legacy over love” become part of his personal zeitgeist, he still wanted more than what she’d made of her life.
* * *
He thought about Rosie’s warm brown eyes and long ivory legs all weekend.
He thought about her again on Monday as he read through and signed the contract she’d sent over. He’d memorized the accompanying email. Are weekly design meetings on site okay with you? I was thinking Fridays so I can get more time with Elle. Let me know if that schedule works.
Weekly meetings were fucking fantastic. He rose from his desk and brought the signed contract out to Luz. “Will you scan that document to me so I can send it back to Rosie, please?”
She thumbed through the stack. “Are you sure you don’t want me to send the contract for you? Correspondence is part of my job.”
“I’m sure.” The pleasure of corresponding with their architect belonged to him.
Tate went back to his desk and began composing his response. His email could not contain the phrase fucking fantastic. His phone dinged with a message from George as he waited for the scanned file from Luz.
It’s only Monday and I’m already dying of meeting overdose. At least Luz made meetings fun with pub mix and the occasional beer. We fly Friday! Can’t come soon enough.
He snickered. Looked like he and George were both impatient for the end of the week, but for different reasons. Or maybe not. Both just wanted to throw off day-to-day shackles and revel in the soaring excitement of something different. Something more. Countdown is on, he texted back.
Luz’s email arrived and Tate tried to ignore the fact that he felt butterflies for the first time since he’d learned OrbitAll was his responsibility.
Fridays are perfect, he typed. Fridays led to weekends and non-business time. The opposite of business was pleasure. Tate shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. He hoped to hell her blurted “we” in the meeting with Elle meant she was at least curious about him and, at most, interested.
Contract is signed and attached. Thanks for sending it over so quickly. I can’t wait to start working with you, Rosie. Not her firm or her team. Her. Tate wanted that message to be clear.
Her reply was almost immediate. He was still rereading what he’d sent when her email came through.
Me too, Tate. See you Friday.
Tate smiled. So few words, so much potential.
* * *
Chen was prancing. Tate could think of no other word to describe his pilot’s movements.
Thomas, their safety and testing director, snatched the printed email from Chen’s waving hands. “You’re worse than my fucking grandkids.”
Chen plopped into the seat across from Tate, grinning. “We can move, right? Schedule the test campaign finally?”
Finally? Chen had been there two whole weeks.
“He’s certified,” Thomas confirmed. Tate couldn’t tell if Thomas was impressed or annoyed at how fast the FAA had arrived to certify Chen as an American pilot.
Tate looked to Thomas. “How soon can we move? Is she ready?”
“Stratos was made ready,” Chen admonished. “I was born ready. It’s the rest of you we need to wait for. Thomas, with the tweaks we made to George’s last campaign, we should be able to go up within weeks. Don’t you want to test the new reaction control system?”
“Don’t pretend you want to go up for the controls, Lew.”
George’s name reminded Tate to shoot him a text. Happy fucking Friday, G. Hope the flight was worth the wait.
Thomas tapped his pen on the table as he stared at Chen, who was vibrating out of his chair. Thomas’ scrunched forehead meant he was thinking. Tate glanced at his watch. Five minutes past noon. Rosie should be there now. The dormant butterflies in his gut made a rare reappearance. “Thomas, Chen and I are late to another meeting. The program is ready or it isn’t. Can we safely move forward with a campaign? If not, that’s fine. Obviously, safety is more important than our pilot’s ego.”
Chen snorted at Tate’s jab.
“Fine,” the grizzled former Navy pilot snapped. He glared at Chen. “Two weeks. They’ll be the most brutal two weeks of your life, kid.”
Chen laughed out loud. “You forget where I come from, old man.”
Tate rolled his eyes as he rose from his chair. Chen did a happy dance, likely to annoy Thomas. Tate sent another text to George as the two squabbled. Test campaign in two weeks! Let me know if you can get away.
The next campaign would be the first without George. Tate wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t at least invite the man who’d initially brought the dream to fruition.
“Can’t wait to tell the girls,” Chen said.
“I wouldn’t call them girls,” Tate warned as they made their way from the conference room near the simulation bay to the second floor. But he couldn’t wait, either.
Chen paused in the doorway of Elle’s office, surprising considering Tate nearly had to jog to keep up with him the whole way through the hangar. Tate moved past him and locked eyes with Rosie.
The second time they connected across time and space was more intense than the first. The muscles in his stomach seized, as if bracing for a force of feeling. Tate inhaled audibly and wished that breathing could bring her closer. Rosie was luminous. She simply radiated warmth. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her before. That perhaps he’d always been waiting for the moment she walked through his door. Then she smiled. The sweet, genuine lift of her lips made him forget everything, fucking everything, except how badly he wanted to know her more.
They joined the two women at the table. His body angled toward Rosie like a compass finding north. Quinn wasn’t there, he realized as his mind settled, though he’d invited her. “Should you tell them or should I?” Tate said, goading his pilot. He was teasing. Of course he’d let Chen have his moment.
Chen grinned at Rosie and Elle. “The FAA just certified me to fly Stratos. In two weeks, me and Harv are going to fucking space.”
Rosie’s laugh was magic. “May I come watch? I’d love to see Chen fly.”
Tate would do literally anything to hear her laugh like that again. “Of course. You’re not a guest here, Rosie. You’re always welcome.” Tate suddenly recalled her mention of her father and how he was a fan of both Chen and space. “Your father, too.”
He wanted to kiss the gratitude he saw on her lips. She was fucking magnetic.
Elle clapped her hands and the image faded. “Where is Quinn?”
Good question. But then his cousin wandered in, neck bent and attention buried in a tablet, as usual. Might be time to treat her to another massage, though he suspected she hadn’t used any of the previous sessions he’d booked for her.
Tate’s stomach dropped as his cousin looked up. She was crying. But Quinn was no crier. He stood, heart hammering so hard he could hear it. “What’s wrong?”