This is what I’m good at—cracking jokes and making people laugh. They very well could be laughingatme, rather thanwithme, 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 applaudingbecause 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.
“Nowthat’swhat 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.
