Everett Staines.
Fuck. My. Life.
“I know the outcome of yesterday’s showcase was not as planned, butI assure you that our engineers are working overtime to get to the bottom of it. We got in touch with the pilot who flew the plane to New Jersey, and he confirmed that everything was in order at the time of his walk-around. It’s just a matter of figuring out how the spark originated.”
A low chuckle erupts from deep within him, and it sends a chill up my spine.
I was truthful and straight to the point—two traits he seemed to admire in me yesterday. Buttoday, he sounds malicious and almost condescending.
“It’s a lot more than a spark,Nate Archer.”Venom laces his voice at the mention of my name. “And due to the unforeseen changes in your reputation, SkyWay Airlines can no longer associate with or consider Archer Aviation a contender for the electric plane deal.”
My hand rakes through my already tousled hair, the frustration bubbling out of me.
It was one incident. A tiny blip in the six years our planes have been in operation. Never have we ever encountered an issue remotely similar to this. Did that not count for anything?
“With all due respect, Mr. Staines, if you’d give us the chance to finish our investigation, I’m sure we’ll have a reasonable explanation for all of this. Our engineers are working overtime—”
A deep, hateful laugh cuts me off. “With all due respect, Mr. Archer, not understanding the consequences of your actions is a problem in itself. As the father of two daughters and a wife who’s gone through a similar situation, I cannot overlook the accusations made against you.”
I open my mouth in protest, ready to defend myself. To ask,What the fuck are you talking about? What accusations? What actions?But the line goes dead before I have the chance.
“Fuck.” I slam the phone on my desk, dropping back into the cushioned leather of my office chair.
This was meant to be Archer Aviation’s biggest contract yet. A one-way ticket to take a company operating nationwide and blow it out of the gate.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re partnered with some reputable American airlines, and I’m grateful for the success we’ve had over the years, but that’s never been the end goal. I’ve alwaysenvisioned this company flying worldwide. Competing with the major aircraft manufacturers. Becoming a household name in the green aviation space. And now, that opportunity has just…poof…vanished.
“You’re in for a treat.”
I shift my eyes away from the thrilling blank ceiling and toward my pesky little brother.
With a thud, he drops a mountain of magazines before me. “I don’t have time for this.” My words are firm.
It may be harsh, but after the shit conversation I’ve had, I couldn’t care less. I want to wallow in peace. Mourn the crumbs of the career I have left. But in true sibling fashion, he stays, whipping out his arm to hurl a magazine straight at my head.
Years of playing sports have sharpened my reflexes enough to catch the thing on time.
Nate Archer: Launching New Technology or a New Relationship.
“What is this?” I ask, eyes narrowing on the bold red letters across the page. A blurry image serves as the background of this poorly made tabloid. The thing is so dark I can barely make out what it is.
Adam ignores my question as he flings another magazine my way—this one with the force of a thousand suns, thirty-six diabolical geese, and three heavy fountains. One of its sharp corners grazes my cheek, stinging long after it’s fallen into my lap.
I can’t help but roll my eyes when I swipe my thumb over the skin and it comes back red.
Paper cut.
Great.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” I glare at Adam when he finally emerges from behind the colorful stack.
He seems unfazed by my words. “Do yourself a favor and stop asking rhetorical questions. Now, read that one quickly. I’m leaving the best for last.” He motions to the one in his hand.
My lips press into a thin line as I turn over the tabloid against my will. Unlike the last one, this cover holds noambiguity. It’s a similar fountain to last night’s—two people standing in the basin, soaked from head to toe as they’re lit by the weak moonlight. The woman’s vivid red dress nearly glows while a man steadies her, one hand wrapped around her waist, and the other cradling her head.
An Engine Isn’t the Only Thing Sparking Tonight: All About Nate Archer and His Dating History.
“What kind of sick joke are you playing—”
