Progress. She matched his loving smile with one of her own. Even with all the uncertainty they faced, he would love and protect her,forever. Of that he wascertain.
The following morning,Crockettand his innovation team sat huddled around the conference table in the Tank. Until he could get to the bottom of the suspected sabotage, it was business as usual atWilde.
Quality Assurance had completed their analysis of Moth and Maverick’s Eagle and those issues were considered closed to everyone, but Crockett. He hadn’t divulged Charlie Bowen’s crisis so Decker could work in secrecy, and no one besides Decker and Ellen knew about their epic fail during Round Two of the FBI demo. The less his employees knew, the better. He’d shouldered worse and he would manage through this, too. At least, that’s what he kept tellinghimself.
All eyes were on the white board while Decker finished explaining the details of the plastics formula for their NVGs. Crockett’s innovators and scientists had done the impossible and he welcomed the goodnews.
“On paper, this is fantastic,” said Crockett. “Timeframe?”
“Manufacturing is going to knock out the prototype in two weeks,” Decker said. “The plastic is definitely lighter than our initial calculations. Based on certain polymers and isotopes, we might be able to accommodate a few minor adjustments that would bring additional benefit to first responders and militarypersonnel.”
“Congratulations,” Crockett said. “It’s a huge improvement. But what’s thedamage?”
Ellen popped in. “Excuse me. Crockett, you have a visitor. She’s driving Patty crazy with her incessantblather.”
“Who isit?”
“A TV reporter. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t get rid ofher.”
As Crockett approached reception, he bit out a grunt. The familiar redhead was talking ad nauseam, her hands flicking her hair and flying in the air foremphasis.
Stacy Blunk froze, mid-word. “You’reCrockettWildeof Wilde Innovations? I’m sure you remember me. Stacy B-L-U-N-K. I was hoping to hear fromyou.”
“I’m in a meeting, Stacy. How can I helpyou?”
Thrusting out her chest, she shot him a gleeful smile. “I’m here to schedule your interview. You won somecontest.”
Crockett didn’t have the time or the patience for shenanigans. “Ms. Reed completed theinterview.”
Stacy stepped close. The overpowering scent of her perfume stung his nose. “Did Al cover the who-what-where-when-and why?Whybeing the mostimportant.”
Patty, the receptionist, stifled asnicker.
This is a joke.He stepped toward the door, which he was two seconds from pushing open and shoving her through. “DidAlexandra—not Al—put you up tothis?”
“Our boss, he shit-canned her story because of some conflict. So, can we set up the interview? I need to get to thePOTUS.”
His blood pressure kicked up. “Whatconflict?”
“Dunno. All I know is that I get to do this.” She batted her lashes. “And with you, no less.” She flicked her attention to Patty. “I was born under a luckystar.”
“What’s your boss’ name?” Crockettasked.
“MaxBuchard.”
“Is he intoday?”
“Yuppers.”
He shoved open the glass door to his office suite. “I’m not redoing the interview.” Her mouth dropped open. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to mymeeting.”
After stomping her foot, she stormedout.
“Please ask Ellen to get Max Buchard, Cable News Fifteen, on the phone,” Crockett said toPatty.
“Yes, sir,” said thereceptionist.
As he powered down the hallway, he fisted his hands in frustration. Alex had done a phenomenal job interviewing him and his team. He popped back into the Tank, informed his team he needed to handle something, and paused at Ellen’sdesk.
