High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1)
Page 3
I knew I should resist, use all the willpower in my brain. My jeans were already a little too tight in the butt—too much junk in the trunk, Gray. Wasn’t that exactly what I’d told myself this morning when I’d wiggled into them?
But damn it, I’d been on edge all day, and it was noon, with no time to stop and indulge in a healthy lunch.
My stomach roared. Carbs were beneficial for brain function, allowing for quicker thought processing. After all, more than eighty billion neurons send and receive electrical signals during any given twenty-four-hour period. And the brain consumed almost half of the body’s glucose. And carbs converted straight to glucose during digestion, and chips were full of carbs so…
Those chips were good for my brain. Yeah. I snatched that gigantic bag of chips out of Pari’s hand faster than you can say metabolic cognitive psychology. And tore it open.
“Wow, you are a nervous wreck.” Pari’s black brows crawled up her forehead, dark eyes widening. “I knew it the second you started sending me texts full of autocorrected gobbledygook.”
I shrugged, digging in for some chips and shoving them into my mouth. “My hands might have been a little too shaky to make much sense.”
“A little? You told me to Get oven to the confession room innocently. I took my best guess.” She bit her lip. Her thick black hair fanned around her face. “Fair warning, though. I don’t do anything innocently.”
I didn’t reply. I was too busy cramming chips in my face.
“For the love of Asgard, Gray. Slow down. Breathe. Swallow. You’re going to choke to death on your own gluttony.”
I crunched some more. “I can’t. Mmm. So good.”
She shook her head. “No, don’t do that. Don’t make sex noises over chips. It’s just sad.”
Last year, Pari and I had met through our mutual friendship with Tolan Reeves, CEO of XVenture Space Co. and had become fast friends and, recently, coworkers.
We were complete opposites in so many ways. She was a rocket scientist, and I was an aspiring psychotherapist. I was fair-haired and she, due to her Indian heritage, was brunette. She made friends instantly, while I freaked out when confronted with hunky famous astronauts who wanted to shake my sweaty hand.
Yeah, Pari and I were different, but we both loved space, binged all kinds of science fiction and fantasy shows, and were both fresh and full of ambition in our respective careers.
Pari walked over to a nearby table, picked up a roll of paper towels, ripped off a section, and handed it to me. “Wipe your mouth and your hands. This isn’t a pretty sight.”
“You brought the chips,” I said, complying by dabbing at my mouth.
Her dark brows furrowed. “Are things going that bad? Did Tolan screw up the capsule tour for the investors?”
I shook my head, then held a finger to my lips, quieting her, and pointed at the door to the conference room. Inside, Tolan, Victoria, and the venture capitalists who would hopefully become the future investors of XVenture’s Private Astronaut Corps, the XPAC, were having lunch. With any luck, they were discussing their plans for bankrolling it—and, therefore, my dream job as an experimental flight psychologist—over a catered meal.
“What did your dad think?” she asked in only a slightly quieter voice.
I shot her a baleful look. The reminder that my dad was in there among said investors only made me want to start double-fisting the chips into my mouth.
“Come on, Gray. Everyone in the world wants to know where Conrad Barrett is going to throw his money next. My dad follows his stock tips like it’s a religion. Like he’s Ganesh himself come down from on high. But he’s your dad, and I can’t imagine him not peeling off a few hundred million to help your future career.”
I blew out a sigh. Yeah, that would make sense to everyone else in the world, but not to anyone who knew my father. “Dad is unconvinced that this is what I should be doing with my future.”
Pari rolled her eyes, laughing. “White people problems. At least you had a choice when you opted for psychology over investment banking.”
I licked my salty lips, wishing for a sugary drink to suck down my throat. The salt and vinegar had parched me like it always did. But it was oh, so good.
Pari snatched up the bag of chips from where I’d left them on the reception desk. Carefully spreading out a napkin, she poured a pile for herself and flicked one up, pressing it delicately to her small mouth. Pari was petite, with long and straight shiny black hair tied back in a ponytail, and ebony eyes to match.
The silence stretched between us as we both listened, heads tilted toward the door. But we could only discern voices rumbling from inside, punctuated by occasional laughter or a cough. Yes, Pari helped make the rockets, and XVenture had definitely proven they were very good at making rockets and making lots of money at it. But sending their own astronauts to space? That had never been done by a private company. This was all virgin territory—very exciting territory for people like me who wanted a hand in the future of humans working in space.
But everything, as was often the case, was hanging by the delicate thread of the purse strings. Without it, we’d never get off the ground—literally or figuratively.
“I spied on the tour a little, to see who all was there. Pretty impressive group.” She crunched a few more chips, her be-ringed hands glittering under the industrial lights. Temporary Mehndi henna tattoos on the backs of her hands and wrists, remnants of the festivities for her sister’s wedding, were fading but still visible. For the twentieth time, I studied them, fascinated by the delicate artistry.
“I had no idea Adam Drake was that hot in real life,” she said out of the blue, shaking her head in memory. “He’s an eleven on a scale of Thor to Loki.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Were you ogling him? His wife was with him.” I cleared my throat of chip crumbs. “Besides, dudes aren’t your thing, remember?”
She grabbed another chip and nipped it between her lips. “I go both ways. Dudes haven’t been my thing lately,” she corrected. “Besides, a girl can always appreciate a good-looking man and his bank account. He makes my inner gamer nerd squee.”
“Not so inner.” The girl played Dragon Epoch for hours on end. I leaned forward, grabbing more chips from the pile despite having vowed not to eat any more.
“Your dad seemed to be very interested in the details of the tour. He asked a lot of questions, anyway.”
I shook my head. Questions—one of Dad’s preferred stalling tactics. He regularly used it during negotiations as a way to bring up his objections.
“So…how are you reading your dad?” she asked, pressing her greasy fingertips to her napkin.
“I dunno, he’s hard to read. Even for me. Ugh, I think I’m getting a migraine, this is stressing me out so much.” I rubbed my temples helplessly. Normally, I had a bit of a gift when it came to reading nonverbal cues and body language. But Dad always played things close to the vest. He was famous for it. You didn’t get to be one of the richest people in the country, yet known for frugality and driving a hard bargain without discretion.
I brushed my fingers together, fortifying my resolve not to touch another single chip and get them greasy again. “Tolan can be inspiring when you listen to him. The other day, when he was talking about our goal to go to the Moon, then Mars and beyond. Our goals as an institution… I was getting chills from it.”
“But you’re already sold on it all as a bona fide space nerd. Would your dad care about all that?”
I shrugged. “I knew he’d be a hard sell when they chose Commander Tyler as the poster boy for the program.” The thought of Ryan Tyler gave me the urge to cram a fistful of chips into my mouth. Damn it. I had been this-close to convincing Dad on my own before they’d made that announcement.
“But Ty will bring in other investors,” Pari countered. “The PR angle alone…”
“PR,” I scoffed, throwing up my hands. “If you count tabloids as PR.”
She tilted her head as if
I avoided her eyes, staring off into space while considering her words. She was right, of course, and I understood all that, but it didn’t change how uneasy the man made me every time I was in his vicinity.
“Besides it’s not only tabloids, Gray. He’s been featured in Time magazine, Newsweek, and others. He’s got that big book coming out and a feature film in progress. Documentaries, speaking tours, TV appearances. He’s in the public eye for his heroism.” She crunched a few more chips while I pursed my lips in protest.
She let go a long sigh. “And on top of all that, he’s hot as fuck.” She fanned herself. “Personally, I think they should make Ty pose for posters in front of the Rubicon III rocket without his shirt. Now that would get people’s attention!”
I rolled my eyes and looked away to cover a blush as I remembered rejecting his handshake a short hour ago and then his douchey comeback to my supposed slight. Like, every woman in the world wanted him, and because I hadn’t shaken his hand, I was making some kind of sexual preference statement. I’d shaken Kirill Stonov’s hand, sure. But he’d also remembered who I was as a person.
But when the mighty Ryan Tyler stood up and held out his hand, I’d immediately started to sweat. And that, combined with the embarrassment of his obviously not remembering me, had caused me to panic and stuff my hands into my pockets. Odds were if I hadn’t made an impression on him the first time we’d met, he’d likely already forgotten about my perceived snub. He had a different hot woman on his arm every week. No way he’d remember me, and likely the whole scenario would play out again the next time I was stuck in the room with him.
Pari hadn’t been exaggerating. The man was a living legend. I’d been around famous people often, being my father’s daughter. But a famous astronaut? A hero who had saved the ISS? And yeah, it didn’t help that he had better-than-average looks. Quite a bit better than average.
I blew out a long breath, feeling like it had been knocked out of me.
“Dad’s more focused on the negatives of Ty’s involvement in our program. You have to admit that his life’s fallen apart in the year since the accident. All the partying, womanizing. Trashing a hotel room. Punching out a guy on video. Wrecking a motorcycle in an accident where it was questionable whether or not he was intoxicated. Getting fired from NASA—”
Pari smiled, folding her arms over her chest. “Oh, Gray, you’re a psychologist. You’ve gotta understand why XVenture made Ty the spokesman for the XPAC.”
“I’m an aspiring psychotherapist, to be precise, and I don’t get that title until my dissertation defense and clinical hours are completed.”
Pari twitched her head. “Well, I think his heroism will rub off on the XPAC—the Right Stuff and all that.”
“Nobody hopes so more than me.” I put an emphatic hand on my chest. “But if Dad doesn’t buy in, then there’s no program this year at all. Nobody flies. Not even Ty.” Dad’s money would make the difference between being able to do the test flight in September—which would be huge for publicity—or having to push it back a year, maybe longer.
And then where would my research be? I had training protocols to write and simulation analogs to develop. The mere thought of it got me giddy, but unless the program was fully funded, there’d be no manned mission, and the astronauts would have to find some other line of work or go back to their former employer.
As I was trying to change the subject, the four astronauts who’d been sitting at the table in the restaurant across the street sauntered into the room with Tyler at the forefront.
As I’d noted the previous two times I’d seen him, Ty was a stunning specimen of maleness in his prime. Just under six feet tall, dark hair, striking blue eyes, in his mid-thirties. He carried himself with confidence and not a little swagger. He had the self-assurance of a man comfortable in his own body and in commanding the space around him.
It didn’t help that he had the face and body of a Greek god, either. That jawline could cut diamonds, topped with generous lips, a straight nose, and heavily lash-fringed eyes. Damn.
A gorgeous human—who seemed to draw my eyes to him like the gravitational pull of Jupiter. And as with everything locked in orbit around the biggest planet in the solar system, there was a real danger of being crushed or changed in ways I couldn’t even contemplate.
So, though he made my insides tingle, I knew he was someone from whom I needed to stay far, far away. Avoid, avoid, avoid.
Now, if only I could give my eyes and my thumping heart that same message. They seemed to want to act of their own accord. I swallowed, working moisture into my dry throat, and ripped my eyes away, hoping there were no grease stains or chip crumbs around my mouth.
“Parvati!” said the big Russian cosmonaut.
“Kirill Andreivich!” Pari replied, beaming.
“Why are you not working on the rockets? We need you working on the rockets.”
“A girl’s gotta get a break sometime.” She stood up and wiped her greasy hands on her jeans. “But now that you mention it, time for me to get back to work before Vic comes out.”
And it was only then that I realized Pari seemed to have been studiously avoiding Victoria for the past few weeks. I made a note to ask about that later. But definitely not now.
Right now, I had four pairs of eyes staring at me expectantly. I shrugged. “What?”
“Victoria called us over here,” said Hammer, as everyone called him. “Any idea if we should go in or not?”
I opened my mouth to tell them I was absolutely clueless about Victoria’s plans when the double doors to the conference room opened and Victoria poked her head out. “Guys! Awesome. Uh, I only need Ty for right now.” Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me. “And Gray, get in here too,” she said with a meaningful expression on her face that most likely meant my dad was being a pain in the ass. I’d seen that exasperated look on many a person’s face who had worked with him before.
I ignored Ty’s curious stare. No doubt he was wondering why a nobody—whom he hadn’t even bothered to remember meeting—was being dragged into this important discussion. And clearly, I wasn’t dressed for it. But oh well. Flexibility was one of my strengths.
At least Ty had the good sense not to make any more of his stupid, sexist jabs.
I followed him into the room. Despite his irritating personality, he had an admittedly gorgeous posterior. I fought hard not to notice the muscular, veiny forearms exposed in the short-sleeved black golf shirt he wore. For an instant, an impossible picture solidified of me—jeans, sweatshirt, messy hair, and all—hanging off his perfectly rounded biceps, leaning in to smell him. What did he smell like, anyway? I meant his pheromones, the smell of his sweat underneath the soap and the aftershave that he might wear?
Damn, Gray. Get a hold of yourself. He’s an alpha dog jerk. I shook myself out of the temporary psychosis. That’s it. Shake it off. It wasn’t like I’d never been around a good-looking man before. Jeez.
The main conference room at XVenture was a large space. The sectional white table had been moved aside, and the outside windows shaded to allow a projected presentation to show on the screen behind us—now on the last slide. Fortunately—or unfortunately, in my case—the lights were brought up enough for us to be able to see the two dozen or so people in the room, all with neatly assembled portfolio-style folders in front of them on glass and chrome tables. Vivid color banner-style posters of rockets in various stages of flight hung along the walls, and a fifteen-foot scale model of a miniature Rubicon III rocket was suspended horizontally from the ceiling across the length of the room.
All eyes were on Ty who stood beside me, stiffly, confidently. Clearly, he was comfortable being the center of attention and had been for a while. My eyes shot to Dad’s face. He was sizing up Ty too.
One thing I’d assumed might work in our favor was the Navy connection. Dad had served as an officer in the Navy aboard an aircraft carrier after his college years, and Ty was a former Navy SEAL, before his selection by NASA to be an astronaut. Naval officers tended to revere those elite warriors. So maybe that would make Dad able to see the potential good in having Ty attached to the program. I crossed my fingers again, behind my back, aware that my hands were cold and shaking.
If this program didn’t fund, it would mean the end of one of my biggest dreams. I’d have to resort to corporate counseling—or worse, working for my dad. And I was half aware that he was counting on that.
After introducing the people in the room, Victoria explained that we were there to clarify a few points for the investors.
“Commander Tyler, we wanted to hear from you about recent events.” Victoria began, but her voice died out when Dad sat up straight and Tyler folded his arms defensively over his chest. Uh oh.
“Certainly. I made a statement about this to the press, but I’m glad to repeat it. I was approached by a flat-earth fanatic who shoved his Bible in my face and demanded I swear on it to God that there was an International Space Station and that I’d spent months there working on orbit.”
Dad cocked his head to the side, disbelief written on every feature as well as in his body language. “You punched out a man for poking a Bible at you?”
“He was insistent and incredibly insulting.”
“You punched a man out for insulting you?” Dad fired back, increasingly skeptical. Oh…oh crap. My heart rate sped up, and the walls felt feet closer to me than they had only moments before. I swallowed a spiky ball of fear. This conversation did not bode well for the remainder of the meeting.
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