by Nina Lane
“Thanks.”
“And we liked the interview of you, as well. You’re professional, articulate, and you have a very strong, camera-friendly presence. You also have a sexy edginess that comes across well on television.”
“Uh… thanks again?”
Tess and Derek glanced at me, their eyes bright with suppressed amusement.
“I’m calling because we’d like to set up a meeting to talk with you about a documentary program on storm chasing,” David said.
Now all the grad students looked up with interest. I almost picked up the receiver to make the conversation private, but instead left it on speaker so they could hear. I might as well kill the glitzy lure of television for my students right off the bat.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Peterson,” I said. “I’m not interested in consulting for a TV show.”
“Oh, we don’t want you exclusively as a consultant,” David Peterson said. “That’s part of it, of course, but we’d also like to talk to you about being the star.”
Colton’s mouth dropped open. I glared at him.
“I’m not interested in starring in a TV show,” I told the producer. “But thank you for your time.”
“Wait,” David said quickly. “I don’t think you understand, Dr. March. We did some research on you and found out about the Spiral Project.”
My heart stuttered. “What about it?”
“It sounds like quite an innovative and unique project,” he said. “We’d like to have a copy of the full proposal, and we’d especially like for you to come and talk to our team about it.”
I glanced at my students, who were all watching me and hanging on every word.
“Why do you want to know more about the Spiral Project?” I asked David.
“We want to understand how it will operate and function,” he explained. “As well as what resources you’ll need. Ultimately our goal is to determine if we can send a film crew along with your tornado research unit.
“If so, we can create a documentary program centered on the Spiral Project. We’d focus on why and how you study tornados, what technology you use, and the daily operations of storm chasing. Of course, we’d focus on a few main participants for a human-interest angle. You, of course, would be the headliner of the show, as well as the principal investigator.”
My heart began doing some ridiculous flipping, which I tried to still with the cold light of reason.
“I could never leave King’s to participate in a reality show,” I said. “However, I do have a number of graduate students who—”
“We’re happy to have additional cast members, Professor March,” David interrupted. “But this offer is contingent upon your being the main participant.”
I blinked, trying not to feel somewhat flattered. A major cable network seriously wouldn’t do a show without me?
For an instant, I wondered what would happen if I agreed. Maybe I could demand my own luxury trailer. A daily supply of fresh cupcakes and French Roast coffee. Even a private Swedish masseur…
Kelsey!
I cleared my throat and refocused.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Peterson,” I repeated. “Even if it were possible, we lost all funding for the Spiral Project.”
“I know. That’s part of the reason for my call. I need to know what other sources you have in the wings.”
“Why?”
“The Explorer Channel could contribute to certain costs and, of course, compensation,” David said, “but we would need to be assured that you have another reliable source of sustained funding in place.”
“Well, I don’t. I’ve just about exhausted all my sources.”
“Then our hope is your attachment to a major cable channel will spark new interest in the project.”
Apparently the man had an answer for everything.
“Mr. Peterson,” I said firmly. “Even if I wanted to do this, I couldn’t. I have commitments to this university. My role in the Spiral Project is to remain at King’s to direct the fieldwork. I can’t leave for weeks at a time to storm chase with the unit. And I certainly can’t star in a reality show.”
I could only imagine the departmental reaction to such a venture.
“Mr. Peterson, I’m a scientist, not a TV star,” I continued. “My answer is no.”
I hung up the phone and turned my attention to my paperwork. The students were all silent.
“You should do it, Kelsey,” Derek finally said.
“I can’t. You know that. And if I need your advice, I’ll ask for it.”
Derek, somewhat unfortunately at the moment, had been my student long enough to know that my bark was worse than my bite.
“It could actually get the project off the ground again,” he argued.
“The Explorer Channel isn’t offering to fund it,” I replied. “You heard Peterson. We’d still need another funding source. NOAA, Edison Power, and the NSF already rejected the proposal. There’s no one left.”
“Could you go back to them with the Explorer Channel’s offer?” Colton asked. “TV does have a lot of pull.”
I shook my head. “Even if I did, I could never participate in a reality show. King’s wouldn’t allow it. I have a contract that includes policies about outside compensation, media participation, conflict of commitment. I already got slapped on the wrist for that interview. The board would never let me run off to chase tornados.”
I packed up my papers and went to the door. “Not to mention it’s an insult to be wanted for my so-called camera presence.”
I left the room and started toward my office. Halfway there, Tess fell into step beside me.
“You know—” she began.
I groaned. “Et tu, Brute? What happened to the sisterhood?”
“Look, I get that it would be irritating to have people interested in you for how you look on camera rather than your research,” Tess said. “But that’s not entirely what’s happening here.”
“No?” I kept walking. “How do you figure?”
“The Explorer Channel guys know you’re a hardcore scientist,” Tess said. “So does everyone else involved with the project. Hell, so does every meteorologist in the country. And maybe… just maybe… it would be good for people watching TV to see a smart, ambitious, innovative atmospheric scientist in charge of a ground-breaking forecast project… except this particular scientist just happens to be a woman.”
I didn’t respond.
“Have you ever seen a woman like you on TV before?” Tess asked. “Don’t you think you would be an excellent contrast to the bachelorettes and trophy wives? And all those shows about extreme professions and storm chasing… have you ever seen one with not only a woman at the forefront, but a woman who is one of the top scientists in the country? Well? Have you?”
“No, but—”
“Women are… what, two percent of storm chasers?” Tess continued. “And you don’t think you can use your status as Dr. Kelsey March to prove to the world, scientists and laypersons alike, that a woman can not only be the best, but successfully spearhead the biggest tornado prediction project in history?”
I stopped outside my office and looked at her. Her eyes were bright with conviction. For a moment, a rush of sheer gratitude filled me. I couldn’t help wondering if she was right, if I could use my position in a new way.
I’d always believed in my work as a professor and a scientist, but aside from my students and the meteorology community, not many people knew about the importance of what I was trying to do.
And the idea of being a role model for girls and young women who might not otherwise think weather was interesting or exciting…
My parents would have liked that. Unexpectedly, so did I.
In theory.
“Tess, I get it.” I tried to keep my voice gentle. “And you’re right that it would be a good thing for a female scientist to get some airtime. But there is no way I can do this. The King’s administration would never let me take so much time off to chase storms and be in a reality show. I mea
n, it just sounds ridiculous.”
“But—”
“Forget it, Tess. It’s over.”
I almost felt the frustration radiating from her. Before she could say anything else, I turned to go into my office. I shut the door and locked myself in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
KELSEY
AN INTIMIDATING PORTRAIT OF VICTOR KING, the founder of King’s University, glowered down at me from the wall of the chancellor’s office reception area. Steel-haired and frowning, old Victor looked as if he’d never laughed once in his life.
I nudged Stan with my elbow and nodded toward the portrait.
“Think he’s constipated?” I asked under my breath.
Stan chuckled. “He must be. He’s been stuck on that wall since I started working at King’s over thirty years ago.”
I tried to imagine working at King’s for thirty years.
“Why did you start studying meteorology?” I asked Stan, somewhat surprised I didn’t already know.
“I loved the Ben Franklin story when I was a kid,” he replied. “Thought it was so cool that electricity came from the sky. I always remembered that.”
“It’s funny that meteorologists love weather and nature, but so many of us end up in a classroom or sitting in front of a computer.”
Stan looked at me. “You’re still thinking about that reality show?”
“A little.” I shrugged. I’d told him about the Explorer Channel’s offer in case they contacted him at some point. I’d also told him that I’d turned the offer down.
“It’s not really the show itself,” I admitted. “I mean, sure it sounds fun, but can you imagine what that kind of exposure would do for tornado research? For the Spiral Project?”
Stan gave me a weary smile. “You know, when you applied for a position at King’s, I was one of the professors who didn’t want to hire you.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I knew you’d rock the boat. Maybe even tip it over.”
“I’m a meteorologist, right? I like waves.”
Stan chuckled again. “More than any other meteorologist I’ve known.”
“So are you so sorry I was hired, then?” I asked.
“No, because you’re damn good. I wasn’t wrong, though. You’re a spitfire. Sorry if that sounds sexist, but I’m old school.” He shook his head. “And I admit I’ve been impressed with how relentlessly you go after what you want.”
“I don’t always get what I want, though.”
“But you take no prisoners in your attempt.”
Unease pricked the back of my mind. “Stan, did you really mean it the other day when you said my conduct could hurt the Meteorology department’s standing with the administration? Like with expanding the faculty or getting money for an upgraded lab?”
Stan shrugged. “You wouldn’t be solely responsible, no. But everything we do reflects on our department. That’s just the way it is.”
He glanced at me again. “So why did you become a meteorologist instead of a fighter pilot?”
I smiled. “My father. He loved weather. So do I.”
I looked at my watch. Ten more minutes before our meeting with Chancellor Radcliffe, when I would learn my fate at King’s University. My cell buzzed with a text. I pulled up the screen.
The sky is blue, storm girl.
The tightness around my heart eased. I still hadn’t seen Archer since we’d come back to Mirror Lake. Five days now. I’d promised to call him after our meeting. I slipped the phone back into my bag and exhaled slowly.
This day had been looming for a very long time, but I hadn’t wanted to think about it. Because no matter what the outcome, the first person I’d have called would have been my mother.
“Professors March and Baxter, Chancellor Radcliffe is ready to see you,” the receptionist said.
Tension knotted my stomach as we walked into the office. The chancellor greeted us, and we sat in the chairs in front of his massive, oak desk.
“Professor March, I’ve reviewed your tenure file and the board’s recommendation,” Radcliffe said, settling back in his leather chair. “You have an impressive CV and have been an excellent asset to this university for the past seven years.”
“Thank you.” I folded my hands to stop them from shaking.
“And I would like to reiterate the importance of tenure to this university,” Radcliffe continued. “By giving you a permanent position here, we expect that you will conduct yourself according to the regulations and contractual duties we set forth.”
I nodded. I understood that I was receiving a warning, and for a moment I faltered in my belief that Radcliffe had approved my tenure.
The thought didn’t trouble me as much as it should have. Since receiving that call from the Explorer Channel, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about running off to chase tornados.
It was a stupid thought, of course. If I were fired from King’s, I’d really lose all hope of future funding for the Spiral Project. And I’d told Tess the truth—I’d be devastated if I lost the support and help of my graduate students.
Even more, I’d miss them. They had always been the best part of my professorial career.
But that didn’t stop a tiny part of me from wondering what it would be like to be on the road again, chasing storms. With Archer.
Which I couldn’t do as a tenured professor.
I took a deep breath and focused on the chancellor, who was still rambling on about my duties. Finally he wound down the lecture and pushed to his feet.
“Congratulations, Professor March.” Radcliffe extended his hand with a smile. “Based on the unanimous recommendation of your department and the board, I’ve approved your appointment for tenure.”
All the breath escaped my lungs. Relief bloomed inside me, the unraveling of months of tension and pressure.
Kelsey March, tenured professor in the Meteorology department of King’s University. Exactly what my parents wanted. Exactly what I’d worked so hard for over the last twelve years.
“Thank you, sir.” I shook the chancellor’s hand, and turned to accept Stan’s congratulations.
I barely heard anything else as Radcliffe went on about the prestige of tenure before he walked us to the door. After we said goodbye, Stan and I walked out into the spring sunshine. My heart was racing, my stomach still tight with nerves.
“So, do you want to come back to the department?” Stan asked. For the first time since I’d known him, he looked faintly uncertain. “I know everyone will want to congratulate you.”
“Thank you. If you could…” Something stuck in my throat. I started backing away from him. “Um, if you could just let people know I’m heading home for a while, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay. Congratulations, Kelsey. You really do deserve it.”
“Thank you.”
I turned and hurried toward the parking lot, digging into my bag for my keys. Without thinking too much or too hard, I drove to the Butterfly House. Archer’s Harley was parked in the front, but there were no other cars, which meant he was alone.
As I walked to the house, the trailer door opened and Archer started down the steps. He caught sight of me and stopped. I fought the urge to run toward him.
“The meeting just ended.” I started to shake in a delayed reaction as I approached. “Chancellor Radcliffe and everyone else approved my tenure.”
“Of course they did.” He extended his arms.
I walked right into them. Buried my face against his chest. Swallowed the lump in my throat. His T-shirt smelled like sawdust and sweat.
He pressed his lips against my hair. He didn’t say anything else. Tenure was the brass ring every professor wanted. But Archer knew I’d grabbed it while falling, tipping forward into darkness.
“Come in,” he said. “You deserve a toast.”
I followed him into the trailer and sat at the table while he poured two glasses of chocolate milk. He clinked his glass against mine.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Have you called Liv and Dean yet?”
I shook my head. “I just heard before coming here.”
If he thought it was weird that I’d come to him first, he didn’t show it. It certainly didn’t feel weird—not to me, at least. It felt right.
We drank the milk in silence. I looked past him out the window to where the Butterfly House stood in its gorgeous splendor.
I couldn’t find the courage to ask Archer when he would be leaving. Couldn’t stand the thought of being here alone, locked into my permanent, tenured position, struggling to find enthusiasm for classroom teaching when my heart was out in the wildness of nature.
Oh, stop it.
I’d been granted tenure, for god’s sake. I’d worked my ass off for it. I wasn’t going to whine about achieving a distinction few people did. One that guaranteed I’d be set for life.
But oh my god, would I miss Archer. I’d miss his recklessness, his commands, his bad jokes, the heat that sizzled between us. I’d miss his unpredictability, his flashes of darkness. I’d miss the way he made me feel so alive. So wanted. So—
“Well.” I stood to put my empty glass in the sink. “I just wanted to stop by and tell you the news.”
“I’m glad you did. You deserve this.”
I nodded. He was close to me. I gave over to the urge to lean against him one more time. Felt his arms enclose me, and the heat of his muscles through the cotton of his T-shirt. His warmth spread through me, melting the hard, icy ball that had been stuck in my chest ever since I got the phone call about my mother.
Holy hell. A month had passed since I’d walked into Dean’s office and smacked Archer upside the head with a door. In that short time span, my life had both veered wildly off course and stayed unwaveringly on the same narrow path I’d constructed years ago.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. I slipped my hands under Archer’s T-shirt to touch the planes of his abdomen. He flinched slightly at my touch.
“Sorry,” I whispered against his chest. “My hands are cold.”
I was cold. Everywhere. I needed him to warm me from the inside out.
No. I needed him to make me burn.