MY ALARM RINGS, but I let it snooze.
Once. Twice. Three times, five, eight, twelve, why the hell is it still ringing, why did I even set it—
“Bee?”
I open my eyes. Barely. They’re bleary, sticky with sleep.
“Bee?”
Crap. I inadvertently answered a call from an unknown number. “Shisshishee,” I slur. Then I spit out my retainer. “Sorry, this is she.”
“I need you to come in right now.”
I instantly recognize the baritone. “Levi?” I blink at my alarm. It’s 6:43 a.m. I can’t keep my lids up. “What? Come where?”
“Can you be in Boris’s office by seven?”
That makes me sit up in bed. Or as close as I can manage at this hour. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you want to stay and work on BLINK?” His voice is firm. Decisive. I can hear background noise. He must be outside, walking somewhere.
“What?”
“Have you told NIH about what NASA is doing yet?”
“Not yet, but—”
“Then do you want to stay and work on BLINK?”
I press my palm into my eye. This is a nightmare, right? “I thought we agreed that’s not an option.”
“It might be now. I have . . . something.” A pause. “A bit of a gamble, though.”
“What is it?”
“Something that’ll get Boris to support us.” He cuts off for a second. “—can’t explain on the phone.”
It sounds sketchy. Like he’s trying to lure me to a secondary location to traffic me to people who’ll harvest my femurs to make handles for badminton racquets.
“Can’t we just meet later?”
“No. Boris is having a call with the NASA director in one hour, we need to catch him before then.”
I run a hand over my face. I’m way too pooped for this. “Levi, this sounds very weird and I just woke up. If you’re trying to get me alone to assassinate me, could we just go ahead, pretend you did it, and go our separate ways—”
“Listen. What you said yesterday . . .” He must have stepped inside, because the background noise is gone. His voice is rich and deep in my ear. I think I can actually hear him swallow. “There is no other neuroscientist I’d want to do this project with. Not a single one.”
It’s a blow to the sternum. The words knock the air out of my lungs, and a weird, nonsensical, untimely thought crosses my mind: it’s not that surprising that this broody, reserved man snagged himself a beautiful bride. Not if he’s capable of saying things like this.
At least I’m awake now. “What’s happening?”
“Bee, do you want to stay in Houston and work on BLINK?” he asks again, but this time after a pause he adds, “With me?”
That’s when I know that I’m a lunatic. Insane. An utterly insane lunatic. Because my alarm says six forty-five a.m., and a shiver runs down my spine—or where my spine would be if I had one. I screw my eyes shut, and the word that comes out of my mouth is:
“Yeah.”
I STUMBLE OUT of the elevator two minutes past seven, energized by a night of restful sleep and dressed for success.
Just kidding. I’m wearing leggings and a flannel shirt, I forgot to put on a bra, and having to choose between brushing my teeth and washing my face I went for the former, which means that when Levi spots me I’m frantically trying to scrape sleep boogers from my eyes. I feel jittery and drowsy—the worst possible combination. Levi is waiting by Boris’s office, put together like it’s not the middle of the night, and knocks on the door the moment he sees me. I break into a light jog, and by the time I get there I’m also sweaty and out of breath.
My life is so lovely. As lovely as a spinal tap.
“What is going on?”
“No time to explain. But like I said, it’s a gamble. Pretend you already know when we’re in there.”
I frown. “Know what?”
Boris yells at us to come in.
“Just follow my lead,” Levi says, gesturing me inside.
“We’re supposed to be co-leads,” I mutter.
The corner of his lip twitches up. “Follow my co-lead, then.”
“Please, tell me this mess doesn’t end in a murder-suicide.”
He opens the door and shrugs, ushering me in with a hand between my shoulder blades. “Guess we’ll see.”
Boris had no idea we’d show up. His eyes roll and narrow, a mix of I’m tired and Not you two and I don’t have time for this, and he stands from behind his desk with his hands on his hips.
I take a step back. What is this car crash of a meeting? What did I get myself into? And why, oh why did I ever think that trusting Levi Ward would be a good idea?
“No,” Boris says, “Levi, I’m not going to go over this again, and not in front of an NIH employee. I have a meeting that I need to prep for, so . . .” The annoyance in his voice fades as Levi, unruffled, sets his phone on the desk. There’s a picture on the screen, but I can’t make out what it is. I push up on my toes and lean forward to see, but Levi pulls on the back of my flannel and lifts one eyebrow—which I believe means You’re supposed to follow my lead. I frown in my best Sure would be nice to know what’s going on, but whatever.
When I glance at Boris, there’s a deep horizontal line in the middle of his forehead. “Did you make some changes to the helmet prototype? I don’t remember authorizing—”
“I did not.”
“This doesn’t look like what I approved.”
“It’s not.” Levi holds out his hand, and when Boris returns the phone, he pulls up another picture. A person, wearing something on their head. The line on Boris’s brow deepens even more.
“When was the picture taken?”
“That, I’d rather not say.”
Boris’s gaze sharpens. “Levi, if you’re making this up because of yesterday’s conversation—”
“The name of the company is MagTech. They are very well-established, based in Rotterdam, and do science tech. They’ve been open about the fact that they’re working on wireless neurostimulation helmets.” A pause. “They have a fairly long history of supplying armed forces and militias with combat gadgets.”
“Which armed forces?”
“Whoever can pay.”
“How far ahead are they?”
“Based on those blueprints and on my . . . contact’s information, pretty much where BLINK’s at.” He holds Boris’s eyes a little too intensely. “At least, where BLINK was at. Before it was shelved.”
Boris risks a quick glance at me. “Technically, the project was never shelved,” he says defensively.
“Technically.” There is something commanding about the way Levi talks, even to his boss. Boris flushes and returns the phone. I pluck it from Levi’s hand before he can pocket it and study the pictures.
It’s a neurostimulation helmet—the blueprints and the prototype. Not quite ours, but similar. Scarily similar. Oh shit we have competition similar.
“Do they know about BLINK?” Boris is asking.
“Unclear. But they wouldn’t have seen our prototype.”
“They don’t have a neuroscientist on their team. Not a good one,” I add distractedly.
“How do you know that?” Boris asks.
I shrug. “Well, it’s pretty obvious. They’re making the same mistake Levi is—the output locations. Honestly, why can’t engineers ever be bothered to consult with experts outside of their discipline? Is it part of vector calculus? First rule of engineering: do not display weakness. Never ask questions. Better to finish a wrong, unusable prototype on your own than to collaborate with—” I look up, notice the way Boris and Levi are staring at me, and slap my mouth shut. I really shouldn’t be allowed in public before coffee. “Point is,” I say after clearing my throat, “they’re not doing so hot, and as soon as they start trying out the helmet in action they’ll realize it.” I give Levi’s phone back, and his fingers brush mine, rough and warm. Our eyes meet for a split second, then flit away.
“The blueprint,” Boris says. “And the picture. Where did you get them?”
“That’s not important.”
Boris’s eyes go dinner-plate wide. “Please, tell me my lead engineer didn’t just jeopardize his career by engaging in some light industrial espionage—”
“Boris,” Levi interrupts him, “this changes things. We need to be working on BLINK. Now. Those helmets are conceptually similar to ours. If MagTech gets to a working prototype and patents the tech before we do, we’ll have flushed millions of dollars down the toilet. And there’s no telling what they’ll do with their design. Who they’ll sell it to.” Boris closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. It must be the sign of weariness Levi was waiting for, because he adds, “Bee and I are here. Ready. We can finish this project in three months—if we have the necessary equipment. We can see this through.”
Boris doesn’t open his eyes. The opposite: he scrunches them shut, as though he hates every second of this. “Can you really? Get this done in three months?”
Levi turns to me.
I honestly have no idea. Science doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t do deadlines or consolation trophies. You can design the perfect study, sleep one hour a night, feed on nothing but despair and Lean Cuisine for months on end, and your results can still be the opposite of what you were hoping to find. Science doesn’t give a shit. Science is reliable in its variability. Science does whatever the fuck it wants. God, I love science.
But I smile brilliantly. “Of course we can. And much better than those Dutch guys.”
“Okay. Okay.” Boris runs a hand through his hair, harried. “I have a meeting with the director in—damn, ten minutes. I’ll push for this. I’ll be in touch later today, but . . . yeah. Things are different, with this.” He gives Levi a part-irritated, part-exhausted, part-admiring look. “I suppose I owe you my congratulations on bringing BLINK back from the dead.” My stomach somersaults. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is happening after all. “If I convince the director, there’s no margin of error. You’ll have to make the best neurostimulation helmets in the damn world.” Levi and I exchange a long glance and nod at the same time. When we step out of the office, Boris is swearing softly.
I’m mildly terrified by this turn of events. If we do get the go-ahead, everyone and their mother will be breathing down our necks. The honchos at NASA and NIH will vulture-circle on top of us. I’m going to have to explain to some creationist white guy on his twelfth senate term that brain stimulation is not the same thing as acupressure.
Oh, who am I kidding? I wouldn’t even mind it for a chance to actually work on BLINK and fix all those stubborn engineers’ mistakes. A chance that seemed long gone less than an hour ago, but now . . .
I press a hand against my lips, exhaling a laugh. It’s going to happen. Well, it’s probably going to happen. But NASA’s supposed to be chock-full of geniuses who’ll get us to Mars, no? They won’t be so stupid to block the project, not if it’s a now-or-never situation. I have no idea how Levi did it, but—
Levi.
I look up and there he is, staring at me with a soft smile as I grin into the ether like an idiot. I should snap at him to look away, but when our eyes meet I only want to grin more. We stand like that for several seconds, smiling moronically outside Boris’s office, until his expression goes serious.
“Bee.” What is it about the way he says my name? The pitch? His deep voice? Something else altogether? “About yesterday—”
I shake my head. “No. I . . .” God, this apology is going to be painful. Humiliating, too. The colonoscopy of apologies. Better get it over with. “Listen, you should have been more forthcoming about what was going on, but I probably shouldn’t have called you a . . . boob. Or a walnut. I’m not sure what was in my head and what I actually said out loud but . . . I’m sorry about coming to your office and insulting you.” There. Done. Colonoscopy’s over. My intestines are sparkling clean.
Except that Levi doesn’t even acknowledge my apology. “What you said, about me despising you. About things that I have done, I—”
“No, I was out of line. I mean, it’s all true, but—” I take a deep breath. “Listen, you have every right not to like me as long as you deal with it professionally. Even though, let’s be real, what’s wrong with you? I’m an absolute delight.” I give him an impish grin, but he doesn’t get that I’m teasing, because he stares at me with a toned-down version of yesterday’s stricken expression. Oops. I rock on my heels and clear my throat. “Sorry. Just kidding. I know there’s plenty to dislike about me and you are . . . you, while I am . . . yeah. Me. Very different. I know we’re nemesis of sorts—nemeses? Nemesi? Anyway, I got upset because I thought you were letting that dictate your behavior on BLINK. But clearly that’s not the case, so I apologize for assuming, and—feel free to carry on.” I manage a mostly sincere smile. “As long as you’re civil and fair at work, you can dislike away. Loathe me up. Abhor me to the moon. Detest me into the unknown.” I really mean it. Not that I relish the idea of him hating me, but it’s such a great improvement over yesterday, when I thought that his dislike would ruin my career, that I’m coming to peace with this. Sort of. “Did you actually engage in industrial espionage?”
“No. Maybe. A friend knows someone who works for—” Levi closes his eyes. “Bee. You don’t understand.”
I cock my head. “What don’t I understand?”
“I don’t dislike you.”
“Right.” Uh-huh. “So you’ve been acting like an ass to me for seven years because . . . ?”
He sighs, his broad chest moving up and down. There’s a tuft of fur on the sleeve of his shirt. Does he have a pet? He looks like a dog person. Maybe it’s his daughter’s dog.
“Because I am an ass. An idiot, too.”
“Levi, it’s fine. I understand, really. When we lived in France, my sister loved this classmate of ours, Ines, and I could not stand her. I wanted to pull her braid for no reason. I actually did, once, which was . . . unfortunate, because my French aunt believed in sending kids to bed without dinner.” I shrug. Levi is pinching the bridge of his nose, probably shocked by how much I ramble when I’m still half-asleep. One more thing for him to hate about me, I guess. “The point is, sometimes dislike is a gut reaction. Like falling in love at first sight, you know? Just . . . the opposite.”
His eyes spring open. “Bee.” He swallows. “I—”
“Levi! Here you are.” Kaylee is walking toward us, an iPad in her hand. I wave at her, but Levi doesn’t stop staring. At me. “I need your approval on two items, and you and Guy have a meeting with Jonas in . . . Levi?”
He is, for unknown reasons, still staring at me. And the stricken expression is back. Do I have a sleep booger on my nose?
“Levi?”
Third time must be the charm, because he finally looks away. “Hey, Kaylee.”
They start talking and I walk away with another wave, daydreaming about coffee and a bra. I don’t know why I turn around one last time, right before stepping into the elevator. I really don’t know why, but Levi is looking at me again.
Even though Kaylee is still talking.
IT’S TWO P.M., I’m wearing a bra (yes, a sports bra is a real bra; no, I do not accept constructive criticism) and sipping my eleventh coffee of the day when I get a text from Levi.
Bee, I’m using texts since emails are unreliable. Your equipment and computers will be here tomorrow. Let’s schedule a meeting to go over BLINK at your earliest convenience. Kaylee will be there shortly to set you up with NASA.gov email, so that you can access our servers. Let me know what else you need.
I can’t help myself. I must have learned nothing in the past weeks, because I do it again: I shoot off my chair and jump up and down, screeching loudly and joyously in the middle of the office. It’s happening. It’s happening. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s—
“Um . . . Bee?”
I whirl around. Rocío is blinking at me from her desk, alarmed.
“Sorry.” I flush and quickly sit back down. “Sorry. Just . . . good news.”
“The dictator of veganism released you from his tyrannical clutches and you can finally eat real food?”
“What? No.”
“Have you been able to reserve a cemetery plot close to Marie Curie’s?”
“That would be impossible, as her ashes are enshrined in the Paris Panthéon and—” I shake my head. “Our equipment is coming! Tomorrow!”
She actually smiles. Where’s a digital camera when you need it? “For real?”
“Yes! And Kaylee’s on her way to set us up with NASA.gov addresses— Where are you going?” I notice her panicky expression as she stuffs her laptop in her bag.
“Home.”
“But—”
“Since the computers will be here tomorrow, there’s no point in staying.”
“But we can still—”
She’s gone before I can remind her that I’m her boss—I will learn to exert authority, but today’s not the day. I don’t mind too much anyway. Because when the door closes behind her, I spring out of my chair again and jump up and down a little bit more.
