“Your ideas are not universally popular.” He straightened the one pen on his desk. “At least not with certain members of the staff.”
Jessica leaned forward, ignoring the increased thumping of her heart as she faced the man who could make or break her game plan. “Colonel Price, I understood that Commander Stockard had been briefed and agreed to this assignment.”
She distinctly remembered the conversation with Bill when he’d promised to handle the background work with the client. He’d briefed NASA and told Jessica they were one hundred percent behind the unorthodox plan.
The Colonel nodded. “I discussed it at length with Washington and it was decided that he should hear the plan directly from your agency to fully understand the rationale.”
“Perhaps I could talk to him personally, Colonel,” she suggested. “I can explain how little will be expected of him. I’ll do all the logistical work on the campaign. That’s why I’m here.”
That and the fact that Carla Drake had somehow convinced Tony Palermo that since Jessica had thought of the brilliant plan, it was only right that she go to Florida to see it through to success. Leaving all of Jessica’s accounts and staff in Carla’s hands for three months.
Jessica forced herself back to the conversation with Colonel Price and away from the office politics that nagged her.
“I happen to like the idea, and I think I understand why you’ve selected Commander Stockard,” the Colonel said. “However, our situation has changed slightly. We’ve made a commitment to get the next shuttle, Endeavour, up on time. There are several folks floating around on the International Space Station who are a touch anxious to get home. One of the Russians, in particular.”
Jessica noticed the look that passed between Stuart and Jim and wondered just how a homesick Russian could impact her plans with one astronaut on Earth.
“Deke plays a critical role in getting each shuttle ready and his time for non-mission-related work is limited,” the Colonel said.
Scheduling problems she could handle. “This won’t take a lot of Commander Stockard’s time. He just shows up, gets his picture taken, does an interview and he’s done.” She held her breath, waiting for him to contradict her slight exaggeration.
“Is it possible we could find another astronaut for your project?”
Not a chance. She’d been through the bios. They were all so ordinary compared to Stockard. Short or balding or nerdy. Or married.
She chose her words carefully. “Commander Stockard has an amazing biography and he’s obviously an articulate spokesperson.” She couldn’t resist a saucy grin. “And he looks pretty good in a flight suit.”
“Sex sells,” Colonel Price shot back with a knowing nod.
“We’ll keep it dignified, sir. But, yes. It does.”
The older man stood and stepped to his window, his arms locked behind him. Jessica stole a glance at Stuart, who shook his head slightly, silently telling her to say nothing and wait for the decision. It didn’t matter. She knew no compelling argument would sway this man. All she could do now was wait for a verdict.
Colonel Price turned slowly before he spoke. “You can have him on a very, very limited basis, Miss Marlowe. You must accomplish this campaign with as little of his time as possible. No lengthy media tours and he only travels for emergency situations.”
Like an appearance on Oprah. “Of course, Colonel.”
He tapered his gaze to underscore his point. “If, for any reason, we have to stop the program, you’d better have another tactic at the ready. Is that understood?”
She nodded, imagining all the military underlings who’d flinched in the face of Colonel Price’s demands. She wanted to ask why they might have to stop mid-way, but he picked up his phone to make a call, indicating that the meeting was ended.
She stood and thanked him, following Stuart out the door. He shot her a smile both sympathetic and knowing. “About that backup plan…”
“Do you think we’ll really need one?” she asked.
“At NASA, we live by them. Everything has a redundant system, in case one fails. You’ll get used to it. Anyway, would you care to officially meet your guinea pig now? I can take you to Deke’s office.”
Jessica slowed her step. She wasn’t prepared for another encounter with Mr. We-Are-Explorers-Not-Movie-Stars just yet. “I think I better get to my own office and call the team. They could start working on our ‘redundant system’ in case mine fails.”
But it won’t, she thought as she followed Stuart to the Press Facility.
Failure is not an option.
A few minutes later, Jessica stuck a fingernail in the chipped edges of the metal and Formica desk in her new office, briefing Bill Dugan on the Colonel’s instructions.
“We’ve got him for now, but Price made it clear our time is tight and we need to have a backup plan in case he has to stop. Do you have any idea why that might happen?”
“Not a clue.”
She could imagine the twisted frown on Bill’s thin face as he adjusted his glasses and tried to look as important as he had somehow managed to become. He’d never had much visibility in the agency until recently, and now, because he headed the NASA account in Washington, Jessica reported to him. At least for the next three months.
“What about our Naval aviator hero turned astronaut?” Bill asked. “Have you met him yet?”
She turned away from the open door and lowered her voice. “Yes, I met him at the briefing. He’s a little less than enthusiastic.”
A response came from the hallway. “That’s an understatement.” She spun in her chair to see the man in a familiar blue flight suit: tall, dark, and still not smiling.
Chapter Three
Deke heard her slight intake of breath when she realized she’d been caught. He leaned against the doorway, keeping his scowl firmly in place, even though he felt a tug of sympathy when pink stains of embarrassment colored her cheeks.
“Bill, I have a meeting starting. I’ve got to go.” As soon as she hung up, she stood and reached out her hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”
He saw her study his face, appraising her choice, no doubt, for the idiotic campaign she’d cooked up. He steadfastly refused to meet her phony PR smile with one of his own.
Still, he couldn’t help noticing how the smile, phony or not, softened her pretty features and revealed straight, white teeth. With a will of its own, his gaze continued down, over the open-neck collar of her blouse and finally stopped at the pink-tipped fingers she extended toward him.
He took her slender hand and nodded. “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” Her hand was damp. And very soft. He considered holding it a moment longer, but she pulled back immediately as though she’d been shocked.
“Colonel Price seems to think we can work out a schedule that will accommodate yours.”
“I doubt that,” he said, narrowing his eyes in warning. “My schedule just got full. You better start auditioning other talent.”
“I have assured Colonel Price that I will take as little of your time as possible, Commander. We don’t intend for our campaign to negatively affect your career.”
He sincerely doubted if this firecracker gave a damn about anybody’s career but her own. “I bet a plum assignment at the Cape could do wonders for yours, though.”
She paled, flecks of gold flashing in her dark chocolate eyes. The same color combination as her hair, he noticed. “My career has nothing to do with this, Commander.”
He needed to get his mind off her hair and eyes and let her know who was in charge. In one swift move, he stepped into the room and flipped a straight-backed guest chair around before dropping into it, leaning the backrest toward her desk. “I’m willing to bet you’re here because you think you could skyrocket with this little stunt.”
He saw her attention drop to the lower half of his body, wrapped around the chair, then return to his face. “Skyrocket, Commander? Clever pun.” She stayed standing but appeared t
o get some support by touching her desk.
Good. He was unnerving her. He rocked a little on two legs of the chair. She’d be tough, but he’d faced tougher. None as pretty, but that wouldn’t affect him. “How much do you know about the space program, Miss Marlowe?”
She met his gaze, her fingertips splayed on the desk. “You don’t need to question my credentials, Commander. I’ve been thoroughly briefed, but I don’t claim to be an expert on space. That’s your department. What I do need to know is how the media works and what appeals to the American public.” Finally, she rounded the desk and took her chair. “And I assure you, I know that.”
He really needed to take her down a notch or two. “But do you know what an orbiter is? Do you know how many shuttle missions there have been? Do you have any idea what experiments are being done on the space station? Do you—”
“I’m a quick study.” She cut him off and adjusted her collar as though the heat in the room was stifling her, but unknowingly offered him a tantalizing glimpse of the rise of her breasts. “I’m here to handle the media, to create and promote your image. My job is to get you recognized, publicized, and adored by the American public.”
He had to stop looking at her body and start listening to her words because they were frightening. Adored by the American public?
But before he could force his attention back to her face, she cleared her throat.
Good God. He’d been caught ogling her like a teenager. He stood and gently kicked the chair back to its original position. This was no time to start a mating dance. She was here to ruin his life, slow down his progress, and force him into ridiculous PR stunts that he abhorred.
He couldn’t let a little cleavage—well, not exactly little—make him forget that.
“My schedule is extremely tight,” he said, hearing the tension in his own voice. “I’m here this week, but I usually spend several days a week in Houston. You won’t get much of my time.” He glanced at the hallway, anxious to leave. “You really should find someone else.”
“Perhaps you can do some of the work during your flights. Reading and preparing for interviews, for example.”
For the first time in several hours, he laughed out loud. She was as clueless as she was cute.
“Why is that so funny?”
“I go in a T-38, that’s why.”
“Okay.” She sighed, holding her hands up in surrender. “What’s a T-38?”
“It’s a supersonic two-seater jet that I fly over the Gulf of Mexico.” He deliberately widened his grin. “I don’t get much reading done on those trips.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly brightened. “Oh, is it like a fighter plane?”
He cocked his head and used the same patient voice he’d offer to a child on a tour of the Space Center. “Yes. But T is for Trainer. F is for Fighter. This is a T-38. We don’t generally fire any missiles on our way to Texas.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Does it have clear NASA logos everywhere?”
“A few.” He didn’t like the direction she was taking. “Why?”
“It’s a great photo op. You in the cockpit of a little fighter-type plane, the NASA emblem blazing, an astronaut taking off to Houston for some space business.” She tapped her cheek with one finger. “I could do something with that.”
“What the hell would you do with that?” He didn’t even want to think about the possibilities.
She bit the corner of her lip. “Well, I’m not thinking Aviation Week magazine, Commander. I could take it to the wire services, or Us, or People.” She stopped, a definite glimmer in her eyes. “Maybe even The Enquirer.”
“The National Enquirer?”
She smiled slyly and moistened her lower lip where she’d just nibbled it. “That was just payback for the T-38 comment,” she said softly.
His heart rate, damn it, actually kicked up. “I’m glad you think this is a parlor game.”
Parlor game? He sounded like a damn librarian.
“I don’t—”
“You can communicate with me through email or my secretary.”
“I’ll do that, Commander. And I’ll set up media training immediately.”
“Media training?” He spun back around, feeling like a marionette yanked back every time he tried to exit the stage. “No. Not necessary. I don’t need to be trained.”
“Yes, you do.” She nodded, a look of determination in her eyes that she probably saved only for difficult clients. Watch out, sweetheart, I’m going to be the most difficult of all. “I’ve trained lots of people who thought they didn’t need it. But they did.” She stood, reaching across her desk for a handheld device, clicking some buttons. “When are you available? I can do it in one afternoon. All we need to do is make sure you say the right things when you talk.”
He tried not to choke. She was impossible. “I’m not paid to talk. I’m paid to fly.”
“Are you paid to be contrary?”
He grinned. “I do that for free.”
She blew out a little breath. “You know, most people can’t wait to get their fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Then you should find one of them.”
“Sorry, Commander.” She cast her eyes down at her electronic calendar and pressed a button, her lashes long and dark against a creamy complexion. “There are no other candidates for this job.” She glanced up at him. “You’re perfect.”
He dropped his gaze again, letting it linger over her body with no subtlety this time. “Far from it, I’m afraid.”
* * *
Three days later, Jessica accepted that heat, humidity, and perspiration were facts of life in the swamp. She sat in an open parking lot, the icy air conditioner of her rented Taurus blowing right in her face. The refrigerated air finally dried the damp tendrils that invariably escaped her clip just from the act of driving to work.
For a moment she closed her eyes and imagined the early November chill as the last of the burnished golden leaves fell on the cobblestones of Beacon Street. No. She refused to be homesick already. No time for it. She had to media train the space cadet today.
She glanced into the rearview mirror to make sure the mascara she’d applied in preparation for her day in the studio hadn’t dissolved into black clumps between Cocoa Beach and Cape Canaveral. Her gaze shifted from her reflection to a low-slung silver Corvette pulling into the parking spot behind her, darkened windows eliminating any view of the driver.
Who owned that car?
In a moment she had the answer, and she slipped lower into the front seat of the Taurus so Deke Stockard didn’t see her. But she couldn’t resist using the side view mirror to take a secret study of him, of the aristocratic nose and sensual mouth shadowed by the hint of a dark beard on the square angle of his jaw. His straight black hair was about a half inch too long for the military, but she wouldn’t let him cut it before the first photo op.
As if what she wanted mattered to him.
She tore her gaze away, since she’d get plenty of time to ogle him this afternoon. And if the media training session generated the same kind of heat as he had in her office the other day, she’d better be prepared for more involuntary melting. Suddenly a minivan blocked her view as it slowed down and the driver spoke to Deke before pulling in next to her.
As Jessica climbed out of the car and reached in the back for her briefcase, Stuart got out of the van and came around to greet her.
“Morning, Jess.” He held his own briefcase toward the man politely waiting for both of them. “Did you see Deke?”
How could she miss him in his race car? She nodded at both of them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Stuart closed the car door for her. “You two could commute together, you know. You live on the same street.”
Her stomach twisted just a bit as she looked at Deke in surprise. “We do?”
Deke shrugged. “NASA housing.”
“Not exactly what I’d call it,” she said, directing her attention to Stuart. “I mu
st admit I was pleasantly surprised. I expected a Quonset hut.” The blue and white bungalow on Sea Park Road had caught her off guard when she first arrived. Twice the size of her condo with a striking panoramic view of the Banana River and its bobbing boats and swaying palm trees, her temporary home had quickly become one aspect of her new life that she liked.
The three of them fell in step together as Stuart explained the housing arrangements. “Riverfront homes are strictly for VIPs who have long-term assignments at the Cape. But it’s great for a sailor like you, Deke.”
“I’m taking the boat out tomorrow, as a matter of fact,” he said to Stuart. “I’ve got to get you and Wendy and the boys out there again. I enjoyed that last time.”
She stole a sidelong glance at him, noticing that he had abandoned the flight suit today and wore a pair of pressed khaki pants and a black pullover that fit snugly on a wide, solid chest. He certainly didn’t strike her as a river rat or someone who entertained seven-year-olds on his boat.
“The twins would love it.” Stuart turned to include Jessica on the conversation. “It’s fortunate for us that Deke is one of the few astronauts that live here, you know.”
“I live here because my non-flying mission time is devoted to pre-flight engineering on the shuttles,” he explained with a pointed look to Jessica. “I still spend a lot of time at Johnson like most astronauts.”
In other words, I’m way too busy living in two cities.
“Convenient for us,” she answered brightly. “Since the press flocks to Kennedy for launch coverage. By the way, are you ready for media training this afternoon, Commander?”
He rolled his eyes and then looked at Stuart. “Didn’t you warn her I don’t train easily?”
Stuart chuckled and put a hand on Jessica’s back. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Jess. His bark is worse than his bite.”
“The only bite she’s worried about is a sound bite,” Deke remarked as they separated.
Not the only one.
In her office, Jessica inched the air conditioner controller down to help eliminate the flush that still burned her skin after the run-in with Deke. Stuart came back with coffee and she tried to forget Deke Stockard’s attitude while they discussed the contents of the press kit and she described some of the media strategies she had planned. By the time she left for the NASA TV studio, she had grown even more confident about the campaign.
Space in His Heart Page 3
