The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  No, the hope for the NASA contract lay with the two projects Ryan was overseeing: antimatter-and plasma-based propulsion.

  For years, Ryan had been secretly toying with the theoretical ramifications of both methods. The very afternoon that Edward had brought in the letter from NASA, Ryan had halted all but the most essential work within the company and divided the research and development department into three teams, each with a directive to nail the various theories to the wall.

  Ryan had assigned another scientist to lead up the plasma team, but he was personally heading up the antimatter project. And they’d almost—almost—nailed the containment problem. The answer was right there. So close he could almost touch it. And the really frustrating thing was that he was certain that he’d had the answer before. That he’d actually seen something that had triggered the synapses in his head. But whatever it was it was gone now.

  That, however, was not information he wanted the NASA guys to be privy to.

  No matter what, he had to make a good impression at this meeting. He had to get this contract. It was absolutely essential. Not only for his career, the company and his relationship with his dad, but also for his own satisfaction.

  Day after day, he’d come into the office to sit at his cluttered gray metal desk in his small office, its walls covered not with pictures, but with chemical formulas and maps of the solar system. Why? Not for his dad. And not for the pleasure of winning a contract that some other company was bidding on.

  No, it was so much more than that. It was the glory and wonder of space exploration! It had always held such huge fascination for him. And now this opportunity had dropped in his lap—the chance to be even a tiny part of something expansive enough to touch every life on the planet and the lives of those to come. To help implement something that might someday make it to the far reaches of the solar system, even the galaxy.

  Maybe he’d watched too many Star Trek episodes as a kid, but to Ryan, space really was the final frontier. He wasn’t naive enough to think that he’d ever go into space himself. But if he couldn’t do that, he wanted to somehow be a part of it. A big part.

  He wanted his name and his work remembered.

  This contract was his ticket, and he fully intended to take the ride.

  As they moved down the hallway, their assistant, Elise, ran up to greet them, looking a little befuddled.

  Ryan frowned. “Everything okay? The guys settled in the conference room?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “They’re fine. Nursing coffees, reading our brochure. It’s just that—”

  But she didn’t need to finish, and Ryan held up a hand, silencing her. He knew what the trouble was. The trouble was standing right behind Elise.

  Marty.

  He must have said her name out loud, because she marched forward, her chin held high. She looked sexy and determined and mad as hell. And Ryan was struck by just how much he’d missed spending time with her.

  He expected her to stop in front of him, but she didn’t. Instead, she poked him in the chest with the tip of her finger. Hard.

  “You and me, mister. We need to talk.”

  Beside him, Edward looked uncomfortable, and Elise faded gracefully back to the front office.

  “This really isn’t the time,” Ryan said, wishing it was, but knowing he had his career, his staff’s jobs and the company’s financial security sitting in the front conference room.

  “Make the time,” she insisted.

  He drew in a breath, wanting to kiss her hard and freeze this moment while he went off and dealt with the men in the conference room. That wasn’t an option, though, so he sent Edward to go play host while he tried to wrap this up quickly. “Marty, look, I’m sorry I couldn’t come. I’ve got this thing—”

  “I know. This thing you can’t talk about. Can’t tell me. Can’t share with me at all other than to say you have to work. Well, that’s fine, Ryan, but there’s something I want to say and you’re just going to have to bear with me while I say it.”

  She’d moved even closer, and he could smell the fruity tinge of alcohol on her breath. He stifled a groan. He already knew that Marty was a total lightweight where alcohol was concerned. If she’d been sitting home stewing about him not showing up and drinking fruity wine…

  “It’s after five on a Saturday, Ryan,” she went on, before he could think of anything to say. “Work is fine, but, what? You can’t take a break? You can’t take five stupid minutes to go visit your girlfriend or even one minute to drop by with a flower or something?” She sniffed, her eyes glassy with tears. His stomach twisted.

  “God, Marty,” he said, his voice pitched soft and calming. “Don’t you think I want to?”

  “Ryan—”

  He pressed a finger over her mouth. He couldn’t hear any more. Couldn’t feel guilt about being an asshole. Not right then. Not now. “Look,” he said. “If you want to wait for me in my office, do that. I’ll be in right after I finish this up. But I have a meeting. It’s important.”

  She flinched as sharply as if he’d slapped her. “Important,” she repeated, then nodded slowly. “Right. Of course.” She hooked her purse over her arm. “I’m sorry. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have come.”

  And then she was gone, her heels clicking on the polished floor as he looked after her in shock, wondering what the hell he’d said. What he’d—

  Shit. “Important,” he’d said. As if she wasn’t. And he’d said it right after she’d used the word “girlfriend.” Shit, shit, shit.

  Never once had she called herself his girlfriend. Never once had he really had an inkling of where she thought they were or where she thought they were going. She’d picked today to tell him how she felt, and then to tell him in a roundabout way at that.

  He took a step in the direction she’d gone, then stopped himself. No.

  He’d meant what he’d said. This meeting was important. He’d handle it, and then he’d head over to Marty’s house and try to figure out some way to make it up to her.

  But when he walked through the doors and saw those men in suits sitting there, something shifted inside him. Important, she’d said. And right then, he knew what was really important.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have a personal emergency.” He gestured toward his brother. “You’re in good hands with Edward. In the meantime, though, let me assure you that Kinsey Applied is up to the task. If you want the project details, however, you’re just going to have to wait for our actual proposal.”

  He turned then and walked out, the memory of the men’s faces—surprised, intrigued and a little bit impressed—burned on his brain. He didn’t have time to analyze though. Had he just made a huge career mistake? Or had he shown such unwavering confidence that the contract was surely locked in?

  He didn’t know, and at the moment he didn’t care. All he could think about was Marty.

  And the truth was, opening his mind back up to her felt pretty damn good.

  THE SOFT TAP on the door woke Marty and she sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted the motion as her head spun and her stomach churned.

  Oh, God…

  She pressed her hand over her mouth, her nausea caused just as much by her absurdly bitchy and over-the-top behavior at Ryan’s office (Had she really gone there? Had she really accosted him in front of his coworkers?) as it was by her foray into the joys of peach-flavored wine.

  She’d rushed home, filled with mortification, Ryan’s blank stare as she’d called herself his girlfriend swelling to monsterlike proportions and completely filling her brain. She’d so desperately wanted him to hold her, to tell her that he loved her and that she was special and that, of course, she was his girlfriend. Instead, he’d suggested that she wasn’t even important. With those ill thoughts swirling in her head, she’d promptly fallen asleep on the couch.

  More nausea. Dear Lord, she was in a bad way.

  Another tap at the door, and she jumped, suddenly reminded of
what had awakened her in the first place.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the couch as she passed by on her way to the door. Her makeup was smudged and her hair was a mess. Just as well. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. If she scared them off, then all the better.

  Her front door didn’t have a peephole, so she called out, “Who’s there?” and paused, her hand on the door-knob as she waited for an answer.

  When it came, she drew in a startled breath, her pulse picking up tempo, and when she closed her hand over the knob, she realized her palm was sweating. All from two little words: “It’s Ryan.”

  Her first instinct was to run. Her second, to run a comb through her hair and put on some makeup. She ignored both. Why should she run? And why on earth did she care what she looked like? She was over him. Over. Or, if not, she should be.

  With a deep breath for courage, she tugged open the door. And there he was. All six foot something of him, with those dark eyes and sandy brown hair. Perfectly groomed and perfectly gorgeous. He looked like the president of a fraternity, not a chemical engineer with a Master’s degree in aeronautical engineering and astrophysics and a bunch of other stuff she’d neither understood nor could remember.

  He cleared his throat, and she realized she’d been standing there staring at him. Damn. So much for cool sophistication.

  “Can I come in?”

  She stood back, holding the door open. “Suit yourself.”

  For a moment they stood awkwardly in the hallway. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to prove to herself that he was real, but that wasn’t her place, and it really didn’t matter. She didn’t know why he’d come, and she wasn’t about to get her hopes up. For all she knew, he just wanted to retrieve the toothpaste he’d left on her bathroom counter.

  He swung a thumb toward the living room. “Um, do you mind?”

  She shook her head and followed, perching on the edge of the uncomfortable wooden chair she kept meaning to paint. He settled on the couch, nervously pressing his hands against his legs, then clasping them together, then pressing them into the couch cushions.

  “So,” she said, after she couldn’t take it any longer. Her own hands were pressed between her knees. “What brings you here?”

  “I wanted to see you,” he said. He met her eyes and his jaw tightened. “No. I needed to see you.”

  Her breath hitched, and she tried to keep her voice nonchalant when she answered. “Oh? Why’s that? Leave something here you need for work? Your periodic table maybe?”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him, and she immediately regretted the words. They’d popped out before she could think, and she’d give anything to call them back. She didn’t want to antagonize him. She wanted to make up. She wanted him. No matter how much she wished she could deny it, that was the simple truth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, twisting a strand of hair around one finger. She caught herself and jerked her hand down, sliding it under her thigh. “I didn’t mean to be bitchy. It’s just—”

  “I deserve it.” His mouth turned up in that smile. The one that had sucked her in at the club. The smile that had gotten him in her bed.

  She returned it with a genuine grin, a sudden warmth flooding through her veins. “Yeah, you do,” she said, but her tone was softer. She licked her lips and looked down at her hands. “But I should never have bugged you at the office.”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m glad you did. I obviously needed the wake-up call.”

  She swallowed. “It’s just that I missed you.” She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t said something stupid, hoping she hadn’t given away too much.

  When the response came, “I missed you, too,” she sagged with relief.

  “Forgive me?” he asked. He’d gotten up from the couch, and now he stood in front of her, his hand outstretched for her to take.

  She took the hand he offered, letting him pull her up into his arms. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “Truly. I was…unfair. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot.”

  “It was a slap in the face, all right,” he said, but he was grinning. “But I needed to feel the sting. I was working on something incredibly important to me, and forgetting that there are other things in my life that are also important. Like you.”

  His brown eyes bore into hers, and she swallowed, her entire body flushing with a pleasure as warm and gooey as melted caramel. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he said. Then he held out his arms, and she moved easily into them.

  “What time is it?” she asked, snuggling closer, her head resting on his shoulder. Despite her nap, she still felt tired, and now a languid warmth had settled inside her. She wanted just to hold onto this man forever.

  “About six-fifteen.”

  She pulled away, her sudden motion fueled by surprise. “That can’t be right. I’m sure I slept for more than ten minutes!”

  He grinned. “I have no idea how long you napped for, but I can tell you that I came straight from the office. Well, I stopped to buy you flowers.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Where are they?”

  “I thought you’d think they were a bribe, so I left them in the car.”

  “Roses?”

  “Of course.”

  “A dozen?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She nodded, fighting a smile. “Well, okay then.” The smile turned into a frown as another thought occurred to her. “But your meeting. Isn’t it incredibly important? Was it over that fast?”

  “It was incredibly important, and I don’t know how long it lasted because I left.”

  “But—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “But you’re important, too. And I wanted to make absolutely certain you realized that.”

  “I— Oh, Ryan…” His name came out on a single breath, and she closed her eyes, suddenly completely happy. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have bugged you. Your work is important, I’m sure of it, even if you can’t tell me what you’re doing.”

  “I shouldn’t,” he said, “for a lot of different reasons.” And then right after that, he said, “We’re pitching a NASA contract. Innovative propulsion methods. Very complex, very cutting edge, very newsworthy. And your dad’s bidding, too.”

  “And you were afraid I’d either run a story or tell my dad.” The words came out flat, and Marty realized she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this latest bombshell.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded slowly, processing. “You didn’t trust me,” she said, a finger of hurt snaking up her back.

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “No. I never believed you would run a story, but the bid was supposed to be confidential. And, yes, I was afraid if I told you anyway, you might slip up and say something to your father.” He met her eyes. “Him, I don’t trust.”

  “I hardly ever talk to the man. You know that.”

  Ryan shrugged. “He’s still your dad. No matter how much distance, the relationship is still there.”

  “Spoken like a man who knows.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

  She licked her lips. She wanted to believe him—oh, how she wanted to believe him. And what he said made sense. She may not have covered much hard news, but she’d protected her sources in the past, and she knew well the danger of a leak. That he might consider her a leak stung, but that didn’t mean she didn’t completely understand. She drew in a breath, released it, then faced him. “And now? Why are you telling me now?”

  “Those men—the ones I was supposed to meet with—they’re the guys who’ll ultimately decide who gets the contract.”

  She was taking in everything he said, but finding it hard to process. Suddenly, though, it clicked, and she snapped fully to attention. “You came here instead of meeting with the NASA folks?” That couldn’t possibly be right. She must have heard wrong.

  “I needed to see you.”

  Oh, dear Lord. A tear snaked its way
down her cheek, her emotions a mass of delight and horror. “But…but…but you need the contract. You can’t just…I don’t want you to…” She trailed off, her hands fluttering as she tried to pull thoughts from the air.

  He kissed her forehead, amusement and love shining in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I left them in good hands with Edward.”

  “But shouldn’t you have been there?”

  “Probably.” He smiled. “Actually, this may work out even better. Our most promising method right now is the antimatter propulsion system—”

  “Like Star Trek?”

  He laughed. “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Wow.” She knew her dad was working in propulsion techniques, but she didn’t think he’d advanced as far as the realms of science fiction turned fact. Oh, he’d worked with antimatter before. That much she knew. But he’d certainly never managed to harness it or use it for propulsion. No wonder Ryan was worried about Harold Chamberlain latching on to the concept. “Antimatter,” she repeated. “You’ve really managed to use antimatter for propulsion?”

  “In theory, yes. And if we can get the details worked out, it’s an excellent propulsion mechanism. As it stands, antimatter offers the greatest specific impulse of any currently available propellant. Lots of labs are working on antimatter, but the problem is storage. I’m close to figuring out a storage method that blows the lid off of anything out there. Totally revolutionary.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, but if I’m getting the gist of it, you’ve solved some huge scientific problem, and it’ll help out NASA and space travel and the whole shebang. And if anyone else knew what you were working on—like, for example, my dad—it might trigger their own work in that direction, and they might find the answer before you do.”