Space in His Heart (6 page)

A shadow of disgust crossed his handsome
face. “I thought you wanted to talk about the space station.”

Jessica had no idea if he was talking to her
or the imaginary interviewer. In either case, she didn’t like the
answer.

“Might be a long afternoon if you don’t play
the game, Commander.”

“I am playing.”

And fighting every inch of the way. Fine. Two
could play his game. No more softballs. “Commander Stockard, is it
true NASA has cut safety programs to the very core in an effort to
save money? Are lives at risk every time we watch a shuttle
launch?”

His eyes flickered for a moment, then cut
through her. “Risk is a part of our business.”

She scratched a note on her pad. “What about
the media leaks that something very nearly went wrong in the
shuttle
Columbia
during the last launch?”

“It was a hydrogen leak, not a media leak.
Ma’am. Miss. Jessica.”

“Would you consider an acting career when
you’ve finished being an astronaut?”

“I’m acting like I enjoy this.”

“Why aren’t you married?”

His lips curled slightly. “Gwyneth’s busy
schedule.”

“Can you give me just one example of how
America benefits from the millions of dollars we send into—well,
into thin air?”

“Haven’t you heard of Velcro?”

She shook her head a little, not wanting to
let him see his volleys had scored a point of frustration.

“Okay, Commander. Let’s try something else.
Medical achievements. I think it’s an excellent way for you to
highlight the impact NASA has on the world. I read that for every
dollar spent on space travel, we receive eight dollars in benefits,
such as improved tools and insulated clothing. Can you highlight
some of the medical breakthroughs that are a result of space
exploration?”

He shifted in his seat. “Maybe you ought to
get a doctor to do that. I’m a pilot and an engineer.”

“I realize that.” She snapped off the
microphone attached to her collar and searched his face for a chink
in the armor as she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Listen,
I get your drift. You don’t want to do this. I don’t particularly
want to be here any more than you do. But I’d really appreciate it
if you’d humor me. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we can both
get back to our real work.”

“I thought this
was
your real
work.”

She offered a sweet, but fake, smile. “As
compelling a project as you are, Commander Stockard, I do have
other accounts, other clients, and a whole life that I’d like to
get back to. Help me succeed and I’ll take as little of your time
as possible.”

He stared at her, and despite the
sixty-degree temperature of the studio, a warm rush shot through
her.

“Please?” she whispered.

He brought his face closer to hers and she
could smell a mix of aftershave and soap. “You’re really very
tolerable when you let down your guard,” he said softly.

She swallowed hard and fought a smile.
Genuine this time. “Tolerable? Is that a notch just above or below
mediocre?”

He shrugged. “I don’t do mediocre.”

“Then we have something in common after all,
Commander.”

He said nothing for what seemed like an
eternity, studying her with the faintest spark in his navy-rimmed
eyes. Finally, he settled back into the seat. “Okay. Let’s just
make it fast. Pacemakers, CAT scans, laparoscopic surgery,
motorized wheelchairs, hearing aids. We’ve had a piece of ’em
all.”

His careless tone teased another hesitant
smile out of her and she jotted a random, meaningless note on her
pad, trying to still an unwanted thump in her chest.

After a few more minutes of what she feared
might be stupid questions, Jessica suggested they rewind the tape
and review the interview on the monitor. She tried to explain the
technique of answering a different question than the one that’s
been asked and advised him on how to deflect safety questions.

In response, he crossed and uncrossed his
ankles and looked at his watch no less than six times.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Commander. I’m
trying to help you because I promise you will not be this
comfortable on the
real
set of the
Today
show.”

“No, I won’t, because I don’t intend to do
it.”

“You’ll have to,” she insisted. “Don’t you
follow orders?”

“Let’s just make it easy on both of us.” He
inched closer to her and touched his ear, his voice low and
teasing. “If I do show up on the
Today
show, I’ll just wear
an earpiece and you can whisper in my ear.”

Droplets of moisture formed at the nape of
her neck as she stared back at him, unable to come up with even a
lame response.

“Enough, Deke.” Jeff Clark jumped in. “It’s
my turn. Go sit down and watch a pro.”

Deke shot out of the chair and walked off the
set.

“So, do you think you can handle that pain in
the ass?” Jeff asked in a confidential tone as he dropped into the
hot seat for his interview.

“I understand that he doesn’t want to do
this.” She watched Deke leave the studio, oddly disappointed that
he wouldn’t stay just a few minutes longer. “But, honestly, he has
all the right stuff—no pun intended—to capture the attention and
attraction of America. I truly believe it will help this country
want to embrace the space program along with him. And that’s our
objective. Making him a sex symbol is merely a strategy to reach
that goal.”

She heard the poised, professional tone in
her voice. But something about that man made her feel anything
but
poised or professional.

* * *

He left the set, but Deke wasn’t quite ready
to leave the studio yet. From the booth behind the darkened glass
of the studio wall, he sat in the empty assistant director’s chair
to observe Jessica Marlowe on three different monitors.

He wasn’t the least bit surprised that the
camera loved her. And she obviously knew her job, asinine as it
was. He took a deep breath and listened to her ask far less
intrusive questions of Jeff. She had no intention of using a backup
astronaut. He could read her determination a mile away.

Son of a bitch, he just couldn’t get his head
around this PR business and why Price wanted
him
to do it.
His mission at NASA was clear and if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t
have come over and left the life of a Naval aviator, a life that he
loved.

He didn’t worry about NASA’s image problems.
He never cared about image. He cared about flying and exploring and
getting the research done right. And he wanted to make sure no
lives were lost in the process. He thought of the growing
complications up on the space station, something the wide-eyed PR
girl knew nothing about. If they didn’t figure out what had caused
the hydrogen leak, the launch would have to be delayed. And that
could be deadly for one man.

Skip’s favorite war, the Cold one, would heat
up again in a big hurry if the Russians thought the Americans
deliberately let a cosmonaut die in space because the
engineer-astronaut responsible for getting the shuttle up was out
on a media tour. Then they’d have an image problem, all right.

Maybe someone should tell her. But if
something leaked, all hell would break loose. They’d have a real
media circus on their hands.

No, he couldn’t trust her with information
that confidential. No one could know how bad off the cosmonaut
was.

His gaze traveled down her body, giving in to
the urge he’d fought since he’d seen her in the parking lot this
morning. Miss Image-Maker certainly didn’t rely exclusively on her
impressive gray matter or that little skirt wouldn’t shimmy up so
far each time she crossed her well-toned thighs. An irrepressible
male response annoyed and alerted him.

Shit. He pushed up and left the studio for
the OPF, needing to concentrate on some spark-burned wires he’d
found near the coolant tubes. The less time spent anywhere near
that leggy brunette, the better.

Chapter Five

The Friday afternoon exodus of administrators
and managers signaled the end of Jessica’s first full week on the
assignment. It reminded her that back in Boston the offices of Ross
& Clayton were emptying as the staff headed to the conference
room for the week-ending ritual known as “Beer Friday.” A
melancholy wave compelled Jessica to dial her dearest friend and
favorite employee.

“Jo Miller,” answered a gravelly voice.

Jessica smiled at the familiar sound. “Wish
you were here… instead of me.”

At her friend’s tiny shriek, Jessica pictured
Jo running her lacquered nails through spiky blond hair, then
unclipping a funky earring to settle in for a chat. “Hey, babe! Ah,
we miss you so.”

“Thought you’d be at Beer Friday
already.”

“I’m avoiding it for as long as possible,” Jo
said. “It’s no fun without you.” Jessica knew her well enough to
believe the sentiment was genuine. “So how’s it going, Pygmalion?
Have you turned the space cadet into the next media darling?”

“Don’t be clearing any wall space for a
Silver Anvil yet,” Jessica warned, referring to the coveted PR
award. “But we have some interest from a couple of the networks and
I’m lining up a photo session. The man, however, needs a major
attitude adjustment.”

“Uh-oh. Captain America meets Wonder Woman.
Could get sticky. What’s he like?”

Jessica mulled over the right words to
describe him. “Intimidating.”

“As gorgeous in person as that picture you
found on the NASA site?”

“Better,” she admitted glumly. “But he needs
to be gorgeous for this thing to work, right? He’s easy on the eyes
but not easy to whip into shape, as I found out in the studio the
other day.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t exactly dominate with superior
media training skills.”

“Don’t tell me.” Jo laughed into the phone.
“We had a clash of control freaks.”

Jessica smiled. This was why she’d called Jo.
Just to laugh at it all. But, even with the open invitation from
her best friend, she wasn’t quite ready to share the effect Deke
Stockard had on her.

“Never mind. How are my favorite
clients?”

The silence lasted a beat too long, sending a
tug of worry through her.

“Jo, this is me. I can handle it.”

“Well, most everyone seems to be fine with
Carla Drake as your temporary replacement. She’s met with every one
of your clients.”

Jessica dropped her head back against her
chair and closed her eyes. “I expected that. They know I’m gone.
Temporarily. Those clients are loyal to me and to the agency.
That’s okay, really.” Jessica knew she was trying to convince
herself as much as her trusted employee.

“True. But…” Jo seemed to be searching for
the right words, and for some reason, it was far more chilling than
her usual quick wit.

“But what?”

“She kind of talked Dash Communications out
of the Next Generation plan.”

“Are you kidding?” Jessica shot forward, fire
in her veins. “That’s my whole strategy for next year. They love
that idea! All the events, all the media coverage. Is she crazy?
That campaign will make the agency a million in revenue.”

“She proposed a different approach. Something
she did for another cell phone company client in California.”

“And they bought it?” Jessica asked. Not
possible. Not remotely possible. “I spent weeks creating that
campaign and didn’t Tony see the numbers? Next Gen was projected to
bill over two hundred and fifty thousand in the first half of the
year!” Nothing swayed Tony like profits.

“Evidently. Actually, her new idea is, um,
pretty sweet on the bottom line. Didn’t you get the memo on
it?”

“No.” Jessica rubbed her temples where a
familiar stress headache threatened. “What a lousy way to end the
week.”

“Do I have to give you my ‘there’s more to
life than work’ speech again, Jess? Come on, what fun things are
you doing down there this weekend?”

“Work.”

Jo’s familiar ‘tsks’ shot across the line.
“Guess I better lecture. Listen, even if you don’t get the guy on
the front page of the
New York Times
or single-handedly
arrange for sixty gazillion in new tax dollars for space–which you
will–everyone will still love you.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze my misplaced ambitions,
Jo,” Jessica said, not completely teasing with the request. “I know
your theories. And before you start with the motivational spiel,
please keep my poor little almost-eighty-year-old father and his
shortcomings as a single parent out of this.”

“You just hate me because you know I’m
right.”

“I could never hate you, Jo,” Jessica said,
twirling the phone cord and fighting a smile. “But that new blonde
who has her eye on my promotion could stand to have a few pins
stuck into a Carla doll I’m making.”

Jo moaned a little. “Listen to me. Don’t give
her any ammunition while you’re down there. She’s waiting for your
first misstep. Not that you make professional mistakes, but
consider yourself warned.”

Jessica thought of the media training
session. A disaster, in her opinion. And she hadn’t yet managed to
schedule a photo session.

“So, are you learning to surf this
weekend?”

“Good, clean subject change, Jo.” Jessica
laughed. “I am going to a party. Stuart Rosen is having a barbecue
Saturday night so I can get to know everyone.”

Jo chuckled. “A barbecue in November. How
absolutely Florida.”

“Please. It’s hot as July here.”

“Don’t complain. It snowed last night.”

A pang of envy shot through Jessica. The
first snow of the year, falling outside her picture window, dancing
around the iron gaslights of Beacon Street, covering her world with
white fairy dust… and she missed it.