Today was the day. The unmanned launch was exactly one hour and twenty-two minutes away. And what was I doing? Reviewing the launch data. Again.

I examined the equations governing the parabolic arc of the module’s flight over and over. It seemed like a good parabola. The module would go up, kiss the edge of space at its vertex, and then the module would go back down. Hopefully, it wouldn’t explode.

The parabola wasn’t revealing any secrets to me that better minds hadn’t already gleaned. Math was a real strength for me, but I was also bright enough to know that I wasn’t a genius. Instead, I went out of my way to employ as many geniuses as I could find. My small army of geniuses had been through this parabola already. They had also come to a consensus that it was a solid parabola.

I needed to stop obsessing. Luckily for me, distraction decided it was a good time to confidently stride into my office on four-inch fuck-me heels.

“Hi,” Zoey Atkinson said softly, waltzing into a restricted area like it was something she did every day. She shut the door softly behind her. How the hell did she get in here? Why was she here at all? She was supposed to be on the launch platform with Angelica Hunt’s entourage.

I resisted the temptation to pinch myself and confirm that she wasn’t a stress hallucination. NASA had tested me intensely, so I knew I didn’t experience stress hallucinations. The only hallucination I’d ever had during training was from oxygen deprivation when a flight mask had malfunctioned. I’d seen some glowing lights and wiggly squiggles, but never sexy women.

Zoey was real. She was wearing another conservative work dress, grey this time and with accessorized with a wide leather belt. Her hair was styled differently today, loose and wavy instead of sleek and straight. I liked it better than yesterday’s. It looked freer, sexier.

“Zoey Atkinson? How did you get in here?” I attempted to snap, but it came out in more of mystified tone.

Zoey shrugged at me.

“I’m an investigative reporter,” she said, smirking, “I have my ways.”

“Actually,” I replied grumpily, recovering control over my tone, “you’re a gossip columnist these days. I looked you up.”

She frowned at that.

“Technically yes,” she admitted, “but I’m always on the lookout for a good story. A real story.”

“Are you implying that interviewing Angelica Hunt is not a real story?” I teased. I’d wanted something to take my mind off the launch data. This was definitely doing the trick.

“There’s a real story there, but I’m not going to be the one to write it. I have to write ‘A Glamorous Day in the Life of America’s Princess’,” she said, looking pained, “and no, I didn’t come up with that title.”

“Is that why you’re in here?” I asked her, rising to come around my desk and stand in front of her, “Are you looking for a real story?”

“Would you believe it if I told you I was on the viewing platform with Angelica when I went looking for the powder room and got lost?” She asked, batting her eyes and flashing another mischievous smile at me.

“No,” I replied, aiming for a scowl but feeling a matching smile spread across my own face instead, “I wouldn’t believe that at all. You’ve gone through way too many elevators and locked doors just to powder your nose.”

“Oh,” she answered with a pout, “too bad. Well then, yes, I was looking for a real story.”

“I’m sorry to report that you won’t have an opportunity to snoop around in here,” I replied seriously, “but I’m happy to give you a copy of our press release.”

“You’re no fun,” she purred, taking a step closer to me, “I don’t want a copy of the press release. I want a good story.”

“I’m about to send my module on its third successful commercial space flight and that’s not enough of a story for you?” I replied incredulously, taking a step toward her in return, leaving about three feet between us, “I’m not sure what I have to offer you if that isn’t satisfactory.”

“Really?” She challenged, erasing the distance between us by fifty-percent with her next step, “I think you’ve got plenty to offer me that would be more… satisfactory. I’ve seen your sex tape. I think you could give me a great story, although I doubt my editor would let it go to print. This story might just have to stay in my diary.”

This was, without a doubt, an incredibly bad idea. Letting the sexy gossip columnist come in here and seduce me right before the launch was stupid. Ridiculously stupid. Staggeringly stupid.

I was gonna do it.

“Alright,” I told her, stepping forward a final time, and bringing me eye to eye with her, “you win. I’ll give you a story.”

Pulling her forward by the shoulders and against my chest before I finished speaking, I was rewarded by the sight of her big brown eyes widening and soft lips parting in surprise. My mouth found hers a heartbeat later.