Page 22 of Frequency of Attraction

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Vadim had an office for the first time in his life. He’d been installed along the third floor, facing the hangar and within shouting distance of his direct supervisor, Thomas. Vadim had never seen him do anything but scowl. The former Navy pilot—as everyone employed there seemed to be—viewed it as a personal affront that Vadim had to get his fucking driver’s license before he could fly.

Thomas leaned against the door of Vadim’s office with his signature frown. “We need to get you in the damn T-38.”

“Then get me in there.”

Vadim wanted to test his body and mind at Mach speeds as much as Thomas did.

“You know we can’t,” Thomas snapped.

“Then quit complaining. You’re taking me away from study time.”

“Friday. I’ll drive you to the DMV myself.” Thomas stomped to his own office next door.

So much for studying the good stuff all week. He’d much rather run through test flight reports and review Chen’s revised safety plan, or one of what seemed like seven million nonstandard flight condition checklists, than memorize how many imperial feet it would take to come to a full stop from fifty-five miles per hour.

He flipped open the damn California Driver Handbook. Like Chen, he’d always been gifted with languages. English was a requirement both in college and at Star City, due to the collaboration and influence of NASA and the European Space Agency with Roscosmos. Thank God, since America was now his home. He just needed to get in the cockpit.

He heard another body enter his office. Barely. Which meant the visitor could only be Tate, the most unobtrusive yet powerful man he’d ever met. He glanced up. Tranquil, and he could really pull off the suits. Even with his penchant for loafers without socks.

Tate listened while Vadim griped about Thomas and the U.S. government. Really, he knew how fucking lucky he was to be sitting at this table. But he needed to complain about something.

“It’ll be your government soon enough,” Tate reminded him. “And didn’t I catch you drooling over a Porsche last week? You want your driver’s license.”

Vadim still had that photo of a sexy-ass GT3 Touring pulled up on his computer. Black on black with black rims and for sale within driving distance? With the salary Tate paid him, even with what he sent to his mother and sister, he could treat himself to that ridiculously sexy ride as soon as he was legally able to do so. The very next thing he’d do was treat himself to a ride in the T-38 training jet.

Vadim frowned. Tate was lingering. And he looked tired. To be polite to the man who had given him this chance, he inquired about the architect, Rosie, whom Tate was clearly involved with though they both tried to hide the fact.

Wrong move. Turned out they were on the outs and now Vadim was mired in a conversation about relationships of which he wanted no part. He cut it off by telling Tate he’d never been in a relationship and had no plans to.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Tate replied. He paused, like he was debating sharing. “Fuck it. I never thought I’d find someone like her. Didn’t want to. Happened anyway. So, yeah. There’s a first, and last, time for everything. Rosie is my first and my last. Maybe you’ll find yours, too.”

Chen had said something similar. As if OrbitAll was some magical place where perfect women were just waiting. He ignored the last part of Tate’s sentiment. “Let’s hope you’re wrong, since she’s not feeling you.”

Tate chuckled. “A born romantic, huh?”

Vadim shrugged. “I know how to make a woman happy.” Not Quinn, though. Not yet. He hoped to get another chance in a few hours. He’d overnighted a vibrating toy that had great reviews. What woman didn’t love vibrators?

He had a few other ideas, as well. Like asking about her day and letting her vent. Vadim was determined to do whatever it took, including having a conversation, to get the little blonde to come. She wanted the release. Fuck, she needed it. Not even his classmates at Star City had been as high-strung as Quinn, and there had been hundreds of them competing for just eight spots. He probably wanted to see her orgasm as much as she did herself.

Tate excused himself and Vadim brought his attention back to the handbook for the third time that morning. Not even five minutes later a knock interrupted him.

“What?” he growled.

Quinn breezed in and damn if his dick didn’t rise at the sight of her. He would be peelingthatdress off her later. A rumpled-looking man trailed behind her, notebook in hand. Polish and poise versus last week’s ironing and what looked like a jelly stain.

“Jerry, this is Vadim Baranov, our new chief test pilot and future astronaut.” She turned her hazel eyes to Vadim. “Jerry is the lead reporter for theVictory Observer, the local newspaper. He showed up asking about you. Usually he gives us more notice, but I thought I’d see if you were up for some questions.”

Jerry seemed to miss the hint as his narrow gaze skimmed Vadim’s exposed skin, growing sourer as he went. Obviously not a tattoo fan. “You guys seem to be having a hard time keeping pilots around.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Quinn answered with what Vadim could tell was fake brightness. Her voice normally sounded lyrical, not squeaky. “We would never hold back our talented and dedicated pilots from the course their careers take. Each pilot has moved our program forward in unique ways. And Mr. Baranov is here to stay, aren’t you?”

“I am. What do you want to know, Jerry?”

“Is it a requirement to be a foreigner for this job or something? The last one was a Korean, wasn’t he?”

Vadim opened his mouth, irritated, but Quinn beat him to it.

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