Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            “The blueprint,” Boris says. “And the picture. Where did you get them?”

            “That’s not important.”

            Boris’s eyes go dinner-plate wide. “Please, tell me my lead engineer didn’t just jeopardize his career by engaging in some light industrial espionage—”

            “Boris,” Levi interrupts him, “this changes things. We need to be working on BLINK. Now. Those helmets are conceptually similar to ours. If MagTech gets to a working prototype and patents the tech before we do, we’ll have flushed millions of dollars down the toilet. And there’s no telling what they’ll do with their design. Who they’ll sell it to.” Boris closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. It must be the sign of weariness Levi was waiting for, because he adds, “Bee and I are here. Ready. We can finish this project in three months—if we have the necessary equipment. We can see this through.”

            Boris doesn’t open his eyes. The opposite: he scrunches them shut, as though he hates every second of this. “Can you really? Get this done in three months?”

            Levi turns to me.

            I honestly have no idea. Science doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t do deadlines or consolation trophies. You can design the perfect study, sleep one hour a night, feed on nothing but despair and Lean Cuisine for months on end, and your results can still be the opposite of what you were hoping to find. Science doesn’t give a shit. Science is reliable in its variability. Science does whatever the fuck it wants. God, I love science.

            But I smile brilliantly. “Of course we can. And much better than those Dutch guys.”

            “Okay. Okay.” Boris runs a hand through his hair, harried. “I have a meeting with the director in—damn, ten minutes. I’ll push for this. I’ll be in touch later today, but . . . yeah. Things are different, with this.” He gives Levi a part-irritated, part-exhausted, part-admiring look. “I suppose I owe you my congratulations on bringing BLINK back from the dead.” My stomach somersaults. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is happening after all. “If I convince the director, there’s no margin of error. You’ll have to make the best neurostimulation helmets in the damn world.” Levi and I exchange a long glance and nod at the same time. When we step out of the office, Boris is swearing softly.

            I’m mildly terrified by this turn of events. If we do get the go-ahead, everyone and their mother will be breathing down our necks. The honchos at NASA and NIH will vulture-circle on top of us. I’m going to have to explain to some creationist white guy on his twelfth senate term that brain stimulation is not the same thing as acupressure.

            Oh, who am I kidding? I wouldn’t even mind it for a chance to actually work on BLINK and fix all those stubborn engineers’ mistakes. A chance that seemed long gone less than an hour ago, but now . . .

            I press a hand against my lips, exhaling a laugh. It’s going to happen. Well, it’s probably going to happen. But NASA’s supposed to be chock-full of geniuses who’ll get us to Mars, no? They won’t be so stupid to block the project, not if it’s a now-or-never situation. I have no idea how Levi did it, but—

            Levi.

            I look up and there he is, staring at me with a soft smile as I grin into the ether like an idiot. I should snap at him to look away, but when our eyes meet I only want to grin more. We stand like that for several seconds, smiling moronically outside Boris’s office, until his expression goes serious.

            “Bee.” What is it about the way he says my name? The pitch? His deep voice? Something else altogether? “About yesterday—”

            I shake my head. “No. I . . .” God, this apology is going to be painful. Humiliating, too. The colonoscopy of apologies. Better get it over with. “Listen, you should have been more forthcoming about what was going on, but I probably shouldn’t have called you a . . . boob. Or a walnut. I’m not sure what was in my head and what I actually said out loud but . . . I’m sorry about coming to your office and insulting you.” There. Done. Colonoscopy’s over. My intestines are sparkling clean.

            Except that Levi doesn’t even acknowledge my apology. “What you said, about me despising you. About things that I have done, I—”

            “No, I was out of line. I mean, it’s all true, but—” I take a deep breath. “Listen, you have every right not to like me as long as you deal with it professionally. Even though, let’s be real, what’s wrong with you? I’m an absolute delight.” I give him an impish grin, but he doesn’t get that I’m teasing, because he stares at me with a toned-down version of yesterday’s stricken expression. Oops. I rock on my heels and clear my throat. “Sorry. Just kidding. I know there’s plenty to dislike about me and you are . . . you, while I am . . . yeah. Me. Very different. I know we’re nemesis of sorts—nemeses? Nemesi? Anyway, I got upset because I thought you were letting that dictate your behavior on BLINK. But clearly that’s not the case, so I apologize for assuming, and—feel free to carry on.” I manage a mostly sincere smile. “As long as you’re civil and fair at work, you can dislike away. Loathe me up. Abhor me to the moon. Detest me into the unknown.” I really mean it. Not that I relish the idea of him hating me, but it’s such a great improvement over yesterday, when I thought that his dislike would ruin my career, that I’m coming to peace with this. Sort of. “Did you actually engage in industrial espionage?”