star stuff

four

After a week as Sagan's personal assistant, I don't think I can take it anymore. It's not even the loneliness, the hours on end of sitting in a room alone, because I like mindless tasks. My plan to ignore him has been going great, and maybe he's sensed it, because he doesn't bother to say anything that's not work related.

"What do you think they're doing in there?" For once, I'm glad to see Emma. She's someone to commiserate with, at least.

I hit my face against the table, and immediately regret it once I think about the things that have probably gone on on this table. "A lot of desk sex, probably."

It's probably not far from the truth. For the past week, Hollywood socialite Renee Corbett has been paying visits to Sagan in his office. But for all I know, they could be having lunch and sipping tea while discussing the latest fashion trends.

I would consider asking her for her autograph and a picture, but every time she sees me, it's like I'm some bug she found under her feet with the way she looks at me.

Emma snorts. "As if. Sagan's far too busy brooding over billionaire stuff to even have any interest in the opposite gender." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Except for you, of course."

I make a face when I try to think of Sagan and I together romantically. Any chemistry we might have had has long turned sour when he left like we were nothing to him.

The conversation dwindles after that, and she gets a call to leave. I stare after her retreating figure.

I don't know what we are. We're far from friends, but she's also the closest thing I've had to one in years. She seems like a nice person, but if nice people made me open up, I would be more opened than the chamber of secrets.

I hear the sound of footsteps nearing me, and, assuming that they belong to Emma, I say, "Didn't you just leave?"

The voice that greets me is startlingly masculine, shocking me into abandoning my spreadsheets to look up.

"Now, now, now, that's no way to welcome a guest, is it?"

I find myself looking into hazel eyes and ruffled chestnut locks, as if he just got out of bed. What's most startling is the easy smile, a stark contrast to Sagan's constant look of lips pressed into a firm line.

"I don't know you, do I?"

He placed a hand over his heart, as if I have wounded him. Like Sagan, he looks to have muscle tone under the pressed navy suit, but his face is undoubtedly his biggest selling point. He is conventionally attractive, and I have a faint recollection of seeing him on a magazine somewhere.

"Sweetheart, I'm wounded. What, you wouldn't think that you'd remember me if you had met me before?"

I raise an eyebrow, but I don't share his smile. "Name, and whether or not you have an appointment with Mr. Cantor-Lam." I wince at Sagan's last name. I don't think I'll ever get used to referring to him as a stranger.

He rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of my desk, ignoring my glare. "Spencer Morrow. I don't need an appointment to see Sagan. He is, as normal people would say, my homie."

I let out an ungodly snort. The image of the businessman in front of me and the words coming out of his mouth do not add up. "Your what?"

He nods with a perfectly serious expression on his face. "Although some people would call us lovers, I think homie is a much better term for the magic between us."

After a moment, he bursts into laughter. "You should have seen the look on your face." He pretends to wipe a tear away.

Everything about him is so effervescent, so light, that I find it hard to imagine him as Sagan's best friend. Brooding, stoic Sagan. I wonder if he's been able to come to terms with Jasper's death yet.

I almost hope that he doesn't. He should feel a fraction of how I felt.

He leans toward me, supporting his weight with one hand on the desk. His warm eyes probe mine. "Why are you here? I wonder. Sagan's never had any personal assistants before; maybe he knew that they would succumb to my charming wit and unparalleled good looks. What makes you different?"

Sagan's voice cuts through the air like a hot knife through butter. "Spencer, stop accosting my personal assistant."

Our heads both snap backwards and a genuine, happy smile stretches across Spencer's face, not the teasing one he had before. To my surprise, Sagan has a smile on his face as well, although not as bright. An emotion flits across his face as he takes in Spencer and I in close proximity, and if I didn't know better, I would say that it's jealousy.

But he has no right to be jealous, and he knows it. 

"Cantor-Lan, why is it that you've been cancelling your appointments with me? Have I not been loving enough? More importantly, is Diamond Palace not a good enough business partner for you?"

Sagan's mouth quirks up at the corners, a sure sign that this banter is regular. "Blame her." He jerks my head toward me. For the first time in weeks, Sagan's eyes meet mine. His eyes are much less lively than Spencer's, but they pierce me to the core.

The woman who exited the office with Sagan speaks, and I notice her for the first time. "I am going to excuse myself." Spencer blows a kiss as the ginger--Renee Corbett--passes him before leaving.

"I have got to say, Cantor-Lam, that I am disappointed that you have deserted our bromance for a girl and--"

"Spencer, I cancelled one meeting. One."

"Lovers don't cancel each other's meetings. Was I not good enough for you? Was the sex not passionate enough?"

Sagan glances at me hastily. "No matter what he says, know that I would not bed this human personification of garbage."

Suddenly feeling too warm under Sagan's stare, I rise, saying, "I should go. Don't want to interrupt the bromance and however the two of you wealthy men intend to fuck up more of the lives of the poor."

I brush past a surprised Spencer, ignoring Sagan even when he says, "June, wait."