Falling Like Stars

by Eve Kasey

  “You’d drive two hundred miles for pancakes and coffee?”

  “In this car? Definitely.”

  Elle flew as fast as traffic and highway patrol speed traps would allow. Hip-hop blasted from her heavenly sound system. She rapped as loud as she wanted, head moving with the beat. More than once she rolled her window down to feel the wind on her skin. Melvin the angelfish, back in a plastic bag for safer travel, seemed to be handling yet another trip just fine. Belly full of tacos, body glowing from girl time, and a stellar career move, literally? She was flying high.

  Though her trunk and passenger seat overflowed with possessions, she bypassed the apartment in favor of her new place of employment, referred to simply as “the hangar” by Tate and his staff. Not once in an email or text conversation had someone called it “the office” or “headquarters.” Instead, they referred to their location by its function. That fact clued her in to the importance the team placed on what happened in the building. Everything revolved around the spacecraft. Ship? Plane? She still had lots to learn.

  She slowed down as she got closer to town and attempted to see the place as a paying client would. Where would they stay, where would they eat, what would they do while they were in town for their very expensive and relatively short trip to space? In Elle’s mind, their experience began before they even touched down in California. The steps of the journey made the experience. She saw her job as anticipating and elevating every one of those steps.

  She completed basic math as she crawled through town, stuck behind a dusty pickup truck obeying the twenty-mile-per-hour speed limit. One motel. Five fast food joints. Four churches. Two diners. A car wash and a gym.

  She frowned. Would the flight itself be enough to offset the lack of amenities in their remote location? She didn’t think so. Not for the quarter-million-dollar price tag.

  She followed GPS directions to the hangar and parked next to a tiny car in the lot. She’d texted Tate on the way, and he’d told her he’d be there no matter what time she arrived. He didn’t hold his staff to those same vague hours, she noted. It was only four-thirty and a steady stream of people were filing out of the building. She slid out of her car, first checking that Melvin was still secure. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head so she could survey the landscape unhindered.

  There were no additional amenities on site. Not so much as a food truck. Head full of questions, Elle started walking toward the entrance. She was fully prepared to stop the first person she came across to ask where to find Tate, but she didn’t get the chance. The man himself met her at the massive hangar opening. Like he had on her lanai, he wore a light-colored suit that fit perfectly and dress shoes without socks. She got the impression that Tate took his role seriously but didn’t want to intimidate. Or he just wanted to show off tanned skin and great shoes.

  “Welcome to your new life,” he said, smiling. Elle smiled back, her stomach swooping. The man was unfairly, ungodly handsome. Like, How could one person be blessed with all those perfect features? handsome. Thankfully, he was her boss and she couldn’t be interested. “I’m afraid you’re going to take one look around here and jump on a boat back to your island.”

  His tone and smile were teasing, but Elle saw the tension lines in his brow. Tate knew he needed help.

  “It’s all about desert living now, didn’t you know?”

  He huffed out a laugh and Elle saw his shoulders sag. She wanted to set the kind, crinkly-eyed man at ease. “Tate, when I say I’m in, I’m in.” So far, that attitude had mostly led to eighty-hour weeks, but, hey, it had also landed her this dreamy career opportunity. “We’re going to create the most sought-after tourism experience this world has ever seen.” Her mind leapt back to her drive in and quick visual assessment of the OrbitAll property. “Where do you expect people to stay?”

  “Oh.” His brows pulled together. He was either surprised by the subject change or genuinely hadn’t thought about where his guests would sleep. “Uh, the motel in town?”

  The latter, then. Elle turned away from him to do another sweep of the flat landscape surrounding the giant hangar. Plenty of space between the hangar and the road. Hopefully the Geiers owned all of it. “We can do better.”

  She turned back toward him to share some of her ideas, but their tête-à-tête was interrupted by the arrival of a third person. The man was Asian, taller than Tate, taller than her, lean and muscular, with a beanie on his head and a Henley and jeans that looked casual but Elle could tell were high quality—Italian, if she wasn’t mistaken. The Gucci sneakers were a strong clue. He sauntered their way with intent, a smile on his face that blended cocky and convivial.

  Tate gestured toward him. “Chen, meet Elle, our Director of Experience, who, if I’m not mistaken, just told me I need to build a hotel out here.”

  “You’re not mistaken,” Elle replied.

  “She’s right,” the man, Chen, said. The smile never left his lips. Thick lips framed by black stubble on a square jawline, she qualified. His dark eyes looked to be laden with secrets and joy—and stories. With one look, Elle knew this man had seen entire worlds she hadn’t. “The world comes together for space travel. It’s the one accomplishment we can celebrate as a species.” His English was accented. “You’re going to need a hotel. And those metal seats in sports stadiums. What are they called?”

  “Bleachers. I love that idea.” She stuck her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Chen. Like Tate said, I’m Elle.”

  His skin met hers and a spark snaked all the way up her arm. His smile deepened, as if he’d felt the jolt of electricity, too. Dimples appeared. Of course he would only get cuter. Just her luck. And had he subtly pulled her closer? She could smell him now, spicy and alluring all at once. “You look like Julia Roberts.”

  “Julia Roberts?” she repeated. Who referenced Julia Roberts? Though Elle had gone back to long beachy waves now that her hair wasn’t battling jungle humidity. The copious amount of hair paired with brown eyes and full lips? She supposed there could be the tiniest resemblance. Still. “That’s random. Is she even still a thing?”

  “Oh, yes.” He dropped her hand slowly, thumb trailing across her palm. She felt that deliberate touch in much more intimate places. Chen’s smile had only grown. Fuck, she had not been this affected by a man since the country singer. She’d come to Victory to take on the biggest challenge, and greatest reward, of her career. She had not accounted for foreign men with untold stories and surplus sex appeal.

  “If you say so.” She shoved her tingling hand in her pocket and turned her attention back to Tate. “A hotel and viewing spot are a good start.”

  “Anything else?” His eyebrow quirked.

  “I’ve only been here five minutes. I’m just getting started.”

  “The two of you are going to cost me millions.” He sighed. “I can tell.”

  “Hey, all I asked for was a dope-ass uniform,” Chen protested.

  Elle raised an eyebrow. “Uniform?”

  “Chen’s our new chief pilot,” Tate explained.

  That lopsided grin and even his stance, casual yet commanding, screamed confidence. He was young, likely early thirties, and had the position of chief pilot at a place like OrbitAll. No wonder he was cocky. A confident pilot from elsewhere enamored with Julia Roberts? Elle was intrigued.

  “Starting Monday, the three of us plus a few others will start meeting about your experiential planning, Elle.” Tate looked to Chen. “As long as you can squeeze those meetings into your schedule.”

  Chen shrugged. “My team seems pretty self-sufficient. I went through their résumés and talked to each of them today. You’ve brought a great team together here. My job will be easy. All I have to do is not crash.”

  Elle winced. “Is that a possibility?”

  “Only a slim one.” Chen smirked. “You worried about me?”

  “I’m worried about our reputation.”

  “Sure.”

  Chen acted as if they’d been friends
, or enemies, for years. She offered him a full-face scowl, which made him laugh. Ignoring him, she turned back to Tate. “So, Monday?”

  “Monday,” he repeated. “Want to see your office?”

  “She gets an office?”

  “She does. You get a spaceship,” Tate replied.

  Chen snickered again. Elle rolled her eyes. He was as cute as he was annoying. She told herself she was not drawn to his easy manner and oozing confidence. But if that had been true, she shouldn’t feel his body as clearly as she could see it.

  “Let’s go see your office,” Chen said, nudging her with his shoulder.

  “Weren’t you leaving?” she asked, looking up into his face and frowning. Why was he still standing so close to her?

  His grin did not pacify her. “Not anymore.”

  Chen tagged along for the entire tour of the hangar and the pit stop at human resources to get her apartment key, though it was clear he’d seen it all before. He followed her and Tate to her office, a basic setup improved by an entire wall made of erasable whiteboard. Perfect for journey mapping, she thought, smiling. Chen, pest that he was, tested out the markers on the wall and even sat in her desk chair before she did.

  “Anything else you need, like ergonomic equipment, office supplies, all that, let Luz know.”

  What she needed were more markers, an espresso maker, and the handsome pilot to stop turning circles in her chair.

  “I’ll handle it,” she told Tate. “Thanks for the tour and for the office. It’s perfect.” She glared at Chen. “Are you done? I need to feed my fish.” She would be damned if she let him hang out in her office without her. She just knew he’d leave an obnoxious note on the whiteboard.

  Chen was slow to exit the chair. His smirk and dark gaze annoyed and aroused her in equal measure. “Out,” she hissed.

  “Fine,” he said, hands in the air in supplication. He perched on the desk instead.

  “We’re leaving,” Elle said, louder than she meant to. The pilot was already driving her crazy. Chen was only marginally less annoying than the monkey who’d tried to murder Melvin. That did not bode well, as she was only an hour into what was supposed to be a dream job. She physically shoved him out the door after Tate and tried to ignore the solid muscles under his shirt. She flicked the light off before turning to survey the blank whiteboard.

  Another smile crept across her face. An experience would be dreamt up and drawn on that board, a new kind of experience both for her and the people OrbitAll served. She couldn’t wait to see where this journey led. Even if Chen was there every step of the way.

  They said a quick goodbye to Tate, who left them for his own office on the first floor. She and Chen walked out to the parking lot together in surprising silence. He was mere inches away the whole time, hands in the pockets of his tight jeans and that perpetual smile on his face.

  When he approached the tiny car next to hers, Elle pivoted toward him slowly, her own smirk growing. Tiny car, inflated ego. “Hmm. No office, a car the size of a toothpick—you might not be as important to this operation as you think you are.”

  He just smiled. “Oh, I know where I stand, Elle. A meter from the newest member of a team that will succeed partly because of me.” He moved closer to her car. To her.

  Elle let out a noise of disgust. “You’re the worst.”

  “Communism is the worst.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Pretend to be serious,” she snapped. Chen had flustered her into snapping. Already.

  “I am serious. And I like the toaster.”

  “Sure,” she said, mocking him for his earlier jab. She didn’t miss that his hands skimmed the body of her Audi from the hood to the roof in a slow, reverent gesture that sent her imagination spiraling to places they really shouldn’t. She cleared her throat and slid the sunglasses back onto her nose before opening the driver’s door. “See you Monday.”

  “Oh, you’ll see me before then.”

  “Cocky bastard,” she muttered as she settled into the seat. She started the engine and added the apartment complex’s address to her GPS. When she went into reverse, she noticed that Chen had puttered out in front of her in his toaster, as he called it.

  In what she’d decided was his true form, the jerk drove an infuriating twenty miles an hour the entire way to the complex. At each red light and stop sign she could see him in the side mirror, laughing.

  8

  Through the rearview mirror, Chen could see Elle shaking the steering wheel and likely wishing it were him. He couldn’t stop laughing. She reminded him of a doll that Xiaoming had owned when she was younger. Tickle it, it giggled. Poke it, it cried. Pat its back, it burped. Every one of his comments and moves garnered a physical reaction from Elle. She was easy to read, emotions expressed on her face through lines and color.

  A face that caused similar visceral reactions in his own body. Fuck, Elle was gorgeous. Long, wild brown hair that melted to blonde at the tips and bounced when she walked. Deep, dark eyes that flashed in anger and softened in kindness, depending on who she was talking to. Pouty lips that stretched wide when she was pleased. Lithe frame and large breasts easy to trace through that thin white T-shirt she wore. A brain bursting with ideas. More than once on their tour he’d seen her clap her hands in uncontained excitement. Chen had always admired people who did what they felt and meant what they said. So often, he played emotional guessing games. Elle was easy to know, and he wanted to know more. She really did remind him of Julia Roberts, an unbridled version of the romantic heroine he’d spent years watching on screen. She was magnetic.

  At the complex, she parked by him and exited her car in a red-faced rush. Chen met her scowl with a lazy grin as he came to lean on her car. He watched as she grabbed her purse from the passenger side floor, flashed him a glare, and stomped up to the second floor of the complex. Chen peeked in the driver-side window and saw that her car was packed to bursting with boxes and shopping bags. And a fish tank containing a bunch of small containers of chemicals, fake plants, and a bag with a single striped fish that stared at Chen unblinking.

  And he’d thought her comment about feeding her fish was American slang for something else. He opened the passenger door so he could grab the fish tank. He slung a couple of bags on his arms and followed her upstairs.

  The door to 213 stood open. Chen snickered and entered without knocking. Elle, who’d been looking at her phone, snapped her eyes to his. “What are you doing? Besides driving me crazy?”

  He ignored the question. “You’re under me,” he told her, setting the fish tank on the kitchen counter near where she stood.

  She blinked wildly. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m in 313, right above you.” He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “And I’m a stomper.”

  She cocked her head in annoyance. Chen had to fight the urge to poke her pursed lips. Instead, he headed back down the stairs to grab more boxes.

  She followed. “You don’t need to help me.”

  As if he’d give up an opportunity this good. He kept walking.

  “Don’t you have somewhere better to be on a Friday night?”

  Her facial expressions were entertainment enough. But no, Victory wasn’t known for nightlife. It was barely known for day life.

  “You’re stuck with me until a better offer comes along.” He grabbed the last boxes while she unloaded the rest of the bags. He was surprised by the amount of clothing she’d managed to cram into the trunk. Her wardrobe rivaled his in scale. She slammed the trunk with extra force.

  “A better offer for me or you?”

  “Either one.”

  Chen anticipated her comeback before she opened her mouth. He still gave her the satisfaction of saying it.

  “You’re the worst.”

  He shook his head, feigning seriousness. “Shingles are the worst.”

  Elle scowled all the way back to her apartment with Chen right behind her, grinning. He paused at he
r doorway. He wasn’t ready for their little game to be over.

  “What, now you’re asking for permission?”

  He didn’t reply. He just grinned.

  Elle let out a frustrated huff. “Fine. Come in. But I’m putting you to work. And I will kick you out if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face.”

  Chen laughed softly and walked into Elle’s apartment. Invited.

  They weren’t bad as a team, the two of them. She unearthed store-wrapped dishes and décor and handed them to Chen to place in the dishwasher or around the apartment. He broke down empty boxes and carried them to the recycling bin in the parking lot. She put her clothes away and made her bed while Chen tried to make sense of the pile of chemicals that would make the tank livable for her pet fish. She’d named him Melvin. A fish with a name. Chen had seen fish in tanks before, but they were for eating, not conversing with when one felt lonely. He told her so.

  “He’s important to me,” she said, joining him in front of the tank. She took the vials and packets out of his hands then moved the tank to the sink so she could fill it with water.

  “Why?”

  She sighed. She turned toward him, back against the sink. She didn’t look annoyed—more like she didn’t know how to answer. Chen ignored the roll in his stomach as she flicked her dark eyes to his. Those eyes, darkly lined and framed by thick lashes, hypnotized him. Her hair cascaded down her chest. Her long legs in snug jeans called to his cock like a siren. She looked like freedom, unscripted and wild, much like the Bohemian woman he’d dated in France who had opened his eyes to so many new experiences.

  “It’s how he came to me. He was a gift from friends. The two of them…they shouldn’t have been together, a couple, for so many reasons. Her family, his family, the fact that we all worked together and dating staff wasn’t allowed.”

  Chen nodded. He could relate to that particular brand of denial.

  “But they risked it anyway. They found Melvin on a dive together.” She shrugged, dropping her gaze. “He was a gift to me for being a safe place for them when hiding what they felt became too much. I think it’s romantic.”