I hoped I’d succeeded in giving Zoey a satisfying story, because she’d just given me a shiny new obsession with her. She was phenomenally sexy, and I was dumbstruck by how much I wished we had time to enjoy the afterglow. I’m not usually much of a ‘cuddles and snuggles’ type of guy at all, but I craved more of her attention and wanted to give her mine. Yet as I watched her rapidly straighten her clothing and reapply her lipstick in a mirror she produced from her handbag, I began to suspect I’d done something wrong; she wasn’t looking at me. Obviously, this was just a hookup, and I tried to feel appreciative and relieved, but the thought filled me with something like frustration instead.

“Is everything ok?” I asked her, unsure of exactly what I should be saying to a virtual stranger who had basically just come in and had her way with me. I’d had plenty of casual sex in my life, but this felt somehow both more and less casual than it ought to.

“Of course,” Zoey replied with a bright, convincing smile, “I just don’t want to miss the launch.”

Launch? What launch?

Oh shit!

The snap back to reality felt like someone just slapped me upside the head. I looked at my watch and was shocked to see that only fifteen minutes remained until the final countdown began. I needed to get down to the viewing platform ten minutes ago. As much as I liked Zoey and didn’t want to rush her, she couldn’t be allowed to stay here without supervision.

“Um, Zoey?” I ventured, and she popped the compact shut and stood.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling another fake reassuring smile, “I’m going. God knows what I’ll have to tell Angelica to explain where I’ve been.”

“I’ll walk you back,” I offered, relieved, “And you can tell her that I took you on a… private tour.”

I wiggled my eyebrows at her and she giggled. I mean, I had taken her on a tour of my privates. I liked the sound of her laughter.

“A private tour? Yeah, she might buy that,” Zoey replied, smiling, “got any tips for working with Ms. Hunt? You know her, right?”

I grimaced, taking her hand and placing it in the crook of my arm as we walked the short distance down from my office to the viewing platform outside.

“Yes. I’ve known Angelica since we were kids. She’s a very unique person,” I replied carefully, “is this conversation off the record?”

Briefly, a look flashed over her face that seemed like a mixture of hurt and offense, but it vanished before I could be sure. A confident smile took its place almost instantly.

“Of course, it’s off the record,” she replied soothingly, “I won’t tell anybody your thoughts on Angelica. Or that you’d never seen a bodysuit before.”

“Is that what your leotard with the snappy thingies is called? I liked that,” I replied, momentarily distracted, “and it seems very convenient.”

Zoey rolled her eyes and nodded indulgently. I’d learned something new today. I liked bodysuits. Especially the see-through lace kind.

“Nathan?” She prompted.

“Oh right,” I followed up, refocusing, “Angelica. Well, she’s unique. Very unique. And just, um, she’s also awful. She’s a genuinely bad, selfish person who’s obsessed with herself.”

“Wow,” Zoey replied, “tell me how you really feel. I mean, she’s obviously very image conscious and pampered, but isn’t that sort of narcissism just par for the course for people like her?”

“People like her? Gold diggers?”

“I meant rich and beautiful people.”

“I’m rich and beautiful but I’m not a narcissist,” I countered, and then instantly wished I could rewind time and punch myself before I could say something so conceited.

Zoey just laughed, however, and there was a quality to it that put me at ease. She had a way of doing that, I was discovering. She possessed a high degree of skill at instantly defusing tension. It made sense. A reporter would need to be good at relaxing her subjects, so they would say stupid shit. Like I just had.

I frowned. She was a little bit too good at manipulating me. As much as I liked to think that I knew she was using me and that I would simply use her back, it was tough to tell who was playing whom. Journalists are inherently untrustworthy, I reminded myself.

“That’s true,” Zoey replied after her laughter died down, “you’re rich and beautiful. And I still like you. You seem pretty down to earth for someone so hell bent on escaping it.”

I hoped that was true. Part of me really wanted to believe Zoey. I wanted to believe that her words and reactions to me were genuine, and that her passion back in my office was real. It all seemed real.

“Angelica is easy to manage if you keep one thing in mind,” I continued, trying to answer her question despite the possibility it would come back to bite me in the ass somehow, “she fundamentally does not recognize the personhood of anyone else but her. As long as you approach her with the knowledge that she views you the same way she views a table lamp, you’ll be ok. Oh, and she’s smarter than she seems.”

“She is?” Zoey asked in surprise, “because she really doesn’t seem all that bright if I’m being honest.”

“Half of her dumb blonde persona is an act to put people off her trail, definitely. The other half is a carefully curated piece of performance art that she has to maintain to seem halfway normal. Angelica is only motivated by two things that are really just one thing: money and power. She’s like a tiger or a shark. You wouldn’t criticize them for killing other animals, right? She’s the same way. She just does what she does.”

“You make her seem like some kind of evil genius,” Zoey said incredulously, “I thought she was just a spoiled Kardashian wannabe.”

“Well, she’s that, too,” I said, grinning but very much not envying Zoey her job, “but you have to watch your back around Angelica. She’s petty, but she’s also ruthless.”

“Great,” Zoey whispered sarcastically as we approached the viewing platform, “do you still have time to strap me to the rocket? I’m not sure I want to live on the same planet as Angelica Hunt.”

“Zoey!” Angelica cried as we approached closer, her obvious ire at Zoey causing her small entourage to scatter around her in the VIP section like a flock of frightened birds, “where the hell have you been?”

At the same time my head of security, Cecilia, appeared at my elbow, “where the hell have you been?” she hissed in my ear, “We’ve got a very serious problem.”