Chapter One

MICHELLE

I had never seen a sky so blue as the one in front of my eyes.

Majestic birds with long, hooked beaks and bright orange wings soared across the brilliant azure canvas. The soft bubbling of an endlessly winding stream filled my ears. Violet lily pads the size of my palm floated down the still, glassy surface of the water. When I took a closer look, the white flowers sitting on top of the pads appeared to be gently breathing.

On the other side of me was a remarkable range of snow-capped mountains and green hills. Humble clay huts dotted the bottom of the mountain range. I could see a hint of an enormous silver moon peeking out from the gaps between the hills.

I continued strolling down a sandy path.

A group of laughing children came running up to the river. Their eyes were stunning shades of amber and gold and gleamed with glee. They picked up yellow pebbles and skipped them down the stream, bringing the still water to life.

Smiling with delight, I left the peals of childish laughter behind me and resumed my stroll.

The air smelled crisp and clean. Countless grains of smooth white sand caressed the bare soles of my feet. A hauntingly beautiful tune from a distant drum circle drifted through the open air. My muscles and shoulders felt loose, and my limber legs practically glided underneath me.

Everything about this moment was freeing. I felt blissful, and I couldn’t imagine ever being happier.

A sequence of jarring bells and whistles blared from my headphones. I lifted my chin up from my fist, instantly straightening in my chair. As the computer started its automatic shutdown sequence, the screensaver of the Luna Maris landscape faded away to black.

When the beeping died down, a metallic voice replaced it.

“End of Work Day 1,460. Thank you.” The woman on the recording paused, then started talking again. “Fletcher, Elizabeth, for your loyalty to Textra Corp. We at Textra Corp appreciate your service and encourage you to keep up your good work. You may clock out and return the company headphones and tablet to cubicle 238 on the first floor. Have a pleasant day.”

I lifted myself off my chair and gathered my things. The noise of other desk jockeys doing the same thing I was filled the room. With my purse on one arm and a bundle of company equipment clamped under my other arm, I slipped out of the cubicle. I squeezed out into the narrow walkway, falling in line behind a dozen people waiting for the elevators.

Today marked my fourth year at Textra Corporation. When I first started, I burst with ambition. You could track your placement in the company by your position in the sixty-story Textra building. All the interns worked on the bottom floors, and the executives were on the top. Starting out at the bottom of the barrel, like the rest of the interns, I had set my mind on working my way up the tier and getting myself out of the awful orange trainee coats as soon as possible.

Four years later, I had a personal cubicle on the fifty-sixth floor. I wore a crisp white blazer, something I had coveted for years. It fit perfectly and felt like it was hand-tailored just for me. On top of that, I made good money, and I lived with Tate Sheen, an obscenely famous movie star and my ultimate crush since I was fourteen. Tate’s movies have grossed hundreds of billions of credits over his career, and that’s just counting Earth revenue. Needless to say, millions of women would kill to be in my shoes.

It’s not that I wasn’t grateful. I was acutely aware of exactly how lucky I was. But I felt like I was stuck. For the last four years, I had to work five or six days a week, forgoing any social life outside of Tate. Sometimes, Tate would shake me awake to tell me I was typing in my sleep again. I even brought work with me on a three-day trip to Cancun. It was how I’d managed to climb the corporate ladder so quickly. But I was starting to feel like there might be something more for me out there. Even though I was sitting on untouched savings that were steadily growing, I didn’t know why I was saving.

I found myself a spot in the corner of the cramped elevator. To escape the stench of body sweat and cologne in the tiny room, I forced myself to hold my breath until we reached the ground floor. I yawned, glancing up every few seconds to check which level I was on. Finally, the doors opened, and my jostling colleagues cleared the elevator simultaneously. When everyone had left, and I could breathe again, I let myself out, returning the company equipment to cubicle 238 before making my way to the exit.

As I stepped through the threshold, I saw a stressful situation developing in front of me. Blinding camera flashes and a mob of screaming adult women formed a circle on the bottom of the steps. Tate was a magnet drawing them to himself, flashing an infectious grin as he signed autographs and posed for quick pictures with his swooning fans. Next to him, a sleek black limousine was parked by the curb, with four men in identical suits and reflective sunglasses posted around the vehicle.

Who could blame the swooning females? Tate was just as gorgeous in real life as he was in the movies. He was tall, naturally tanned, and had the hard stomach of an avid swimmer. Tate’s wavy dishwater-blond hair and perfect white teeth seemed made for the film industry. But his cobalt-blue eyes were what reeled in the ladies. They were the same eyes that prompted me to twirl my hair unprompted when I first saw him on television, and my teenage heart swelled with hormonal desire.

“I don’t know how he does it.” Richie Lehman, who worked four cubicles away, appeared behind me. He whistled, draping his blazer over his shoulder.

“Me neither,” I admitted, shrugging. “But Tate’s a good sport. He loves the cameras as much as they love him.”

“I’m going to take off.” Richie nodded at me, heading off in the other direction. “Catch you later, Michelle.”

“Bye!”

When the crowd dispersed, I jogged down the steps to join Tate. I tapped him on the shoulder, standing on the tips of my toes to peck him on the lips.

Instead of returning the kiss, Tate pinched his lips coldly and leaned away from me.

“Is something wrong?” I felt deflated, and I knew my smile was fading.

“Who was that?” Tate crossed his arms and glared at me.

“What are you talking about?” I frowned, furrowing my eyebrows. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the stoic faces of Tate’s security team. “Do you mean Richie? He’s just some random guy I work with.”

“Yeah?” Tate wasn’t even trying to hide the accusatory tone in his voice. “It’s funny. I’ve never heard you mention anyone named Richie before.”

“There are six thousand employees in Textra Corp,” I replied coolly, tilting my head to one side. “Do you want a copy of the company roster? I bet we have two Richards.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” I knew he wasn’t going to let it go. “What were you talking about with him? It couldn’t have been about work, could it? It’s after hours.”

“I hope you’re trying to be funny. We barely said two words to each other.” I stopped, cutting myself off. “This conversation has gone on for too long. I’m not talking about this with you any longer. I just got out of work. I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood for whatever you’re trying to make this into.”

“This conversation isn’t over until I say it’s over.” Tate paused, his eyes darting around nervously. When he noticed the lingering stares of a few fans lurking in the background, his fake smile swiftly returned to his face. He leaned close to me and reduced his tone to a whisper. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Excuse me? Mr. Sheen?” An elderly woman started limping toward us. She straightened the pearl brooch pinned to her shawl, giggling as Tate turned around to look at her. He bowed courteously, taking the woman’s frail, spotted hand.

“How can I make your day, beautiful?”

“Oh!” The woman erupted into another fit of girlish giggles. She was positively glowing. “Mr. Sheen, my name is Trudy. I’m in love with your work. I adored you in Murdoch: Space Detective. Could I bother you for a quick picture?”

“Certainly, ma’am. It’s no bother at all.” Tate took her camera and handed it to her younger companion. “Perhaps your sister can take it for us?”

“Oh, Mr. Sheen.” The woman clasped Tate’s elbow between her hands, beaming. “This is my daughter, Molly.”

The corners of my mouth twitched at the sweet exchange. I was still irked with Tate, but his act tugged on my heartstrings. Tate had the ability to make anyone feel like the most beautiful woman in the world if he so desired.

Molly took the picture and gave them a thumbs up.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Sheen.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

“Before I let you go, I wanted to know something. Are the rumors true? Are you running for governor in the upcoming election?”

“You heard right,” Tate confirmed proudly. “I am honored to be in the race, but I have high hopes of moving this great state in the right direction. I will be in town to give a speech a few weeks from now, on August 8th.”

“How wonderful! I’ll be sure to watch you. I hope you have the best of luck, Mr. Sheen. You can count on my vote.”

“I knew I liked you, Trudy.” Tate winked, turning away from her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lady friend and I have dinner reservations. Have a lovely night, ma’am.”

“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Goodbye, now!”

I pulled on my lip absentmindedly, studying the long list of delicious-looking appetizers on the menu. Tate sat across from me in the black velvet chair of our private booth. I felt him staring at me, but I was more interested to see if the crab chowder came with breadsticks. I could tell he sensed my foul mood. Shifting in his seat, he rubbed his palms together and reached across the table for my hand.

“Listen, Michelle. I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

I glanced up at him, setting my menu down slowly.

“I know you had a long day at work,” Tate continued. “I didn’t like the way Richie was looking at you, but I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. Will you forgive me?”

“I don’t think Richie was looking at me in any way, but okay.” Against my will, I found myself softening at Tate’s apology. “Let’s try to forget about it and have a nice dinner together.”

“Right.” Tate squeezed my hand and snapped his fingers at our waiter. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yup.”

The waiter shuffled over to our booth. “What can I get for you lovely people this evening?” The green-haired kid pressed his lips tightly, looking irritated at Tate’s degrading summon. I snuck him an apologetic look. The young waiter looked miserable enough in his stuffy suspenders and waist apron without adding another problem table to his list.

“I’ll have the shrimp cup appetizers and the ostrich steak, medium-well. And we’ll have a bottle of your most expensive champagne.” Tate handed over his menu, turning to look at me. “Perhaps a nice salad for the lady?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll have the crab chowder, large, and your pasta special.” I slammed the menu shut. “Extra cheese, please. Thank you.”

“Coming right up.” The waiter nodded, grinning at me before hurrying off with our orders.

“I see we’re feeling a little peckish today.” Tate stroked my arm gently. “How was work?”

“Boring and unfulfilling, as usual. I finished all my reports early today, so that was pleasant. I can’t complain.”

“It sounds like you’re complaining already. Did anything unusual happen today?”

“No,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. “But now that you mention it, I did want to talk to you about something.”

He wasn’t listening. “Frankly, I don’t know why you’re still bothering with work at all.” He spoke over me, popping a handful of roasted nuts into his mouth. “You know I’ve got more than enough money for both of us. You don’t have to work another day in your life. Who would choose to work when they could be a lady who lunches?”

I sighed. “We’ve been over this before. You know how I feel.” The waiter returned with our appetizers, and I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes.

“I don’t know why you insist on doing everything yourself.”

“I may not have the most glamorous job in the world, but what do you expect? It pays the bills. What I enjoy about it is being able to do things for myself. Everything doesn’t have to be about you all the time.”

“All right already! I don’t understand it, but I guess I have to live with it.” Tate pouted from behind his champagne flute. “If that’s the case, why don’t you give Femina Enterprises another try? It’s an excellent company run by women and only women. You would fit right in. You’re a woman.”

“Again, we’ve been through this. I’m not interested.” I was feeling testy, and Tate’s constant interruptions were exhausting. “Before you start this up with me again, remember something. I went on the interview you set up with them behind my back, so don’t say I’m not giving things a fair shot. It just wasn’t for me.”

“They loved you over there, you know.”

“Of course they did. I’m a catch,” I said dryly. “But I’m not interested in a company that’s more concerned with my gender than my credentials. Besides, the pay they were offering was abysmal.” I looked away and tried to distract myself by digging into my crab chowder. “As I was saying, I’ve been thinking of cashing in a couple of my vacation days. I’ve always wanted to explore the galaxy, but I’ve been putting it off with my hectic schedule at work. I was thinking about something. You’ve got that meet-and-greet on planet Zorento next weekend. Why don’t I come with you? We can make a whole week of it.”

Tate coughed. “Sorry, Michelle. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He scratched the back of his neck, averting my eyes. “It wouldn’t sit well with my team. We don’t consider it very professional to bring your girlfriend along on a business trip.”

“Oh, right. No problem.” I was disappointed, but I tried to be understanding. “Maybe I’ll go somewhere on my own. It should be a fun way to unwind. They say backpacking through Luna Maris can be beautiful this time of the year.”

“On your own?” Tate snorted, rubbing my thigh. “I don’t think any woman should be traveling anywhere by themselves on Earth, let alone on another planet. Why don’t you take the time off to see your father instead?”

“My father?” I repeated indignantly, wrinkling my nose. “Why would I take the time to see him?”

“Walter’s reached out to me a few times recently.” Tate was still refusing to look at me, but I sensed it was due to a different reason than before. “What do you think, honey? Isn’t it time the two of you patch things up?”

“Who is Walter? Are you on a first name basis with my dad?” I laughed darkly. “It figures. I don’t hear from Dad in seventeen years, but when he learns I’m dating Tate Sheen, he misses his daughter all of a sudden. He should get an award for remembering I exist!”

“The man’s retired now, and he plans on moving to one of the resort moons around planet Uzra.”

“You’re not listening, and I don’t care. Tate, drop it. Please. You know how I feel about him. I want nothing to do with him. End of story.”

“But Michelle...”

“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it. Tate Sheen?”

My eyebrows shot up as a young woman stopped next to our table, fanning herself. Three of the woman’s friends hovered behind her and clapped their hands in excitement. As usual, I felt invisible in the presence of another woman. She had her back turned to me, which uncomfortably shoved her suffocating ass stuffed in a glitzy red dress right into my face.

I moved over, holding my soup bowl, protecting it from the unnecessary bouncing next to me.

“The one and only.”

I blew on my spoon, trying not to notice Tate’s shameless rubbernecking at the plump cleavage hanging out of the woman’s top.

“Hi, I’m Sara. I’m sure you get this all the time. I’m your biggest fan!” the woman gushed, tracing a finger along the deep V of her neckline.

“Why, thank you! I do get recognized quite a bit, but believe me, it never gets old.” Fake, exaggerated laughter from the girl and her friends met Tate’s remark.

“My favorite part of Whitaker’s Revenge was when you took your shirt off,” the girl went on, touching Tate’s arm lightly. “Did you have to schedule additional workout routines for that role? You still look unbelievable now, by the way.”

“Thank you very much for noticing.” Tate grinned, entranced by the girl’s obvious flirting. “Jacques was a great trainer. I couldn’t have done it without him pushing me all the way.”

“That is so cool,” the girl drawled. I almost felt sorry for Sara. Her vocabulary seemed limited to words she had learned in middle school. Sara reached into her purse and fished out a felt-tip eyeliner. “I don’t have a pen, but it would be a shame to let this moment go to waste. Would it be too much to ask you for an autograph?”

“Not at all.”

The girl proceeded to bend over, holding open the front of her dress. I crossed one leg over the other, watching the scene in front of me unfold with a mixture of horror and amusement. Tate removed the cap of her eyeliner, signing his name across her half-exposed breasts.

“Ooh, that tickles.” The girl waved a hand over her chest, drying the ink. “Thank you so much. You made my night.”

“And you made mine.” Tate waved at the girls. “You ladies have a good night.”

I rolled my eyes as the gaggle of women crept away, whispering among themselves. “That was a little much, don’t you think?” I finished up my chowder and pushed the bowl away from me.

“What, that?” said Tate innocently, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Come on, Michelle. She was a fan. You know I have a job, and I have to work all the time. I have to keep up my appearance in my personal life, not just in front of the cameras.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but I quickly decided against it. Inside, I fumed. Tate hid behind the same excuses for everything in his life. His double standards were infuriating. I’d been more understanding than most women would be about his trashy fans, but God forbid if someone of the opposite sex so much as looked at me for longer than two seconds.

Dinner was already off to a rocky start, and I didn’t want to cause a scene. “I guess so. Whatever you say.” While our waiter cleared away our dishes and replaced them with our main courses, my gaze wandered to the booth next to us.

A man and a woman appeared to be colleagues and were engaged in light conversation over their cheeseboard. I squinted at the badges around their necks. The company logo featured a pair of entwined hands over a backdrop of two merging planets. Under the logo, bold print read: TerraMates.

“Michelle? What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” I plastered on a smile and reached for my fork. “Nothing at all.”