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“No, he didn’t.” I pinch my nose in annoyance.

“He just wanted to know how you are.”

“He can call me himself.”

“That’s what I told him, too,” she says. “Guess what, I am not too fond of talking to my ex either. But apparently, he didn’t get the memo.” A pause. “He said you barely talk to anyone from home.”

“It’s nothing personal,” I say shortly.

“It isn’t?”

“No, I just don’t feel close to them.” I let my eyes wander overYearningagain. “Do you know the feeling that you don’t belong?”

“Yes, sometimes, in certain situations.”

I walk to my desk and pick up a folder to hand to her. “Here. You said you needed an assistant. These are the applicants for the job. Take a look at them and tell me who you want to see.” I pause. “And next time Oliver calls you, tell him, it’s not cool.”

I wonder what kind of person I would meet who looks like a Sterling. It’s intriguing that he has a combination of names that makes it hard to tell which one is the surname and which the first name. He has barely any online presence. Cedric dug through his social media, but his only account is on Instagram, and he only shows his art there, never his face.

Clearly, a man who shares my soul.

Unfortunately, despite my own feelings about social media, I have to agree with Cedric that he needs to advertise better.

“Thank you for taking me with you, sir!” Cedric looks so excited, I am scared he will bounce off a wall soon.

“You are aware, you are my assistant?” I ask. “I am not taking you along out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I know,” he chirps.

Well… I tried.

The restaurant Cedric chose is a smaller, more secluded place. Prices are mid-class, not too high to make Sterling and his manager uncomfortable, but still indicating we will get something decent. They have a wine card, which I appreciate.

“They have a smaller menu here,” Cedric explains happily. “But they offer both veggie and meat options. Plus, it’s not too specific.”

“Not a bad choice,” I agree.

He beams at me, as usual, perking up slightly when we approach our table. “Oh, they are here already!”

“I can see that.”

I give myself a short moment to scan the two men as quickly as possible. In my career, I have learned to read those around me effectively. As we approach, the two men stand up. They look to be the same age. One of them is dark-haired and tall, easily hovering above us all, while the other is smaller in height with short brown hair and a calm expression. He has a tattoo on his forearm, it looks like a signature of a name—interesting—and is clad in simple clothes.

He looks slightly out of place.

“Sterling Thomas?” I ask, as I reach out my hand towards him.

“Yes,” he says politely, shaking my hand. “I am honored to meet you, Mr. Randall.”

He doesn’t seem shy or insecure, but that’s no surprise. His paintings carry a tone of confidence.

I turn to the man next to him, shaking his hand as well. “You must be Mateo Wheeler?”

He nods, smiling. His expression is more open and friendly. “Yes, thank you for inviting us, Mr. Randall.”

“This is my assistant—”

“Cedric Nichols,” he proclaims before I can introduce him, happily shaking hands with both of them. As usual, he looks like he just won the lottery, his expression open and happy.