Page 3 of Starrily (Perks of Being #2)

Chapter 3

D estiny had a pretty good sense of humor.

Well, maybe not destiny, Simon corrected himself. He didn’t need to ascribe that much gravitas to another meeting with this woman. It was a funny coincidence.

She didn’t look like she was finding it particularly funny. Everett had introduced him, and Simon had extended his hand, but she only stood there, looking marginally ill.

Hopefully, she wasn’t going to puke on him again.

The other man stepped forward and shook Simon’s hand. “Hello, hello. I’m Dr. Watzmann.”

He looked nervous, so Simon gave him a reassuring smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And this is Dr. Calliope Guidry, our astrophysicist.”

Calliope, huh? Simon looked at her. “A- muse -ing.”

She flinched as if she didn’t expect him to address her. “Excuse me?”

“Calliope. It’s the name of a muse.”

She pursed her lips into a tight line. What a shame—they were pretty nice, full lips. “Dr. Guidry will do.”

She really was allergic to ice-breakers, wasn’t she?

“Well.” Everett clapped his hands together, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Shall we get down to business? Simon will swing by your office tomorrow,” he said toward Calliope.

“He’ll what now?” she blurted out.

Simon looked sharply at Everett. I’ll what now?

“Uh, Callie—remember when I said a few conditions?” Watzmann said. “The second is that Mr. Montague shadows you at work for a while.”

“What?” she recoiled.

“ She is the scientist I need to follow?” Simon said to Everett at the same time. Destiny had a really bad sense of humor.

Calliope’s eyes flashed between him and Everett as if trying to discern who represented a greater danger. “Uh … no. No,” she squeezed out, turned on her heels, and ran out of the room.

Watzmann swung his gaze back to Simon and Everett. “Excuse my colleague. I’ll—uh—she’ll come around. Tomorrow, then?” He nodded—Simon wasn’t sure whether to them or himself—and ran after Calliope.

“I suppose we’ll email you the rest,” Everett half-shouted after him. He shook his head. “Scientists. Crazy people.” And he gestured for Simon to leave.

“I’m not doing it,” Simon said, once they were on their way out. “If you need the article, find someone else for me to shadow.”

“Not you, too,” Everett muttered.

“Does it matter who I work with? You said it was for exposure. As long as it’s a scientist, isn’t it the same thing?”

“And what’s wrong with her?”

“She’s completely humorless.”

“So you found the one woman who doesn’t fall for your bad jokes.”

“Hey! My jokes aren’t bad.”

Outside, they headed for the parked limo. “Back to Aries,” Everett curtly instructed Stan and raised the divider between them and the driver. “I’m sorry you don’t think her fun enough,” he said, his business-like tone negating any regret.

It wasn’t just her being humorless. Simon got along well with many people who weren’t jokesters. He liked to think he got along with most people, actually. Just look at Everett—he had no humor, either.

It was something else—something that didn’t come from any of their actions but simply existed as a fact of life. Maybe they were two magnets, pointed at each other with the same pole, and had no choice but to repel each other.

Simon blinked. That thought was slightly too scientific.

“Anyway, it has to be her,” Everett said.

“Why?”

Everett glanced toward the darkened partition in the limo. “Dr. Guidry is working on a computer program. In astrophysics, they need code to sort data, create models, all that. Others will use existing software and code bits and adjust them to their needs, but she’s writing her own. She’s already published part of the software in her paper.”

“And?”

Everett sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder where your entrepreneurial spirit has gone.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “You might think her the most boring person in the world, but she’s a bright one. If she wanted, she could make up to a million bucks per year, working for a major tech company like ours. Since she isn’t, I assume she loves her current job too much. So, we can’t have her services, but we can still attempt to get her software.”

“Wouldn’t QueLabs own it?”

At last, Everett’s mouth quirked in the briefest smile. “They would. But I’ve seen her pre-invention assignment agreement, and I found a loophole. If it can be proven she’s worked on the software at home, during her off hours, she can claim rights to it. Which is where you and your shadowing mission come in.” Everett’s eyes took on a zealous gleam. “By working with her, you’ll be able to confirm her software was not created only during her work hours—or, if needed, you’ll sway her from doing that.”

“This is cheating.”

“This is business, and you used to know that.”

He supposed he did. Before the accident. Before he became a whole other person. “Then what’s up with the article?”

“A diversion.” Everett waved his hand. “The article is happening, but it’s only a smokescreen. And it might soften her up. Scientists need exposure, and she’ll get it, thanks to you, which is crucial for the second part of our plan.”

Simon didn’t particularly like calling it their plan but kept silent for the moment.

“Once the rights to the software are resolved, we have to make sure Dr. Guidry is willing to sell it and that she sells it to us, not her beloved employer.”

“You mean—”

“She has to like you more. So tomorrow morning, and for the next few weeks, you’ll show up in her office and you’ll smile and charm her and do all those flattering things you do around women.”

“You’re making it sound like a Cold War spy movie.” Which should be a good thing—Simon would’ve loved to live out a movie. And yet, a heaviness settled in his stomach. As much as he didn’t like Calliope, this didn’t feel right.

Everett only graced his response with an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

Simon leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Simon.” Everett’s voice took on a strict father tone. “You’ve been different since the crash, and before you think I’m scolding you—I’m not. I’m glad you’re still here with us. But I’ve been too permissive. I promised your father I’d take care of you. Part of that entails making sure you’re happy. So if you’re happy bungee-jumping, skydiving, swimming with sharks—I’ll humor those hobbies, and whatever lifestyle you want now. But it doesn’t come at no cost. Someone has to take care of the company—me.”

“And I trust you to do it.”

“Of course. You know I mean only the best for it. But I have to make certain business decisions to bring in money and please our shareholders. And to fund your carefree, and not very cheap, lifestyle.”

Simon swallowed.

“Exotic vacations, yacht parties, all the daily craziness … I’d rather see you got your head back in the game.”

Simon scratched the back of his head. The scars have long since healed, at least the physical ones. But he wasn’t sure he could get back in the game. He didn’t know how.

“But if you want to keep doing what you’re doing,” Everett continued, “you have to let me plan and manage things. And you have to cooperate. Do you understand?”

Simon stared out the window, not really paying attention to the outside world. He wasn’t sure how far he’d have to go with Calliope; to a friendship, at least, but Everett had indicated he’d need more. And as much as he rebelled against that, this life was great—fun, easy, comfortable . He didn’t want to give it up. “I understand. I’ll do it.”

He’d said no to too many things before the accident. Somehow, he got a second chance at life—and this time he was taking all of it, even the things that, at first glance, might not appear the most enjoyable.

One could never know what they could turn into.

***

Callie paced in her office, picking at her nails, when Watzmann caught up with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have— ugh .”

“True, true, perhaps storming off wasn’t the best course of action,” Watzmann said. “Or the ‘actual expert’ stab. But the good news is, I don’t think they’re too offended. He’ll still come here tomorrow.”

She wasn’t sure that was the good news. “And what is that about?”

“Right. I didn’t get the chance to tell you. Again, the good news—there’s a journalist who’ll write an article about you for a science magazine.”

She and Watzmann had to work out the meaning of “good news.”

“Courtesy of Aries making a contract with us,” Watzmann said. “Which is why Mr. Montague will also be present. Now, before you say anything—”

She didn’t even know what to say.

“I guarantee he’ll not interfere with your work. You’ll show him around, explain some things to him and the journalist, have a picture taken—”

It was getting worse and worse.

“—and that’s it. You’ve mentored students before. This will be similar.”

Those students didn’t make her stutter and stumble and say inappropriate things.

“I won’t say I’m the best at judging people.” Watzmann scratched his chin. “But he seemed pleasant enough.”

Of course he did. At the zero-gravity flight, Simon Montague was the life of the party. But her work wasn’t a party, and he didn’t belong here. “Can’t he work with someone else?” she pleaded.

Watzmann shrugged. “They want you. If you think about it, it’s a great opportunity. QueLabs will gain more publicity, and you’ll get exposure. The public needs to see more women in science. Especially women of color! We’ll show them it’s not a men’s world.” Watzmann clenched his fist in a winning gesture.

Callie let out the briefest laugh. Watzmann’s comic enthusiasm helped, and for a bit, she dared to dream. There were good things attached to exposure. Maybe she could be the one to make some little girl say, “I want to be like that science lady.” All of her childhood—well, from that event onward—she’d felt so lonely, trapped in a family that cared more about the pseudo than the science, in a town that was much the same. But it didn’t have to be the same for other kids. Exposure could help. Not only in the scientific community—it could lead to many things. Maybe she could donate to non-profits that teach children science. Even design her own course.

All right, don’t run away with your thoughts. That was still far in a potential future.

She sat down at her desk, and her gaze wandered to the screen of her computer. She smiled at her wallpaper—a cartoony depiction of two nearly merged twin stars hugging each other.

Maybe this was worth it. Showing people how amazing the Universe was, sharing her love with something else than a dense research paper.

“Fine,” she said to Watzmann. “I’ll do it.”

As for Simon Montague … most likely he’d get bored after a day of following her around, and then she’d be free of him and his bizarre effect on her.

***

Simon only felt a slight bit of nervousness the next morning, entering the QueLabs building. He’d agreed to Everett’s plan, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Unfortunately, his brain translated “having to be friendly to Calliope Guidry” into nervousness, like he was some thirteen-year-old boy who just discovered girls weren’t icky.

Thanks, brain.

He greeted the receptionist and picked up his visitor card, then headed upstairs, wishing good mornings to anyone encountered on the way. He found Calliope’s office at the end of a long hallway, its walls adorned with various space prints—from grainy white blobs amidst the darkness to high-resolution photographs of planet surfaces.

At the door, he paused, collected himself, then knocked and entered. “Good morning, Phoenix.”

Calliope was staring at a dense text document on her computer and swiveled around in her chair. “You—you could’ve left more than a second before knocking and barging in.”

So they were starting on the left foot again.

“I could.” He shrugged. “Would that make you frown less?”

She frowned and turned back to the computer. “Seven billion people in the world, and I keep being stuck with you.”

He helped himself to a chair at the end of her working desk. “At least this time, death isn’t imminent, as you put it.”

She grunted softly and focused her attention on work. Simon’s eyes wandered around the office. It was a small space with a single window—just enough room for a working desk and some chairs. He’d expected it to be clean, clinical, even; instead, it was kind of a mess. Papers and folders lay on the desk in disorder. Post-it notes covered the sides of her monitor, as well as a calendar and a print of space hanging on the wall. Two mugs and a pot with a tiny cactus wrapped in a knitted red scarf only added to the disarray. The place felt strangely warm and homely. No pictures of family members, or people at all, but there was one of a beige cat with vivid blue eyes, wearing a little Santa hat.

I know that breed. It’s a Birman.

Simon shook off the thought and redirected his attention to the owner of the office, remembering his task. Calliope wasn’t a bad-looking woman—rather attractive, actually, when she wasn’t frowning, which he assumed wouldn’t happen often in his presence. Her mustard-colored sweater flattered her—it brought out a golden undertone in her brown skin. She’d worn something mustard-colored yesterday, too; she must like the color. But even more interesting was the scarf she wore—silk, or something similarly smooth and light—in shades of dark blue, with an artistic print of planets and stars.

“My eyes are up here,” she suddenly said, making him flinch.

“I was looking at your scarf,” he explained. “It gives the wrong impression.”

“Of what?”

“Your personality.”

She huffed and turned her head back to the computer, her braids brushing her shoulders.

On the zero gravity trip, she’d worn her hair loose. When they were in free fall, those luscious locks floated around her like a siren underwater. In fact, she was just like a siren: when she opened her mouth, he wanted to jump off this ship.

A knock sounded on the door, and after Calliope’s prompt, the dark-haired head of a young woman popped in. She scanned the room, looking from Calliope to Simon. “Hi.” She nearly sang the word. “I’m the journalist?”

“Oh. Yes,” Calliope said stiffly.

The woman squeezed through the door and offered her hand to Calliope first. “Jessica Lim. But you may call me Jess, Jessie, J … well, not Jessie J, I think that one’s taken.” She giggled.

“Mmh,” Calliope said.

“And you are Simon Montague.” Jessica turned to him with a broad smile and bright eyes. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. Well, not always, that would be weird, if I’d been born with the desire. But I’ve wanted to interview you for years now. Could I ask you some questions?”

“Don’t you want to talk to Dr. Guidry first?”

“Oh, we’ll have plenty of time to talk. The column is called A Year in Life of a Scientist , not A Day. ” Jessica laughed.

“A year?” Calliope’s voice trembled.

“I’ll explain everything.” Jessica waved her hand. “Mr. Montague, may I ask—what inspired you to invest in the Selene mission? I know you cultivate several adrenaline-filled hobbies; do you see going to the Moon as just another challenge? Or are you considering blending the technologies developing in QueLabs with a new project in Aries? Are you ever under pressure, feeling like you have to keep innovating, even if the product is already perfect? When you made Forbes’ 30 under 30 list, did you feel like that was the pinnacle of your career—”

If Calliope’s eyebrows could rise any higher they, too, would be on their way to the Moon.

“First off, please, call me Simon.” He gently steered Jessica toward the chair he’d vacated and leaned on the closed door. “Well, you know …” How was he going to bullshit his way out of this one? “There are a great many reasons to be inspired by the work at QueLabs and their Selene mission. Humanity always strives to achieve better, whether it’s figuring out how to travel further into space, or improving the technology we use in our daily lives.”

It was hard to say whether Calliope looked unimpressed because it was him giving the answer or because of how vapid the answer itself was. But Jessica was rapidly typing things into her phone, seemingly pleased with it.

“And speaking of the fine folks as QueLabs, why doesn’t Dr. Guidry explain what they do?” He gestured to Calliope.

“Yes, of course.” Jessica redirected her attention, fingers hovering over her phone, waiting.

Calliope stammered, squeezing the plush moon pendant she’d pulled out of her pocket. “You said a year in a life?”

“Oh. Right. Silly me. I didn’t explain anything.” Jessica smiled at Simon again. “I study the work and life of a chosen professional in a chosen field for a longer period so the readers can see what their work looks like. That includes the person’s hobbies, social life, and so on. Makes the articles more relatable to the readers, and more fun.”

“Fun,” Calliope said in a flat voice.

“I think she just added that word to her dictionary,” Simon said. When Jessica gave him a confused look, he added, “Never mind.” She was going to figure it out on her own if she was to study Calliope for a year.

Wait. That meant he was going to be here for a year.

“It’s not a whole year,” Jessica said. “Sounds nicer for the title. But it will likely be a few months, so I can see some progress in your work, and the readers can get to know you better.”

“What about him?” Calliope inclined her head toward Simon.

“That’s up to Mr. Mo—uh, Simon . Since he’s investing in your project, I suppose he’ll be here for as long as he wants to.”

If only, Jessica. If only.

Jessica clapped her hands. “Let’s get started, then!”

Simon’s eyes met Calliope’s, and for a brief moment, their emotions aligned. She seemed desperate not to be in this situation, and just for once, Simon agreed with her.

It was going to be a long few months.