I join the staring contest. Saskia Landon? She is the model of the moment. Fashion editors all over the globe would claw each other’s eyes out to have her in a photo shoot. Designers have to book her two years in advance for a catwalk. And she topped Forbes World’s Highest-paid Models list, bypassing the runner-up by over thirty million. Saskia is the top one percent of A-list celebrities. What is she doing here?

“Is that Saskia Landon?” I hiss at Indira. “Am I seeing right?”

“In the flesh.”

“Do we have a photo shoot with her? How did we manage that? Why wasn’t I informed? I’m the Fashion Editor!”

“Relax.” Indira rolls her eyes. “The lady is not here to work.”

“Why then?”

“I suspect she’s the boss’s date for the night.”

“Saskia Landon going out with Richard? Impossible!”

“You’d be surprised how well-connected Richard is. How else do you think he managed to pull together this”—she uses her pen to point around the office—“in less than six months? And then make it cash positive after only one year in business.”

I want to reply, by underpaying over-qualified employees like myself, but I refrain. Instead, I say, “Okay, Richard knows people. But Saskia is supposed to be dating actors, NFL stars, or billionaires. What is she doing with Richard?”

Indira sighs. “They don’t make for a bad couple.”

I follow Indira’s hinting stare toward the door where Richard has appeared next to Saskia.

Unfortunately, Indira is right. Saskia is tall, but Richard is taller. Side by side, both wearing jeans and plain T-shirts, they look like a Calvin Klein ad. Sleek, glamorous, sexy. Worst of all, they do belong. Richard with his dashing smile, one-day stubble, and effortlessly cool vibe. Saskia with her long limbs, out-of-this-world face, and hair to die for.

As if hypnotized, I watch Richard guide Saskia out with a hand on her lower back. I wonder how that would feel.

Would Richard’s hand be warm on my back? Would I feel it through the fabric of my shirt? Would it send electricity up my spine?

The answer is probably yes to all three.

“Does that mean the receptionist is gone?” I ask.

Richard was dating a hotel receptionist when I accepted the job three weeks ago.

“They never last,” Indira replies. “I told you the boss is damaged goods.”

“Yes, but you didn’t tell me why.”

Indira leans in closer, speaking in a hushed tone. “It’s just gossip, but…” She looks around for a second as if to check if someone is eavesdropping.

I make a “give it to me” gesture. Sometimes Indira is a bit of a drama queen.

“Well, legend has it the boss was about to get married, and the bride did a runner on him.”

I gasp. “No!”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You mean he was engaged, and his fiancée broke it off before the wedding?”

“No, I mean he was at the altar literally getting married and the bride panicked or something and ran out mid-ceremony. I don’t know the details.”