Catch a Falling Star by Jessica Starre

work was concerned, he was the brains behind the legal wrangling, not the one standing in front of the judge to make a point. He wasn’t even the one who met the clients.
    Sometimes he wondered if anyone would even notice if he was gone. The staff was paid through a company that dealt with taxes and paperwork; Matthias just sent that organization a check every quarter. It was possible that Beverly and the others would keep cooking and dusting for months before realizing he wasn’t eating the food or answering the phone.
    Maybe he would go somewhere. Take the Lexus, with its full tank of gas, and drive somewhere. Where would he go? He remembered once, when he was just a kid, his buddy Frankie had bought an old Mustang convertible and restored it, and they’d tooled around town one glorious Saturday afternoon. Then he’d gone home and his father had told him it was a bad idea to hang out with the son of a staff member, and after that there’d been a series of formal social engagements with people more like his family.
    But he had never forgotten that glorious Saturday afternoon.
    • • •
    Brianna paused on the sidewalk just outside the art house, suddenly wondering if she’d remembered her house keys. A car turning into the parking lot briefly blinded her with headlights and she held up her hand against the glare before double-checking her bag again.
    Had she locked the door behind her? No, she’d figured Nat would do that. So what had she done with her house keys? She’d used them to unlock the front door after work and then … set them on the counter. Really, why hadn’t she put them back in her purse?
    Now she hoped she’d remembered her cell phone so she could call Nat and ask her to wait up for her or else leave the door unlocked. But her phone was … on her desk at work. Dammit. She wasn’t normally this disorganized. What was wrong with her? No wonder Mrs. Curtin was exasperated.
    Maybe there’d be a phone at the movie theatre that she could use. She sighed and turned toward the door. She heard the chunk of a car door closing quite nearby, then the little bo-beep of the car’s security system engaging. Her car’s security system consisted of Brianna manually locking the doors.
    “Hi, there, Brianna. I thought it was you.”
    Brianna slewed around at the sound of that whiskey voice. “Mr. G,” she said, her heart skipping a beat. It was really unfair of him to sneak up on her like that. At least when he called she could take a moment to prepare herself. But there he was, all easy grace, dark good looks, charming smile,
very
charming smile. Polished, successful, no tattoo anywhere, way, way out of her league. Not even in the same sport.
    “Look at you,” she said, rising to the challenge. “Out at the movies and everything.”
    He smiled and came to join her on the sidewalk. “I rub shoulders with the masses occasionally.”
    “And we do appreciate it,” she said. “Did you happen to bring your cell phone?”
    He didn’t blink at what must seem like a total nonsequitur. He patted his suit jacket pocket — he was wearing a suit, despite the fact that no one wore a suit to a Bogart retrospective. Maybe he’d just gotten off work. Although she recalled that he worked mostly from home. If she worked from home, she wouldn’t put a suit on everyday.
    “Do you mind if I borrow it to call Nat? I forgot my keys and my phone and … ” Before she could complete the explanation, he had the phone out and handed it over to her.
    “Be my guest.”
    “Thanks.” She called Nat, alerted her, and gave Mr. G back his phone, and after that it would be weird not to go into the movie theatre together, so they did, and then it turned out he had forgotten his wallet, which made Brianna feel better about the forgotten keys and cell phone, so she paid for his ticket (“I’ll pay you back.” “You better.”) and after that it would be even weirder not to sit together, so they did, right in the middle of the