Chapter 4: The Distance Between Stars

The city never truly slept—neither did Mira’s thoughts.

That night, lying in bed with the faint hum of distant traffic outside her window, she replayed every second of her first day at Cavendish Holdings. From the moment she stepped into the SkySpire to her last exchange with Leo, everything felt surreal. Not just the luxury, the tech, or the fast-paced world she’d stepped into—but the man himself.

Leo Cavendish was a contradiction: coolly efficient yet strangely attentive. He was guarded, but something about the way he watched her, the moments he offered silence rather than corporate jargon, told her there was more behind his tailored armor.

Still, Mira reminded herself, this was just a job. An extraordinary job, yes, but still a job. No room for fantasy. No room for mistakes.

The next morning, she dressed in the same navy blazer, this time pairing it with a soft gray blouse and simple gold necklace. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone—just to keep up.

The driver arrived at 8:00. This time, Mira nodded politely and settled into the back seat with a bit more ease. She spent the ride scrolling through her digital calendar, scanning Leo’s agenda: a high-stakes negotiation with a biotech firm at 10:00, a midday press appearance, and an internal strategy session in the late afternoon.

When she stepped into the SkySpire lobby, Celine greeted her with a tight smile. “Mr. Cavendish is expecting you upstairs. He asked that you sit in on the Olyndra pitch this morning.”

“Olyndra?” Mira repeated.

“A biotech startup. They’re trying to secure a Series B investment. Leo’s on the fence.”

Mira nodded. “Understood.”

Celine’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer. “You catch on fast.”

Mira couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a warning.

---

The conference room buzzed with energy. Representatives from Olyndra—three young founders in semi-formal attire—sat on one side of the long table, their presentation already loaded onto the screen. Mira sat to the side, taking notes on her tablet, aware of the tension in the air.

Leo arrived precisely at 9:58, accompanied by two senior advisors. He didn’t sit. Instead, he stood at the head of the table, jacket open, arms crossed.

“Impress me,” he said.

The pitch began. Words like “biomechanics,” “targeted drug delivery,” and “adaptive cell response” flew across the screen. Mira typed quickly, capturing key figures, but also watched Leo carefully.

He didn’t interrupt. He rarely moved. But Mira could tell—he was analyzing everything. Not just the numbers or product design, but the people. How confident the founder’s voice was when explaining their technology. How they responded to probing questions.

When it ended, there was a long pause.

Leo finally spoke.

“Your projections are ambitious. But your burn rate last quarter was concerning. What’s your fallback if your FDA trial fails?”

The CEO—a tall, eager man named Drew—shifted slightly. “We’ve prepared a secondary model focused on therapeutic licensing in Europe. It’s less profitable, but safer.”

Leo nodded slowly. “You’ve got three months. I’ll consider a conditional investment pending trial results. That’s all for now.”

As the Olyndra team filed out, visibly relieved, Leo turned to Mira. “Thoughts?”

She blinked. “You’re asking me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re here.”

She hesitated, then said, “Drew’s nervous. He believes in the product, but he’s not used to defending it to skeptics. The woman who ran the technical slide—Priya? She’s the real engine. You should talk to her alone next time.”

Leo stared at her, eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Not bad,” he said. “You’re learning.”

---

Later that afternoon, Mira sat in the glass-walled lounge, sipping her second coffee while organizing Leo’s schedule. Her thoughts drifted back to the biotech pitch, and then forward—to the gala scheduled for Friday.

The Cavendish Foundation’s annual benefit gala. The guest list was a who’s who of the city’s elite: CEOs, senators, old-money aristocrats with names she couldn’t pronounce.

She still couldn’t believe Leo had asked her to attend.

“You’ll be there,” he’d said casually that morning. “I need someone I trust navigating the chaos. Wear something sharp.”

Something sharp.

Mira wasn’t sure what that even meant. Her entire closet was built for interviews, late-night coffee shifts, and last-minute tutoring jobs.

“Thinking about the gala?”

Mira jumped, nearly spilling her drink. Leo stood behind her, holding a file and looking far too amused.

“Sorry. You startled me.”

He handed her the file. “Final confirmations for the donor list. I need you to verify contact details and cross-check them with the media list.”

She nodded, scanning the names.

“Do you enjoy these events?” she asked.

“Not really,” Leo admitted. “They’re performances. Polished, expensive theater.”

“And your role?”

“Producer. Occasional actor.”

Mira smirked. “And me?”

He considered her for a moment. “You’re the wild card.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s either a compliment or a red flag.”

Leo gave her one of his rare, unguarded smiles. “It’s both.”

---

By the time Mira returned home, her feet ached and her mind was racing. She collapsed onto her bed and opened her messages.

Gina: So. When are you going to tell me about your mysterious billionaire boss?

Mira: There’s nothing to tell. It’s a job.

Gina: Uh huh. Tell that to your fancy new blazer and that glow.

Mira: It’s sweat. And stress.

Gina: Still glowing. Want me to help you shop for this gala thing? I’ve been waiting for a mission like this.

Mira smiled.

Mira: Yes, please. I need to look like I know what I’m doing.

Gina: Say no more. Friday night, you’re going to look like a woman who owns the stars.

---

Friday arrived faster than she expected.

Gina had pulled a miracle. Mira stood in her apartment, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress was midnight blue, a sleek off-the-shoulder silhouette that hugged her curves but didn’t scream for attention. Her hair was pulled into a soft chignon, and her makeup was subtle but confident.

“You look like you were born in Rome,” Gina declared proudly.

“More like born in Queens,” Mira replied.

“Same thing, babe. Just different zip codes.”

When the car arrived, Mira felt the first flutter of nerves. This wasn’t a boardroom. This was Leo’s world—fully, unapologetically on display.

The venue was breathtaking. A historic glass conservatory transformed with cascading lights, floral installations, and a jazz quartet playing under a golden dome. Waiters floated through the crowd with champagne and hors d’oeuvres, while the city’s elite mingled in gowns and tuxedos.

Mira stepped out of the car, feeling every camera flash as photographers snapped photos near the entrance. Most weren’t aimed at her—but a few lingered, unsure whether she was someone they should recognize.

Leo was already inside.

She spotted him across the room, deep in conversation with a senator and a foreign investor. He wore a black tuxedo with a dark satin lapel, hair slightly tousled, posture effortless.

He looked up—and saw her.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

He walked toward her, slow and deliberate, and when he reached her, he paused just long enough to say:

“You clean up well.”

“So do you,” she said, voice steady despite her racing heart.

He leaned in slightly. “Ready for a little chaos?”

Mira smiled. “Born for it.”

---

The night unfolded like a dream.

Mira followed Leo through conversations, introductions, and strategic mingling. She kept mental notes on donors’ interests, remembered names with uncanny accuracy, and deflected a particularly aggressive CEO who mistook her for an escort.

Leo saw it happen and later murmured, “He won’t be invited next year.”

At one point, they stepped out onto the rooftop balcony. The city stretched around them like a living painting—lights glittering, wind brushing against the silence.

“You handled tonight better than most of my senior advisors,” Leo said.

“I used to deal with drunk college kids trying to pay with expired IDs. This was easier.”

He turned to her, expression unreadable. “You’re different.”

“Different from what?”

“From anyone else I’ve let into this part of my life.”

Mira looked away, her heart beating too fast.

“I’m not trying to be part of your life,” she said. “Just your assistant.”

Leo stepped closer. “What if I want more than that?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and bright.

Mira met his eyes. “You don’t mix business and... anything else. You said so.”

“I said I trust people who tell me the truth. And you do.”

Mira’s voice dropped. “So what do you want, Leo?”