Enter Stage Left: Renji Kubo

HARTLOCK STUDIOS​. One of the top five agencies almost guaranteed to make you a success in the showbiz world. Specializing in modeling, acting, and media production, Hartlock Studios boasts over three thousand affiliated talents and staff. Their next star rumored to strike it big is Mia Watanabe, a twenty-four-year-old rising actress who received the Rising Star Award just last year for her emotional performance in a post-apocalyptic drama.

As the personal assistant to such a celebrity, I get to experience every ounce of the chaos her newfound fame attracts. Coffee, meetings, auditions, rehearsals, filming, interviews, calls, emails, social media, dry-cleaning, groceries, finances—there’s no end in sight to the endless list of responsibilities that fall squarely on my shoulders.

“Someone get me an intern! I deserve an intern!” I collapse on the tawny couch in the office break room. Thirty minutes all to myself. God bless lunch breaks.

For a moment, I consider kicking off the black pumps that have been digging into the backs of my heels all day. When I bought them, I didn’t think about how much my feet swell from standing and walking for hours on end. I still haven’t found time to exchange them for a larger size. 

As the doorknob rattles, I abandon the thought and sit up straight, smoothing down my gray skirt.

The door opens. I lock eyes with a pair of soft, golden irises. My gaze trails down a sharp jawline and back up to a deep-set frown.

Ah.

"Good afternoon, Kubo-san." I stand and bow.

"Satou-san."

The silence that follows kills me every time. By now, I’m convinced he knows how much I hate the way he "talks".

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I ask, forcing a polite tone.

“Maybe it’s a good thing I ran into you here.” Renji Kubo strides to the fridge, pulls out a can of black coffee, cracks it open, and takes a measured sip before turning back to me. His dark green bangs shift as he moves, a few wisps falling across his thick eyebrows.

“Earlier, my assistant was supposed to confirm breaks in Watanabe-san’s schedule. You reported there were none, yet here you are…”

My smile starts to strain.

“Oh, you didn’t have to come to me personally about that! I take my break while Watanabe-san’s looking over scripts—much more efficient that way. And since she wanted to have lunch at a restaurant on the way to her next meeting, I had to schedule everything tightly to make sure she has time to enjoy herself. I’m sure you understand!”

"Hm..."

Persistent jerk.

He closes the distance between us easily, his gaze unwavering. I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, though I’d rather run away at this point. There are only so many excuses I can make before they run dry.

“You run an unusually strict schedule, Satou-san. I don’t believe mine was ever this packed, even at the height of my career.” His low, husky voice carries an edge—quiet, but sharp. He’s done with my excuses.

“Whatever do you mean? Surely you aren’t done with the height of your career! You received an offer for that new TV series just the other day, didn’t you? You must be so busy!” When in doubt, deflect.

The corner of his lips curls upward, and he exhales a short, scoffing laugh.

“You never run out of things to say, do you?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

I open my mouth to respond—anything to get him to back off—but he raises a finger to his mouth. Shut up. He definitely means shut up. 

He reaches into the pocket of his tan pants and pulls out a small envelope, handing it to me. The name Watanabe is written in delicate, measured print. Did he write this himself? I refuse to admire his penmanship—he’s my enemy, the man trying to worm his way into my best friend’s life during the most critical point of her career.

"What—"

“A letter. I think it’s time I had the chance to speak with Watanabe-san personally. Our schedules haven’t aligned so far, so I figured this might be the best way to reach out.” He runs a hand through his bangs. “Don’t you agree?”

Checkmate.

"Very smart idea." I don't know if I'm even smiling anymore. "I didn't realize you were so old-school. How very gentlemanly—" 

I don’t get the chance to finish whatever blabbering I have in mind. He leans down, close enough that his breath brushes my ear.

"I do expect a response, Satou-san. I can trust you to handle this for me?" he whispers.

Chills run down my arms. Too close, too close, too close. He lingers for several unbearable seconds before I shakily nod, stiff as a robot long overdue for maintenance. 

He straightens, a smug smile lighting his face.

"Wonderful. It was a pleasure running into you, Satou-san."

And then he's gone. 

I look down at the letter in my hand, then check the remaining time on my watch.
 What am I going to do?

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"That self-entitled, cold heart, piece of work! I can't stand him! How does he get any work with that crappy personality of his?!" I groan into a bright red decorative pillow I stole from the loveseat in Mia Watanabe's living room. 

My best friend laughs from the kitchen, stirring a cup of fresh tea with one hand and covering her mouth with the other.

"It's not funny, he's evil and no one sees it!" I shout, muffled by the pillow.

Mia laughs harder, nearly doubling over. She moves her stirring hand to hug her waist. "I'm sure he wasn't that bad, Mira. He's very charming in the office, and in passing. He doesn't seem like the type to—what was it you said? Hunt you down." She wipes tears from her eyes and carries her tea over to the coffee table.

"Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic," I mutter, "but there was no reason for him to be in the break room! Grabbing coffee? Isn't that what assistants are for?"

Mia tucks a strand of pale pink hair behind her ear and blows carefully into her cup. She’s clearly fighting back laughter by focusing on her tea instead. After one long sip, she sets it down and gives me a sympathetic look.

“It’s been a month since you closed off my schedule, right? I don’t see the harm in letting us meet occasionally. We’re from the same agency. Surely nothing could be blown out of proportion between us?”

I want to cry. Her naivety teeters on the edge of ignorance, and I don’t have the heart to crush it.

“No, no, no—you can’t afford to! He’s up to something, I swear. Men like that don’t go out of their way unless they have an ulterior motive.” I pull my bag over from the side of the loveseat and take out the letter I received earlier.

"See for yourself! After all I've done, he's found a way. He wanted me to give you this!" 

Mia takes it from me with a giggle and turns it over in her hands.

"My! He has better penmanship than the both of us," she muses.

I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay, open it? And read it out loud! I didn't look it over yet..."

She nods, slides a finger through the seal, and pulls out an off-white card decorated with bright yellow sunflowers. Opening it, she reads aloud:

“Watanabe-san,

I would like to express my sincerest congratulations on all of your accomplishments thus far. I am proud to have such a blossoming young talent with us. Please, if you ever find yourself in need of advice from your senior, do not hesitate to seek me out.

-- Kubo, Renji.”

Mia sets the letter down and looks back at me with a soft smile.

"What?" I demand.

"What?" she echoes.

“How many sunflowers are on there?” I ask, leaning forward to peek.

She laughs and lifts the card out of reach. “Maybe you should learn to admit when you’re wrong, Mira!”

I swat at her, trying to get my hands on the card. I should've read it the moment got it.

“I’m not wrong about this! He’s suspicious—you know it too! Just wait, I’m going to find out if he sends sweet letters to all his precious juniors!”

I never get my hands on that letter.