The golden supernova had taken up orbit. Sasha Vonn became a fixture at the offices of Gates and Associates. It wasn't just a visit here and there. She seemed to be there all the time, moving through the spaces like she already owned them. She had opinions on everything. Loud, confident opinions.
She said the overhead lighting was too harsh for a mindful workspace; it "shattered the energetic field." She complained that the sleek office chairs did not promote proper spinal alignment and were "blocking creative flow." One afternoon, she stood in front of a large, abstract painting in the lobby—a piece Lucien had paid a lot of money for—and declared it lacked "energetic intentionality." She said it just sat there, draining the room.
Lucien drank it all in. He called her insights "refreshin
