Monday mornings at Michael & Cole always had the smell of old coffee, printer toner, and a little dash of existential dread.
Chase leaned against his desk, scrolling through an email that practically glittered against the drab gray of his Outlook inbox.
Subject: Collaborative Opportunity – Viento Influencer Media Division Body:
“You’ve been identified as a potential creative partner for our media division exploring authentic digital storytelling. Compensation is competitive. Schedule flexible. More info upon response.”
He stared at the message for a full minute, the cursor hovering over the trash icon.
“Still pulling that string…” he muttered. “Absolutely not.”
“Talking to yourself again?”
Chase spun around to witness Snakes in the doorway, leaning on his mop with casual insolence.
“You ever get mysterious job offers from evil corporations?” Chase asked.
“Only the ones that involve plumbing,” Snakes said, chewing on a toothpick. “What’d they promise you? Fame, fortune, free iPhone?”
“‘Authentic digital storytelling,’” Chase read aloud, in a stunted exaggerated way.
“Sounds like pyramid scheme poetry.” Snakes squinted at the screen, spotting the logo. “El Viento? Don’t they own the coffee machine now?”
“They own the concept of coffee now.”
Snakes laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “Buddy, if yer gettin oral favors, at least make sure she’s not about to sneeze your manhood away.”
Chase smiled despite himself. “Good clean talk, Snakes.”
Snakes pointed with the mop handle, a gesture that felt less like cleaning and more like sentencing. “You’ll take it. You always do.”
“Do what?”
“Argue with fate and then file the paperwork anyway.”
Chase looked down at the screen to delete the email. When he looked up again, the doorway was empty. The floor where Snakes had stood gleamed under the fluorescent lights, as if it had never been dirty to begin with.
Amelia sat at her desk during her lunch break, editing her latest vlog on her phone—a low-stakes Q&A she’d titled “Probably Overthinking This (Again)”. Her small subscriber base adored her humor: gentle, honest, a little self-mocking.
Her notification bar dropped down. A new email. Same gold logo Chase had seen, but a different tone.
Subject: Creator Sponsorship – Viento Influencer Media Division Body:
“We’ve followed your creative history and would love to discuss an opportunity that combines wellness, creativity, and community impact. We believe your unique voice could resonate with our new initiatives.”
They included a link.
Amelia clicked it, and her stomach did a somersault. It linked to an archived, long-forgotten channel from her high school days: ABeeWin.
She stared at the thumbnail: a seventeen-year-old Amelia wearing fuzzy antenna and a yellow-and-black striped sweater, enthusiastically reviewing Digimon episodes.
“That’s gotta sting!” young Amelia chirped in the video, emphasizing the pun with finger guns.
Amelia covered her face with her hands. “Oh god. The internet never forgets.”
Reading the email three times. It sounded harmless. But in her experience, harmless was usually just suspicious with better PR.
Still… her hours had just been cut. Her rent was due. And Chase was talking about moving in together to save money. Well, after they get that loan to help fund the move.
She chewed her lip. Maybe she could use this Viento Influencer thing as a booster rocket. Take the sponsorship, get the visibility, and then jump off before things get too heavy.
She imagined her camera was rolling. Without thinking, talking to the empty break room.
“Okay, hypothetical audience, what would you do if a morally ambiguous tech conglomerate offered you a sponsorship? Follow-up question: why do I suddenly feel like the main character in a cautionary tale?”
She sighed, closing the email but not deleting it.
“Anyway,” she whispered to the room. “I’m gonna… ask friends. Because I BEE responsible like that.”
Chase picked Amelia up at PawsCity Vibes at the end of her shift.
“Hey,” Chase said, as she dropped into his TLX’s plush warmed leather seats.
“Hey.” Amelia said, adjusting her blazer, letting the warmth of the leather sink in.
She looked sharp—blue jacket, hair pinned back. “Before we go to the bank, did you get any emails offering to make you some offer to use your talent?”
“Yeah, it’s one of Vincenzo’s side projects,” Chase said. “I didn’t bite his ‘bigger announcement’ and now it looks like he’s trying to get you in on this back-up plan he hatched up.”
“It could be fun,” Amelia said, though she looked distracted.
They drove toward Summers Brew, needing the energy boost before the meeting.
Stepping out of the Japanese luxury car, they kept step with each on the walk to the cafe.
“Before we even consider this Viento Influencer thing,” Chase said. “We need to make sure of something. We need to avoid becoming…”
“Evil” He grinned, looking at her. “Remember our ‘Evil’ debate?”
Amelia’s eyes lit up, the distraction fading as she caught the reference. “Oh god. The Master Debate Off?”
“The Master Debate Off,” Chase confirmed. “Orangeside Community College versus Viento Primeval College.”
“Jeremy Johnson,” Amelia said, the name coming out, an unwelcome memory.
“ERMEE,” Chase corrected. “The man, the myth, the medical manipulation.”
Picking up the pace, their steps synced on the wet pavement, transforming from two stressed adults into a united front.
***
They hit the door of Summers Brew in perfect unison, shoulders brushing, steps matched. It was a performance, sure, but it was also becoming a habit.
Chase held the door. Amelia swept in, her blue blazer that matching his tie perfectly. It wasn’t planned. It was just synergy.
“And then,” Chase said, picking up the story mid-sentence to keep the adrenaline up, “ERMEE tried to vault out of his wheelchair. Straight at me. Full flesh torpedo.”
Amelia laughed, shaking her umbrella out. “You caught him! Chase, you looked like someone handed you a live grenade.”
“And he tried using me catching him, as some half ass-example of man being good.” Tilting his head to Amelia, “We were stunlock till you decided to use the moment to give me a mind-blowing kiss. Honestly, I don’t think I even heard when you stole the debate with a simple ‘man is evil’ after I dropped him.”
Chase, bumped her shoulder. “I still can’t believe they counted THAT as an argument.”
“It counted,” Amelia said, beaming. “The judge applauded. Philosophers applauded. Sharon screamed. Tyrone spat out his twinkie. It was a whole thing.”
Chase shook his head, smiling. It felt good to remember winning something. To remember a time when the stakes were just a plastic trophy and their future.
“We were such disasters,” he murmured.
“Disasters they make movies about,” Amelia corrected.
They reached the counter. Tabitha was there, looking like she’d been waiting for them to stop talking so she could resume brooding. She ground the beans with aggressive force.
“Did all your debates involve attempted assault, or was that a special case?” Tabitha asked dryly.
Chase blinked, shifting gears from “College Legend” to “Tired Lawyer.”
“Oh – hey, Tabs. Morning. Two coffees. One black, one whatever mystical stuff you did last time.”
Amelia nudged him. “Don’t call it mystical stuff. Tabitha actually puts effort into her work.”
Tabitha grabbed a marker and wrote on a cup with violent efficiency, waving it in the air at Amelia.
TOO GOOD FOR THIS.
Amelia read it and chuckled. “At least it’s positive.”
Amelia watched Tabitha work, with sharp movements under her own guarded eyes.
“So,” Tabitha said, not looking up. “Clinic good today? Any flying sloths show up?”
Amelia’s smile faltered. She unwound her scarf, feeling the weight of the morning’s email in her pocket.
“Those are illegal in this state, and it’s…slooooow,” Amelia admitted. “Ever since the new sign went up, they cut my hours a buncha times. New owners claim they’re ‘restructuring,’ but nobody seems to know what that means.”
Tabitha’s hand paused on the grinder.
“And you, how’s the world of brief cases with briefcases?” Tabitha asked Chase, almost too quickly. “Still standing?”
Chase laughed, but it was hollow.
“For now. We lost two major clients last month. Michael’s trying to keep morale up, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The guys on his last legs, and the other partner ‘Cole’… Nobody had heard from him since he went to the Bahamas.”
Amelia touched his arm. It was instinctive, a silent I’m here.
“They’ll pull through,” she said. “Their the biggest law-firm in Orangeside.”
“Maybe, but most clients don’t come from in town,” Chase said.
Tabitha slid Amelia’s latte across the counter. A perfect heart sat in the foam.
“You always do this,” Amelia said, brightening. “It’s so sweet.”
“I was aiming for a skull,” Tabitha muttered. “I missed.”
“Heartbreaking mistake,” Chase said.
The air felt thin as they laughed.
The café grew busy with students, chess players, Winona drifting by with ‘Karma Mile’ tea. Despite that, Amelia felt the walls closing in. The bank meeting coming up probably won’t go well. “Insufficient collateral,” the loan officer is probably going to say. “High-risk sector.”
Chase took a sip of his black coffee.
“Okay, Registrar,” he said, trying to find his rhythm again. “Have you decided if you’re self publishing or looking for an agent?”
Tabitha stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“That book you pretend you’re not writing in every time I walk in. You’ve got, what, a whole intelligence dossier on me in there?”
“It’s not a book. It’s a classified file.”
“On me?” Chase grinned. “Flattering.”
“Don’t be daft. You’re just Exhibit C37. There are… other ‘persons of interest’ in there.”
Amelia leaned forward, intrigued. “Okay, I’m invested. What’s he guilty of?”
Tabitha met her eyes, deadpan. “Existing.”
Amelia burst out laughing. It was such a perfect, moody thing to say.
Chase nudged her. “See? I told you she’s a menace.”
“Please. You love it.” Amelia replied with her eyes bright.
The banter brought a familiar sense of peace. Safe, easy and one of the only things in his life right now that didn’t require a disclaimer. The kind of peace that helps people open up to those they have a connection with.
“Actually,” Chase said, his voice dropping. “I really should elaborate. Things are weird at the firm.”
Amelia’s brows lifted. “Still losing clients?”
“More like lost,” Chase said. “Michael called a meeting yesterday. El Viento pulled every contract. Ninety percent of our caseload evaporated in one hour.” He forced a laugh. “We look like a ship after the iceberg but before the violinists give up.”
Tabitha blinked.
Amelia nodded grimly. “Honestly, my hours got shredded. Rumblings around the clinic swear it’s some shell company pulling the strings.”
Chase felt a surge of adrenaline. He had to fix this. He had to spin it. That was his super power.
“But!” he said, maybe a little too loudly. “There might be an upside.”
Both women looked at him.
“Vincenzo has this new thing, Viento Influencer Media. He reached out this morning. Says he wants fresh voices, people with ‘Something To Say’. He thinks Amelia and I could stream. Commentary, news, lifestyle stuff.”
Amelia looked down at her cup. “It really could help… stabilize things. Just until we get back on our feet.”
Imagine it, Tabitha,” Chase said, quieter now. “Student loans gone. Amelia’s hours a non-issue. Just…breathing room. Plus…we’d get paid to do something fun for once.”
Tabitha looked at him. Her eyes were dark, unreadable.
“Viento Influencer Media… VIM?” she said. “Like Invader Vim? You really think something with that name doesn’t end up living inside your walls?”
Chase waved her off. “I think you mean ‘Invader Zim’. And don’t worry about the finances, kid.”
Tabitha flinched, jaw tightening and eyes glaring at her notebook.
Amelia’s hand tightened on her cup. Just a fraction. She didn’t look at Tabitha – she looked at Chase.
“Leave the boring stuff to the big-wigs,” Chase added quickly. “We keep our hands clean. We just… talk.
Chase felt it the moment he said it—too smooth, too easy.
“You don’t even like ‘big-wigs’,” Tabitha snapped.
“See? That’s why you’re the registrar, always seeing the details.”
Amelia touched his sleeve again, remembering her own email. “Chase,” she said gently. “She’s not wrong to worry. It’s a lot to jump into.”
He sighed, the mask slipping. “I know. I know.”
Then he smirked again, reflexively charming. “But this whole thing is designed for people in our position. And honestly? The market isn’t exactly flooded with lifelines right now.”
The bell over the door jangled—hard.
Snakes shuffled in. The mop cart squeaked like a warning siren.
He walked past Chase. Past Amelia. Straight to Tabitha.
He reached into his pocket and dropped a torn napkin on the counter.
El Viento SECURITIES.
Circled three times.
And in the center, drawn in a cramped ballpoint: Amelia.
Swarming over her name was a mass of tiny, frantic ants.
“Sugar spills,” Snakes murmured. “Ants don’t know who they bite, they just bite. They just take whatever’s in the way.”
He turned his head. Behind that stare, Chase felt the gaze land on him.
“Warn your friend of collateral damage,” Snakes said to Tabitha, but looking at Chase. “The man sees the candy worm. Not the hook.”
Chase opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Snakes shuffled out without another sound.