“Ants… on my name?” Amelia whispered, staring at her name drowning in black insects..
Tabitha looked pale. “Looks like a prediction,” she muttered, reaching out then tucking the napkin into her notebook. “He thinks you’re being ‘bugged.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “He’s dramatic, Tabs. It’s his bit. High-concept janitor cryptic-speak.”
But Amelia felt a coldness. Collateral damage. That was the unspoken headline of the drawing. Chase was the target; she just made the situation messy.
“Registrar,” Chase called out. “Got a cup for me today? Something to help me face the music?”
Tabitha handed him a sleeve with SILVER TONGUE scrawled in jagged ink. She met Amelia’s eyes, her gaze lingering. “TOO GOOD FOR THIS still stands, Winters.”
The meeting with the bank loan officer was shorter than the drive. Charm, a tailored suit, and a decade of solid credit history didn’t mean much when your employer is flagged for an “active liquidity audit” by a global conglomerate.
“We’d love to help, Mr. Wright,” the officer had said. “But given the uncertainty surrounding Michael & Cole and Miss Winter’s… let’s call it an ‘emergent’ credit profile, you two are classified as high-risk. We can’t move forward until El Viento reestablishes the service contracts.”
They walked back to the car in silence. The rain had stopped, leaving the Orangeside pavement slick. Chase unlocked the Acura.
“Well,” Amelia said, staring out at the horizon. “That went poorly.”
Chase gripped the steering wheel, keys dangling from the ignition. “This didn’t happen today, Ames.”
Amelia turned toward him. “What didn’t?”
“The bank saying no. That decision was made weeks ago before we even applied. We just showed up to hear the bad news.” His voice dropped. “The loan was just a wakeup call.”
“Wakeup call,” she whispered, the napkin drawing flashing in her mind. “What if I’m hurting you? What if Snakes wasn’t being poetic? What if he was being literal?”
Chase looked at her, small in the passenger seat, the “power couple” energy they’d brought to the café completely drained away. She shouldn’t be worrying about debt. She should be planning where to put her coffee maker.
His phone buzzed in the cup holder.
Sender: VIM_Admin Subject: Contract // Streaming Show: ‘The Salt & The Honey’
Chase picked it up. “The timing isn’t a coincidence.”
Amelia leaned over. “Another offer?”
He opened the attachment.
It wasn’t a paycheck; it was a signing bonus that would vaporize his debts, cover the move and stabilize Amelia’s budget enough to fix her credit..
“It’s a lifeline,” Chase said, his voice hushed.
Amelia reached out and tapped the screen, her finger resting on the bolded text. “It’s sugar, Chase. Look at the language. ‘Authentic commentary.’ ‘Relationship dynamics.’ They aren’t looking for news anchors. They’re looking for real people.”
“They come with contracts about positions,” Chase said, turning to face her fully. “Slots. Roles. We play the game on camera for a few hours a week. Then we live our normal lives. We treat it like a game, Ames. We’re smarter than some silly game.”
“This is our life, not a videogame.”
“We’ll have boundaries. Characters. A version of us that exists on the screen and stops the second the red light goes out.” He leaned closer, searching her eyes. “We take the money to buy time. Time to breathe.”
Amelia bit her lip, the weight of the “restructuring” at the clinic and the “Protocol Beta” prisons on the news swirling in her head.
“If we do this,” she said slowly, “we have to have rules. No real secrets on air. No using our actual problems for drama. No filming at the clinic. Ever.”
“Agreed,” Chase said instantly. “Church and State. The show is the show. Us is us.”
She stared at him.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Chase exhaled. He tapped REPLY.
Interested. Schedule a meeting.