Phone.
Ringing.
Answer it before they hang up.
I fumble around on my nightstand, knocking over an empty coffee mug—thankfully empty—and finally locate my phone under yesterday's discarded sweater. The screen is too bright, showing an unknown number and the time.
12:04 PM.
Noon. It's noon. I slept until noon. I never sleep until noon.
Oh god, I definitely missed something important.
I swipe to answer, bringing the phone to my ear, and croak out, "Reverie speaking."
My voice sounds like I gargled gravel and then smoked a pack of cigarettes. Attractive. Professional. Definitely not what you want when answering unknown calls.
"Oh dear," a warm, feminine voice says on the other end, laughter threading through the words. "Did I call at the wrong time? It's noon."
I blink, my brain trying to catch up.
Noon. Yes. She's right. It is noon.
"I—" I clear my throat, trying to sound more human and less like a hibernating bear. "The dedication of reading books caught me in a spiral of staying up to finish."
Good save, Rev. Very eloquent. Definitely sounds like you have your life together.
The woman giggles—warm and genuine.
"It's nice to hear your dedication to reading the content is as strong as promoting it on TikTok."
I pause, my sleep-fogged brain trying to process this. She knows about my TikTok? She watches my content?
Who is this?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to will my brain into functioning.
My apartment smells like coffee—stale coffee from yesterday's pot that I forgot to clean out—and the vanilla candle I left burning way too long last night. There's also the scent of the books stacked on my nightstand, that particular smell of new paper and ink that always makes me happy.
But right now, I'm too confused to be happy.
"I'm glad to know someone admires my commitment," I say carefully, "but I'd love to know who I'm speaking with?"
Please don't be a scam call.
Please don't be someone trying to sell me an extended warranty for a car I don't own.
"Oh!" The woman laughs, chagrined. "I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Charlotte Webb, and I'm calling from Evergreen Media Collective."
The name hits me like a freight train.
Evergreen Media Collective.
EVERGREEN MEDIA COLLECTIVE?!!!!!!
My eyes go wide, sleep vanishing like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
I sit up straighter—too fast, the book under my shoulder blade falls to the floor with a thump—and my hand flies to my mouth.
