CHAPTER 5
Elevator Encounters & Impossible Decisions
~REVERIE~
The Evergreen Media Collective office sits on the third floor of a sleek glass building in downtown Oakridge Hollow—which sounds fancy until you remember that "downtown" here means a three-block radius and "sleek glass building" means the only structure taller than four stories in the entire town.
Still. It's impressive.
The kind of place that makes you check your reflection in the shiny elevator doors and wonder if you're dressed appropriately.
I'm definitely not dressed appropriately.
I went for "professional but still me"—which translated to a cream-colored sweater dress that hits just above my knees, thick tights with tiny snowflakes on them because I'm nothing if not on-brand, and my favorite brown ankle boots that I've worn so much the heel is starting to separate from the sole. My honey-gold hair with its orange tips is pulled into a messy bun that I'vetried to make look intentional rather than "I woke up with fifteen minutes to get ready."
Minimal makeup—just enough to look alive after yesterday's reading marathon—and the dangly snowflake earrings I got from the dollar store that make me happy every time I catch sight of them.
Professional? Debatable. Me? Absolutely.
The lobby smells like expensive coffee and the particular scent of new carpet mixed with that generic "professional building" air freshener that's probably called something like "Executive Breeze" or "Corporate Confidence." There's a receptionist behind a minimalist desk who looks like she irons her hair and has never experienced the chaos of mismatched throw pillows.
She's definitely judging my snowflake earrings. I can feel it.
"Reverie Bell," I say, trying to sound confident and not like someone who spent the last twenty-four hours spiraling about pack dynamics and life-changing decisions. "I have a meeting with Charlotte Webb."
The receptionist's perfectly manicured fingers click across her keyboard.
"Third floor, conference room B. The elevator is just around the corner."
She doesn't smile.
Just goes back to her screen like I'm already dismissed.
Okay then. Love the energy. Very welcoming. Ten out of ten would recommend.
The elevator ride up feels like it takes approximately seventeen years. The mirrored walls reflect back at me from every angle—me, myself, and I, all looking progressively more anxious. I fidget with my dress, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles. My palms are sweaty. My heart is doing that thingwhere it feels like it's trying to escape my ribcage through sheer force of will.
This is fine. It’s just a meeting. A casual conversation about a twenty-five-thousand-dollar opportunity that could change your entire life. No pressure. Totally normal Thursday activity.
The elevator dings. Third floor.
Conference room B is exactly what you'd expect—sleek wooden table, ergonomic chairs that probably cost more than my rent, a window overlooking the tiny downtown area. And Charlotte Webb, standing by the window, turning with a warm smile when I enter.
She's in her early forties, I'd guess, with dark hair pulled into a professional bun and wearing a burgundy suit that screamsI have my life together and also a 401k. But her smile is genuine, reaching her eyes, and she immediately puts out her hand.
"Reverie! It's so wonderful to meet you in person. Please, have a seat."
I shake her hand—trying not to think about my sweaty palms—and sink into one of those expensive chairs. It's comfortable. Like,suspiciouslycomfortable. The kind of comfortable that makes you wonder if you could just live here.
Charlotte slides a thick folder across the table. "I've printed out the contract for you to review. I know digital is easier for some things, but I find there's something about seeing it on paper that makes everything feel more real."
Oh, it feels real alright. It feels very, very real. Too real. So real I might pass out.
I open the folder with trembling fingers. The contract is thick—easily thirty pages of legal jargon and specific clauses. But as I start reading, my eyes going wide with each paragraph, I realize this isn't just real.
This islegit.
Like, actually, genuinely, holy-crap-this-is-happening legit.
