Life After Death by Ice Cream

I sat in the corner of the company cafeteria, staring at my half-eaten salad like it had personally offended me. It wasn't the salad's fault well, maybe a little, because who decided kale was food? but the real issue was the gnawing anxiety that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

It had been a few hours since my conversation with Felix, and the whole plan was still hanging by a thread. I had successfully planted the idea of bringing in fresh talent for the reality show On the Real, as I'd so creatively titled it. And, of course, Elara had to be one of those "fresh faces." The brilliance of it was that I made sure no one realized my true agenda: getting her into the company.

"Eat the salad," the system piped up in my mind, all too cheerful. "It's good for your skin."

"Do you know what else is good for my skin?" I muttered, stabbing a particularly rebellious piece of kale. "Not dying of stress."

[Oh please, you're not even at the hard part yet.] The system sounded like it was lounging in a hammock somewhere, sipping a piña colada. [You've got three days. Relax. What's the worst that could happen?]

"Failure. Getting stuck in this idiotic world forever. Or worse having to explain to my parents why I'm recruiting Elara."

[You could always tell them it's not about Eirik.]

I nearly choked on a cherry tomato. "Yes, because that conversation would go well. 'Oh, hey Mom, Dad, just recruiting her for her talent, not because I want to stick it to Eirik, trust me!' Yeah, they'd totally believe that."

[To be fair, your track record with Eirik is pretty damning.]

"Shut up."

Just as I was about to throw the rest of my salad in the trash out of sheer frustration, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.

New Message: Elara Whitfield has accepted your offer for On the Real.

For a second, I just stared at the message, letting the words sink in. She'd accepted. She actually accepted.

The system was annoyingly smug. [Told you.]

I could feel a grin spreading across my face despite myself. This was step one of the plan getting Elara involved in the show. Now, I just had to make sure she shone so brightly that even my overly suspicious parents couldn't resist recruiting her. They didn't know who I'd recruited yet, which was key. If they had, there'd be a full-blown interrogation, followed by an exorcism or something.

[Look at you, succeeding at things. I'm almost impressed.]

"Almost?" I whispered under my breath, taking a celebratory bite of my now completely tasteless salad. "I'd say I deserve a little more credit than that."

[Okay, okay. Credit where it's due you've managed to get the heroine into the business without blowing your cover. Impressive, truly.]

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "What's next? How do I make sure this doesn't blow up in my face?"

[Easy. Make sure Elara's experience on the show is perfect. If she's a hit, your parents will be practically throwing contracts at her.]

"Yeah, no pressure there," I muttered. I could already feel the weight of this balancing act crushing me. "So all I have to do is… make her a star?"

[Exactly. And while you're at it, don't accidentally let her find out you're behind the whole thing. You know, because she already hates your guts.]

"Thanks for the reminder," I grumbled, glancing around the cafeteria to make sure no one was watching me talk to myself like a lunatic.

I pulled out my phone again, rereading the message. Elara had actually said yes. A small part of me the part that wasn't constantly sarcastic or full of dread felt a strange flutter of excitement. Maybe this could work. Maybe I could turn this disaster of a situation into something manageable.

But, of course, reality came crashing back like a wave of ice water. Elara hated me, and while I didn't know exactly why, I couldn't afford to focus on that. All I needed was to get her into the company and out of harm's way. The fact that she thought I was the villain here was a side plot I didn't have time to unravel just yet.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. This was just the beginning, and if things went smoothly, Elara would prove herself to be the rising star I knew she was. All without my parents catching on to the fact that I was the mastermind behind her sudden debut.

[Don't get too comfortable,] the system chimed in. [You've got two more days to make this work. Time's ticking, Amara.]

"I know, I know," I muttered, finishing off the last of my water with a resigned sigh.

I just hoped I wouldn't end up regretting this entire plan. Because if it failed, I wasn't sure if I could face another round of 'Oh, Amara, why did you bring Elara into the company to impress Eirik?' accusations from my parents.

Just as I was about to revel in my small victory over the salad and the universe in general, my phone buzzed again. It was a message from Felix.

Felix: When you're done pretending to enjoy your salad, come to my office. We need to discuss the finer details of the show.

Ah yes, Felix my personal source of passive-aggressive texts and an endless supply of reminders that I had no idea what I was doing. The guy was practically a human calendar notification, popping up whenever I was about to relax.

I tossed my napkin onto my plate and stood up, already bracing myself for the inevitable barrage of condescending advice that awaited me. My heels clicked against the polished floors as I made my way to Felix's office.

When I arrived, I paused in front of the door. Felix's office was unsurprisingly annoyingly perfect. The glass walls were practically a love letter to modern minimalism, and I half-expected a robot butler to greet me at the door with a soy latte and an offer to schedule my existential crises.

I knocked once, and the door slid open. Because, of course, Felix wouldn't have a regular door like a normal person. No, he had a sliding door. Probably motion-activated too.

"Amara," Felix greeted me without looking up from his massive desk that could probably host a United Nations summit. His desk was an expanse of white glass and chrome, with barely anything on it except for a sleek tablet, a lone succulent that looked like it had never seen sunlight, and a single pen that was probably more expensive than my entire wardrobe. A massive floor-to-ceiling window stretched across the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city. It was the kind of view that screamed, Look at me, I'm important, and I never have to fight over street parking.

I resisted the urge to make a face. "You wanted to see me?"

Felix finally looked up, his eyes scanning me as if I were a particularly challenging crossword puzzle he was trying to solve. "Yes. Sit."

I took a seat in one of the ludicrously comfortable leather chairs in front of his desk. "Nice office. Subtle," I commented, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thank you," he replied, completely missing the tone. Of course. Felix had the emotional range of a houseplant. "We need to finalize some details for On the Real. The show starts filming tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I nearly choked. "That's soon. Like, way too soon."

He raised an eyebrow as if my panic was some kind of amusing distraction. "This is your project, Amara. You should be prepared."

"Yes, and I would be if I had more than 24 hours to make sure everything doesn't implode."