I had only ever been to one other interview all my life, but it didn't really count.

The library practically advertised that it didn't have any standards. Triple W most certainly would.

For the sake of keeping my nerves under control, I had not allowed myself to even think about the interview for the rest of the weekend. I had done quite well with that, at least until I was sitting in the waiting room, dressed in my most uncomfortable pants and a simple orange shirt that clashed with my red hair.

I had never been very fond of my hair's particular shade. It was just red enough that no one would confuse it with blonde hair but not red enough to be captivating. It bothered me less the shorter I kept it.

When Alec Whitman came out of his office to wave me in, my brain decided that holding my breath was the only way I would stand a chance at regulating it.

"Ms. Rivers?" he asked. His voice sounded hesitant but he cleared his throat before adding, "Come in," with much more confidence.

He looked way too young to be in charge of anything. Though he wore a suit, he was the furthest thing from intimidating that my mind could conjure up.

He held the door for me and I entered a large office armed with one single window as its brightest source of light. The sunrays, weak and hesitant, that managed to filter into the impersonal room tinted the depressing gray of the furniture.

Following me into the room, he motioned for me to take a seat and adjusted his tie as he slipped into his chair. His fingers intertwined on the desk as he leaned forward.

I had to chew on my lip to keep my self-sabotaging mouth from laughing at his exaggerated mannerisms.

In a way, he looked more like an interviewee—nervous, wide-eyed, and fidgety.

All his actions seemed carefully rehearsed and reminded me a bit too much of myself.

"I'm Alec Whitman," he said, his hands didn't move as if to discourage any attempt to shake his hand. "Mr. Crawford told me a little bit about you. You're a creative writing major, correct?"

I nodded, and I knew my face would match that feigned nonchalance. Meanwhile, my brain worked in overdrive as it tried to figure out how much Mr. Crawford said from Alec's expressions.

"Second year?"

"No, I just started my junior year. I don't know if Mr. Crawford mentioned it, but I have no experience in editing." Or in keeping to myself information that could cost me a job.

"Fortunately, that won't be the focus of your job. This is a fairly new project," he admitted. "We're rebranding. Our current priority is to find talent and keep it," he said, repeating the motto I had noticed on their website. "The editing and publishing details come later."

After grilling me with what seemed like hundreds of questions, Alec finally stopped. He cleared his throat and said, "Our other candidate didn't show up yesterday. So, the job is yours... by default."

Opening with that would have kept my brain from overworking, causing me to stutter from the feeling of every shade of fear.

I couldn't reply, too focused on chasing away a scowl that begged me to express our irritation.

"Is there anything I need to know about you that might affect our future collaboration?"

The anticipation I read in his eyes told me he had had many traumatizing experiences with this question.

I was quick to answer that there were none. I could only assume Mr. Crawford had made a good case for me.

I wasn't about to ruin all his hard work with the truth.

Alec Whitman wasn't the type to insist. He glanced over at the schedule I had handed him earlier and his eyebrows scrunched up at what he read.

"Five classes?" he asked, and for just a moment, his voice betrayed confusion instead of maintaining that monotone, controlled tone he seemed to be so proud of.

"I didn't want to be bored." I smiled—some part of me must have wanted to do this at some point just to impress and shock. But if I had known that the pleasure of listening to Mr. Crawford all summer was expecting me, maybe I would have reconsidered.

"Can you start today? It will be a short day—maybe three hours," he said, glancing at his watch. "It would be more like a short training session."

I nodded, trying not to betray any excitement. "By the way," I asked, as he stood from his own seat across the desk. "What does "Triple W" mean? I couldn't find it anywhere on the website."

A glint of hesitation crossed his face then he broke into a smile that I didn't expect to ever see on his face. "Oh, we don't talk about that," he said, as he nodded towards the door.

I left a copy of my resume—that he had never asked for—on his desk before following him.

We stepped out of the room into a much brighter hallway that made me blink as if I had forgotten what proper lighting looked like after a few minutes in his office.

"Olivia will give you a tour of the place. When you're done, you can stop by my office again and we'll find you something to do," he said, not pausing to breathe, as he gestured for a woman behind the receptionist counter to come over.

"Would you mind showing her around?" he asked, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"No problem." She ruffled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved white blouse. "I was getting bored."

"Thanks." He lingered a little bit too long, trying to come up with something else to tell her, but thought better of it and returned to his office.

"Hi." She gave my hand a quick shake. "Please call me Liv. Kelly, right? We spoke on the phone." I barely had the time to whisper "nice to meet you" before she went on, "Our facility is quite small. We have all the office rooms on this floor, and then there's the cafeteria, the storage, and the conference rooms upstairs."

We walked down the hallway and she showed me the restrooms, the writers' lounge, and the room with the printers and photocopiers.

"Are you a writer?" she asked me, her fingers mindlessly twisted around each other in what looked like a painful lock.

It still felt weird to call myself that, like the title was something to be earned and I wasn't quite there yet.

"To be determined."

Her lips pulled up in a grin. "Everyone who walks through these doors has a different answer to that. I think it's more simple than you guys realize, though."

Olivia closed her eyes when we had made it back to where we started. "You walk through the main doors, pass by the receptionist's desk. You climb the stairs. Oh!" She hit her forehead, remembering something. "There's an indoor garden on the second floor. It's on a balcony and it's the best thing about this place." She nodded towards the stairs, beckoning me to follow her.

Folding glass doors encircled the garden. It was small, understated, and... occupied.

A guy was lying down on one of the two benches. Too tall to entirely fit, his legs extended much beyond the bench in what seemed like an uncomfortable position.

His eyes snapped open as if he could sense us watching him.

"Ladies," he said, greeting us with a casual two-finger salute.

"Okay," Liv said, as we left the garden. "Let's leave Sleeping Beauty alone and forget this ever happened."

➷➷➷

I knocked on Alec's door half an hour later after roaming the rest of the building with Olivia.

I did not expect to see anyone else there, but when I came in, a guy was sitting on the chair by the door, the farthest one from Alec's desk. He turned slightly when I came in and I recognized the messy brown strands I had noticed in the garden earlier.

Unsure what to do with myself, I lingered by the door by the bookshelf until Alec waved me in.

"Miles, thanks again for coming," Alec said.

"Well, I didn't really have a choice, did I? You called Mom."

Only then did I process the shared height and the similar shade of brown hair. Sleeping Beauty's hair was every bit as messy as Alec's was tidy.

His outfit—jeans and jersey—didn't fit the atmosphere of Alec's room and made him look out of place among Alec's neat furniture and organized items.

"I wouldn't have had to if you picked up my calls."

Alec's tone was stern and tired like he had had this conversation more often than he would have wanted. He seemed five years older just by being in the same room.

"What do you want?"

"A favor."

Miles smiled like the very notion was absurd. "Why would I help you?"

"For old times' sake."

"Don't be ridiculous."

I was careful not to move in the few seconds of silence that followed. I didn't think I was a necessary part of the Whitman civil war, but it would be too weird to walk out now.

"I'm curious, though. What do you need from me?"

The stressed lines on Alec's forehead eased. "Sign a contract with us."

Miles laughed and the room came alive.

"You're kidding."

"Look, you're sort of a local celebrity. People pick up your book from the shelves as soon as they come out. But we could make you into a national face. And you'd be good publicity."

"Not interested. Come on, this place is dead. It hasn't been taken seriously in centuries. You get that, right?"

"No wonder Grandpa left it to me," Alec said. "He knew you'd be as scared as Dad was to give it its best chance."

"Let's not go there." There was nothing left of the lightheartedness from Miles's tone earlier.

"See, I'm willing to give working with you a try if it will help this company. Why can't you think about this as a mature adult? I didn't want to bring this up, but I ran into your old agent. It sounded to me like you were looking for a new publisher."

"An established company was more what I was looking for."

"I doubt you have the luxury to be picky."

"I'll think about it."

Alec seemed to finally remember I had been a witness to the bloodbath. "Kelly, this is my brother, Miles. Since he and I might be partners soon," Alec said, shooting a pointed look to his brother, "I expect that you'll see more of him."

Miles didn't seem to find that idea as interesting as Alec did. Instead, his eyes sought the posters on the walls with unwarranted attention.

"Pretty," he said, staring at a painting of dandelions on the wall behind Alec's desk.

"How about this? Let me know when you've got something good. You can make your decision then. And we won't have to see each other until you're done," he said, his tone more casual than the words sounded as if that was a normal sibling sentiment.

Miles stood up from his chair. "Should I expect another call from Mom on your behalf?"

"Pick up my calls and we'll never have to get there," Alec said before turning to me. "Kelly, Olivia has a manuscript for me outside, could you get it?"

I nodded and stepped out through the door that Miles held open.

Would it be awkward not to say anything to him? Or would it be annoying to address him?

"It's nice of you to help out your brother," I said as he let the door close behind us.

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm sure his projects would get a boost from your association with it."

He glanced at me for a brief moment while a small, mysterious smile danced on his lips. "Except for one minor little detail."

Sleeping Beauty tilted his head to the left and paused for effect. "I haven't written a word in a year and a half."

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Here are some gorgeous dandelions just for you guys.

*insert flowers here*

-D.T. ➷