Hints

Chapter 3

Nora's fingertips grazed the cool, metal handle of Buzz Hackers' glass doors. A gentle pull, and she stepped into the expanse of her future. Her heart drummed a rapid beat; excitement warred with nerves in the hollow of her stomach. The lobby stretched before her, marble floors gleaming under the cascade of light from the lofty ceiling. It was grander than any place she'd worked before, echoing with the silent songs of success stories.

She paused, taking it all in. Pillars stood like sentinels, guarding the pathways to opportunity. The walls whispered promises, adorned with platinum records and vibrant posters of artists who had found their fame within these chambers. The air thrummed with an unseen energy, a symphony of potential waiting to be conducted.

Her eyes flitted across the room to where the reception desk loomed—a monolithic slab of dark wood, usually anchored by its keeper. But the chair behind it sat empty. No Tammy Johnson. Nora's breath hitched. Where was the woman with the curly red hair and spectacled eyes? The one whose presence signified order, the gatekeeper to this new world?

A flutter of doubt rippled through her. Was today the day? Had there been a mix-up—an oversight? She clutched her purse tighter, her knuckles blanching. The turtle pendant at her neck felt like a shield, its hard shell against her skin a reminder of protection, of withdrawing into oneself when the world seemed uncertain.

"Was I wrong?" she murmured, her voice barely a ripple in the vast silence. The absence felt like a void, a missing piece in the puzzle she was so eager to complete. Shadows of uncertainty crept along the edges of her mind, whispering the possibility of error, of not belonging.

With each tick of the clock that passed in silence, Nora's resolve wavered. She should be greeted, welcomed—initiated into her dream role. Instead, the quietude wrapped around her, a cocoon of solitude. Had she built castles in the air only to find the foundation crumbling beneath her?

She took a tentative step forward, her heels clicking on the stone like hesitant questions asked to an empty room. She could almost hear the echo of her own doubts, bouncing back to her, unanswered. Her first day as marketing manager and the stage was set for an invisible audience.

The turtle's shell pressed cold and reassuring. Nora closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sensation anchor her. She drew a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow, to match the rhythm of the silent office space. Determination flickered within her once more. She would wait, stand firm in the face of uncertainty.

After all, wasn't that what she was known for? Her resolve, her unwavering spirit in pursuit of her passions? Music and marketing were the twin beats of her heart, and she wouldn't let them be stilled by a simple absence.

The receptionist's absence was a minor chord in the symphony of her life—a dissonance that would soon resolve into harmony. Nora straightened her back, ready to face whatever came next. The grandeur of Buzz Hackers might be overwhelming, but she knew her worth. With or without Tammy Johnson, Nora Murphy was here to make her mark.

The stillness of the office seemed to press in on her, a tangible weight against the fabric of her blazer. Nora's fingers traced the edge of her turtle pendant, its surface a cool balm to the rising heat of her anxiety. She was alone, adrift in the vast sea of marble and modernity.

Footsteps—unexpected, yet oddly reassuring—came to her ears before their owner rounded the corner. The sound cut through the silence, a lifeline thrown into the water. Gabe Thompson materialized like a sudden break in the clouds, tall and disarmingly present. His smile was sunlight incarnate, warming the chill from her bones.

"Hi there," he said, voice smooth like a well-loved vinyl. "You must be Nora Murphy."

His hand extended towards her, a bridge over the expanse of doubt that had begun to widen within her. She took it, felt the firmness of his grip, a grounding force.