Chapter 2 — The Sunshine Heroine

Amelia

Amelia Brooks stepped into the lobby of Hartley Investments, her leather tote bag clutched tightly in one hand, as if anchoring her to the polished, impersonal world around her. The space was vast, a cathedral of glass and marble, its open ceiling stretching endlessly toward clinical white lights. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee from a sleek café in the corner offered only a fleeting hint of warmth among the synchronized clatter of heels on the polished floors. Employees moved with a practiced precision, their tailored navy and charcoal suits creating a sea of uniform professionalism. Amelia adjusted the strap of her bag and glanced down at her mustard-yellow skirt, its cheerful hue standing out like a misplaced sunflower in a field of steel and stone.

She shouldn’t have worn yellow. The thought struck her as she caught a glimpse of herself in the gleaming elevator doors. Her floral blouse and bright skirt were a stark contrast to the cold, muted tones around her. *What were you thinking?* The question flickered through her mind, but she quickly pushed it aside. No, this was who she was. She wasn’t about to apologize for that—not out loud, anyway. Inside, however, the doubt lingered. *You belong here,* she reminded herself. *You earned this job. You’re not just some small-town girl pretending to fit in.*

The elevator chimed softly, and Amelia stepped inside, joining a small group of employees who barely acknowledged her presence. She pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor and clasped her hands in front of her to keep from fidgeting. As the elevator ascended, she caught her reflection in the polished steel walls. Her honey-blonde waves were neatly styled, her makeup subtle but professional. She looked the part—or at least she hoped she did. Her hazel eyes fell to the microphone pendant resting just below her collarbone. The tarnished silver charm was warm against her skin, a quiet reminder of where she came from. She ran her thumb over its familiar ridges, the gesture grounding her as the floors ticked by.

When the elevator doors opened, Amelia stepped onto the plush gray carpet of the executive floor, the air noticeably cooler and more refined. The receptionist at the desk barely glanced up, her sharp bob and equally sharp gaze cutting through the sterile quiet. “Boardroom’s down the hall,” the woman said briskly, her tone as polished as the glass walls surrounding her.

Amelia nodded and moved forward, her heels sinking slightly into the carpet as her heart thudded in her chest. The boardroom came into view—a sleek, glass-walled space with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline like a meticulously curated display. Inside, the table was a gleaming expanse of steel and glass, reflecting the soft glow of recessed lighting. Gabriel Hartley stood at the head of the table, his tall frame exuding authority. His tailored suit was impeccable, the dark fabric accentuating his sharp, angular features. His gray eyes flicked to her briefly, their gaze calculated and unreadable, before returning to the tablet in his hand.

“Ms. Brooks,” Gabriel said, his voice low and measured, with no trace of warmth. He gestured toward an empty chair. “Take a seat.”

She nodded, her throat tight, and slid into the chair he indicated. Around the table, the other executives barely glanced at her. Claire Donovan, the CEO’s formidable executive assistant, cast a quick, appraising look in her direction before returning to her notes. The rest of the team seemed absorbed in their devices, their expressions unreadable. A pair of executives exchanged a whispered comment, their skeptical glances darting toward Amelia before they refocused on their screens.

Gabriel set his tablet down, the faint sound punctuating the room’s tense silence. “We’re here to address the regulatory report leak,” he began, his tone clipped and precise. “Our competitors are already exploiting this to undermine us. The press is circling. Damage control is our immediate priority.”

An executive to Amelia’s left leaned forward. “We’ve issued a preliminary statement, but it’s only bought us a little time. The media’s looking for a scapegoat.”

Amelia straightened her posture, her mind racing as she replayed the strategies she’d spent the weekend preparing. She cleared her throat, drawing the room’s attention. “If I may,” she began, her voice steadier than she felt, “I believe this is an opportunity to reframe the narrative. Instead of focusing solely on damage control, we could highlight the firm’s commitment to transparency and accountability. People connect with stories, not just numbers. If we share something human, something authentic, we can shift the conversation.”

Silence followed her words, the kind that stretched long enough to make Amelia’s pulse quicken. One executive raised an eyebrow. Another leaned toward his colleague, exchanging a skeptical glance. Claire Donovan’s pen paused mid-note, her sharp gaze flickering toward Amelia with what might have been interest or doubt.

Gabriel’s gray eyes locked onto Amelia’s, the weight of his gaze nearly tangible. “A human story,” he said, his tone even but dispassionate. “This is a corporate crisis, Ms. Brooks, not a PR campaign for sympathy.”

“With respect, Mr. Hartley,” Amelia replied, summoning every ounce of confidence she could muster, “humanizing the firm could be the difference between surviving this crisis and thriving beyond it. People want to believe in the businesses they interact with. If we can show them Hartley Investments is more than just a faceless corporation, we might not only mitigate the fallout but also build long-term goodwill.”

Gabriel leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping a measured rhythm against the edge of his tablet. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then he spoke. “It’s unconventional. And risky.”

Amelia held his gaze. “Sometimes the greatest rewards come from the risks we’re willing to take.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken judgments. Finally, Gabriel turned his attention back to the table. “We’ll consider it. For now, stick to the established strategy. Meeting adjourned.”

As the room emptied, Amelia gathered her notes, her fingers trembling slightly despite her efforts to appear composed. Claire Donovan approached her, her expression unreadable but her tone carrying a faint edge of curiosity. “Bold move,” Claire said. “Just make sure you’re ready to back it up.”

Amelia nodded, unsure whether to feel encouraged or cautioned. She left the boardroom, her mind a tangle of self-doubt and determination. By the time she stepped outside, the brisk autumn air hit her like a balm, cooling her flushed cheeks. She walked quickly toward Central Park, letting the city’s hum fade into the background as her thoughts settled.

The Greenhouse Cafe came into view, its glass walls glowing warmly against the greenery of the park. Inside, the air was fragrant with coffee and herbs, the mismatched furniture and soft chatter creating a world that felt worlds away from Hartley Investments. Amelia ordered a cappuccino and settled into her favorite corner table, the weight of her microphone pendant resting reassuringly against her collarbone. She ran her thumb over its cool surface, the gesture stirring a memory of standing on a small-town stage, her voice shaky but gaining strength with every note.

The pendant warmed in her hand, and a quiet resolve settled over her. She opened her notebook, her pen moving swiftly as she began jotting ideas. The café’s vibrant energy sparked her creativity, each detail of the cozy space grounding her in the belief that authenticity mattered. Gabriel’s skepticism lingered in her thoughts, but so did the flicker of something else—a challenge, perhaps, or a potential for understanding.

As sunlight streamed through the glass, Amelia smiled. She belonged here, even if she had to prove it to everyone else. And she would—starting tomorrow.