Chapter 1: The Alarm
On his first day at Beacon Hills Media, Sean Cooper made a mistake that would cost him $12,800, his dignity, and eventually his bachelorhood. He mistook his director’s contact for his little sister’s.
He didn’t know that yet. At 7:00 a.m., all he knew was that the alarm clock was screaming in his ear.
Sean slapped it quiet and lay still. The sun came through a broken slat in the blinds and landed right on his face. It wouldn’t move.
The studio was one room doing the job of four. The bed sagged in the middle. The kitchen was three steps away. The bathroom door only closed if you leaned on it.
Above him, a brown water stain spread across the ceiling. It looked exactly like Florida. When it rained, one drop gathered at Miami and fell into a mug on the floor, every forty seconds. Sean called the stain Orlando. It was the only thing in the apartment that never let him down.
Something heavy shifted against his ribs.
“Morning, Biscuit.”
A scruffy brown dog with one ear lifted his head, yawned, and licked Sean’s chin. Once. Like he meant good morning.
Phoebe had found him at fourteen, behind a grocery store, ribs showing. When she left for college, she made Sean swear on their mother’s name to look after him.
The other side of the mattress was empty. It had been empty for years. Sean noticed it anyway.
“Big day,” he told the dog. “Don’t let me screw this up.”
Biscuit thumped his tail twice. It wasn’t a promise. But it was enough.
* * *
He got dressed in the dark, because the light bulb had died on Sunday. The suit was clearance-rack navy. The tie wasn’t. It was dark green, with a thread coming loose near the knot. It had been his father’s.
Sean tied it the way Dad had shown him at the bathroom mirror, back when Sean’s hands were too small and Dad’s were too steady.
“Look at me, Dad,” he said quietly. “Real job.”
The mirror didn’t answer. It never did. But he stood up straighter anyway. Then he walked straight into the bathroom door.
Dad would have laughed. Sean did too.
* * *
At 7:40, he ate half a bagel. The toaster ate the other half. His bank app said $41. The first paycheck was three weeks away. A loan notice sat on the counter, unopened.
None of it scared him. He’d been through worse.
His dad died when Phoebe was ten. Four years ago, his mom’s heart gave out after too many double shifts at the elder care home. Sean was twenty-two. Phoebe was fourteen, gripping his sleeve at the funeral, and she didn’t let go.
He had made it through because of Dustin.
Dustin Pruitt was his college roommate. Loud, lazy-looking, and he never failed a test. When Sean almost quit freshman year to work at a warehouse, Dustin dragged him to the guidance office and refused to leave until the counselor found him a scholarship. When Sean’s mom died, Dustin drove six hours overnight. He showed up with a duffel bag and a casserole he clearly hadn’t made, and he stayed all week. He never said it would be okay. He just said, “I’m here.”
Two years ago, Dustin got a job at Beacon Hills. “When a spot opens, you’re coming,” he’d said.
Last Tuesday, a spot opened.
Sean’s phone buzzed. Big day, bro. Rule one: be early. Rule two: don’t look at the corner office. Rule three: add everyone in the department. Shows initiative.
Sean grinned. Under it was Phoebe’s last message from the night before. One word: fine. In her language, that meant I miss you.
He typed fast. Starting today. Eat something real. Love you, kiddo.
Sent. He grabbed his jacket and opened the door. Biscuit whined behind him, and Sean looked back once.
“Be good.”
Then he stepped out into the cold morning, feeling like a man whose life was about to turn around.
The universe has a dark sense of humor. It let him feel that way for exactly twelve hours.
