Page 7 of Mike's Assistant

“Please, I really—” I tried.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before. Either buy something or get out.” With a dismissive flick of her wrist, the woman turned her back to me again, signaling the end of our conversation.

Feeling a rush of heat to my face, I stepped back from the counter. The sting of the woman's harsh words settled heavily in my chest, anchoring me to the spot. I could feel my hands shaking at my sides. The humiliation made the bustling café seem strangely quiet, and every noise felt amplified in my ears. An overwhelming urge to run was wrestling with the desperation clinging to my every nerve. As I struggled to regain my composure, snippets of conversation from the next queue over floated to me.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Our credit card machine is down," the young barista was explaining to the woman I'd held the door open for. "It's cash only, for now."

The woman's face fell. "I only have my card.”

My gaze shifted towards them, locking with the woman's for a fleeting moment. At that moment, I was painfully aware of the last twenty-dollar bill in my pocket. It was all we had left, our final shield against the biting cold of destitution. My fingers instinctively brushed against it, the coarse edges serving as a sharp reminder of our predicament.

In the back of my mind, my dad's voice echoed a lesson from my childhood. “You get what you put out, Jake,” he would always say. And although he was no longer with me, his teachings lingered, especially in moments of decision.

With a deep, shaky breath, I pulled the bill from my pocket. The decision was torture, a tug-of-war between the desperation to protect my brothers and the desire to do what felt right. But the thought of the boys seeing me, seeing that I could still choose kindness in the face of despair, tipped the scale. “Here, this should cover it,” I offered, holding out the bill. The woman looked at me, surprise flashing in her eyes as the barista watched us both, her expression mirroring the shock.

After all, what you put out into the world has a way of coming back to you. At least, I desperately hoped it did.

“You can’t possibly. I—”

“Please,” I cut in, silencing the woman’s protests. I stepped up to the counter and held out the bill to the barista.

The young girl offered a smile of relief and quickly processed the order. Turning back to the woman, I met her gaze and nodded before starting towards the exit, only to be stopped by a light touch on my arm.

“I can't let you do this without repaying you. Please come with me. I can get cash,” the woman insisted.

“It’s really o—”

“No, I insist. My name’s Vanessa. Please, let me repay you,” the woman, Vanessa, said.

“Okay. Thanks. My name’s Jake.” The barista set up two drinks and a small bag on the counter, stopping me from continuing.

Vanessa smiled and grabbed her order before turning back to me. “Come on. It’s not that far. My purse is in my office at Satchel Centre. I have the cash there.”

I nodded and walked beside her. “When you say Satchel Centre, do you mean like Satchel Industries?”

I'd heard that Satchel Industries, the leading innovator in energy solutions, was headquartered right here in Tampa. Their crowning achievement, a groundbreaking self-sustaining battery that never needed recharging, had caught the world's attention. They were a symbol of progress and prosperity, with everything from ambitious startups to powerful nations seeking their expertise.

Vanessa smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s the one. If something bears the name Satchel, it's undoubtedly related to Satchel Industries.”

I couldn't help but whisper a soft, "Wow. That’s amazing. You work there?”

"Yeah, although not full-time," she replied as we made our way across the busy street. "I've just finished college, and I'm currently on the hunt for a position more aligned with my degree.”

The three buildings of Satchel Centre loomed in front of us, their mirrored facades glinting in the sun. Each building stretched towards the sky, one slightly taller than the next, in a captivating display of architectural gradation. They formed an awe-inspiring sight, standing in stark contrast amidst the vibrant tropical foliage.

As we approached, I could feel a sense of amazement wash over me. The buildings reflected the surrounding city, a stark reminder of the power and influence contained within these walls. This was the nerve center of Satchel Industries, the birthplace of the world-changing, self-sustaining Satchel Chip.

Crossing into the lobby, the tranquility inside hit me like a wall, a soothing counterpoint to the bustling city outside. The muted hum of the city was faint here, replaced by an air of calmness. It was a testament to the Satchel name — a symbol of relentless innovation and influence dressed in understated opulence.

I stopped walking and was sure I looked like a country bumpkin, having never seen something so incredible. I needed a moment to take it all in. Vanessa came to rest beside me, and I glanced over at her.

“This place. I can’t believe you work here. I’d give anything to work here,” I said honestly, still looking at the magnificent sight. The lobby even had a water feature wall.

“What can you do? I perhaps put in a good word for you,” Vanessa said.

I whirled to face her, my heart pounding like a drum. “Seriously? I can handle any job, anything at all. I just… I just moved here, and I'm desperate. I'd scrub floors if I had to.”

Vanessa grinned. “I think we can find something for you. Come on, let’s make a stop at H.R..”

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