Morning Light and Mischief
The golden light of dawn spilled through the kitchen curtains as Jessica stepped into the living area, rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes. The apartment was already alive with movement—Percy and Mrs. Rachel's workers darted between stacks of crates, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of checklists and laughter. The scent of fresh produce and cardboard hung thick in the air.
Jessica leaned against the doorway, stifling a yawn. "Good morning."
Percy glanced up from his clipboard, his usual morning scowl softening at the sight of her. "Morning to you too," he said, then smirked. "Sleep well? Or did my midnight guitar serenade keep you up?"
Before she could reply, a lanky worker with a mischievous grin elbowed Percy. "Hey Boss, who's the pretty lady? Finally brought someone home last night?"
Percy rolled his eyes. "Carlos, this is Jessica. The new tenant." He emphasized the words, but Carlos only waggled his eyebrows.
"Sure, sure. But if you're not making a move, half the guys here will. Right, fellas?"
A chorus of laughter erupted from the other workers. Percy shook his head, though the tips of his ears turned pink. "Focus on the deliveries before my mom skins us alive."
Jessica retreated to her room, cheeks warm, but not entirely from embarrassment.
First-Day Jitters
An hour later, Jessica emerged in a crisp blouse, her bag slung over her shoulder. Percy still lingered in the living room, now nursing a mug of coffee.
"Heading out already?" he asked, eyeing her outfit.
"Job starts today," she said, adjusting her bag strap. "The description was vague—'creative role at a media outlet.' Could be anything."
Percy's grip tightened on his mug. "You sure it's legit? 'Creative role' these days might mean standing on a street corner handing out flyers. Or worse."
She shot him a look. "What, like a kidney-harvesting syndicate?"
He raised his hands in surrender. "Just looking out for you. What's the station called?"
"YMZ. Why?"
Percy choked on his coffee, coughing violently. "No reason," he rasped, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces.
Jessica narrowed her eyes. "You're a terrible liar."
He exhaled, avoiding her gaze. "Just… be careful, okay?"
There was something he wasn't saying. But the clock was ticking.
Jessica grabbed her keys. "Well, whatever it is, I'll find out soon enough."
As her taxi pulled away, Percy muttered under his breath, "Of all the stations in the city…"
Because YMZ's manager was his sister, Venice.
And if there was one person who'd take great pleasure in teasing him about Jessica, it was her.
First Impressions at YMZ
The radio station buzzed with controlled chaos—phones ringing, producers darting between rooms, the faint echo of a live broadcast filtering through the speakers. Jessica adjusted her bag strap as she stepped inside, taking in the organized frenzy.
At the reception desk, a striking woman with sharp cheekbones and a no-nonsense ponytail flipped through a stack of applications. She glanced up, dark eyes assessing Jessica with unnerving precision.
"Well, aren't you pretty," Venice said, tapping her pen against the desk.
Jessica smiled politely. "Thanks."
"Name and age?"
"Jessica Cruz. Twenty-five."
Venice's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That voice—smooth but with grit. You sent an application last week, right? The one from the province?"
Jessica nodded. "Yes, exactly."
Venice snapped her fingers at a passing assistant. "Call Greg and Wilbert to my office. Now." She stood, gesturing for Jessica to follow. "We need to talk."
The Role of Vanity Scarlett
Venice's office was cluttered but purposeful—awards lined the shelves, family photos tucked between industry manuals. Greg, the station's veteran DJ with salt-and-pepper hair, and Wilbert, the young, tech-savvy producer, filed in curiously.
"What's up, boss?" Greg asked.
Venice gestured to Jessica. "Meet our new star. Jessica, aka Miss Vanity Scarlett."
Greg blinked. "A what now?"
Venice ignored him. "Jess here's got the perfect tone for our new segment. Right, Wilbert?"
Wilbert adjusted his glasses, catching on. "Uh, yeah! So, Jess—can I call you Jess?—you'll host Stories from Miss Vanity Scarlett, our afternoon slot. Listeners send in their stories, you read them on air, play their song requests, and give advice. Think Dear Abby meets slow jazz."
Jessica grinned. "Oh, like Dear Charo!"
Wilbert snapped his fingers. "Exactly! You're quick."
Venice smirked. "Told you she's got it." She turned to Greg, who still looked skeptical. "Problem?"
Greg crossed his arms. "I thought you were gonna be Vanity Scarlett?"
Venice groaned, gesturing to herself. "Greg, I have a three-year-old and a theater career. You really think I can handle another full-time persona?"
Greg raised his hands in surrender. "Fair point."
Venice turned back to Jessica. "Schedule's MWF, 5 to 7:30 PM. Pay's decent. You start tomorrow—today, just shadow Wilbert."
Jessica nodded, excitement bubbling beneath her professionalism. "Got it."
As she left the office, she overheard Venice mutter to Greg:
"Wait till Percy finds out his tenant's our new Scarlett."
Jessica froze.
Percy?
A Thoughtful Gesture
Outside the station, Venice's words still echoed in Jessica's mind. Wait till Percy finds out… Had she misheard? Shaking off the thought, she focused on the crisp bills Venice had pressed into her hand.
"Consider it an advance—for transportation and meals," Venice had said. "Don't want our new star fainting on air."
Jessica had tried to refuse, but Venice waved her off. "Just don't be late. Thirty minutes before your slot, got it?"
Now, standing in the supermarket, Jessica filled her basket with ingredients for dinner—garlic, tomatoes, fresh basil. Then, on impulse, she grabbed three cans of San Miguel Premium, the exact brand Mrs. Rachel had mentioned Percy loved.
"For stress relief," his mother had said with a knowing look.
Homecoming and Unspoken Tensions
The apartment smelled of sautéing onions when Percy trudged in, shoulders tense, a crease between his brows. He dropped onto the couch, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
Jessica watched him from the kitchen. Writer's block? Or something else? Without a word, she popped open a beer and set it beside him.
Percy startled, then chuckled. "Thanks. How'd you know this brand?"
"Your mom's intel."
"Of course she did." He took a long sip, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. "She's always known what I need before I do."
The Weight of Secrets
Dinner was simple—pasta aglio e olio with a sprinkle of chili flakes—but Percy ate like it was a feast. Between bites, he kept sneaking glances at Jessica, as if trying to solve a puzzle.
"So… how was your first day?" he asked.
Jessica shrugged. "Uneventful. Just paperwork." She omitted Venice's odd comment. "I start hosting tomorrow."
Percy nearly choked. "Hosting? What show?"
"Stories from Miss Vanity Scarlett. It's a—"
The beer can crumpled in Percy's grip. "You're kidding."
Jessica frowned. "What's wrong?"
Percy dragged a hand down his face. "Nothing. Just… Venice has a sense of humor."
Before she could press further, he stood, collecting their plates. "I'll clean up. You cooked."
Midnight Whispers
Later, in the dim glow of streetlights, Jessica sat cross-legged on her bed, replaying the day. The radio station's energy, Venice's sharp appraisal, the way the staff had looked at her—like she was part of an inside joke.
Miss Vanity Scarlett. The name felt deliberate, like a role written for someone else.
A muffled cough sounded from Percy's room, followed by the soft strum of his guitar. Normally, the sound soothed her. Tonight, it only deepened her restlessness.
Wait till Percy finds out—
Had Venice really said that? Or had she imagined it?
Jessica flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. What aren't they telling me?
Somewhere in the apartment, a floorboard creaked. Percy was still awake too.
She turned onto her side, pressing her face into the pillow. Whatever game this is, I'll figure it out.
But first—sleep.
If it would come.