Beverly stared at the phone in her hands with awe, her brain working in overdrive as she reread the text on the screen for the seventh time.

Hi, Beverly; can we talk today? I know you probably don't want to see me, since I've been such an ass, but I'd like to see you. I miss you. I'm sorry.

It was from Griffin, of course, and Beverly had to stop herself from replying with an immediate Yes! She wanted to talk, truly, but she and Deb had already planned on going to Silvertone that day, and she couldn't back out of something so important.

Just as she was about to reply with a not today, but maybe later? message, someone slapped her arm. Hard.

Yelping and spinning to the girl beside her, Beverly shot Deb an annoyed look, tucking her phone in her back pocket and forgetting all about Griffin's text for the moment. "What, Deborah?"

Deb snarled, "Don't call me that, Beverly. Can you focus, please? We're here."

Sure enough, the dirty glass belonging to Deb's beat-up Toyota was displaying Silvertone's impressive exterior. The two girls shared an anxious look before clambering out of the car, and Beverly waited on the sidewalk while Deb walked around the car and stepped up next to her.

"All set?" she repeated the words from only several nights ago.

Deb sucked in a slow breath, then nodded stiffly. "All set. You promise that you know the CEO, just in case something goes wrong?"

Beverly squeezed Deb's shoulder. "Yes, I promise. I'll go in first?"

Deb seemed to waver, before nodding once more, a little more confident this time. "Yeah, alright. Two minutes enough?"

"I think so. Good luck." Then Beverly was striding away, heading around the corner they'd been half-hidden behind and stepping up to Silvertone's large glass doors. Pulling one open, she stepped inside and up to the receptionist desk.

It was the same woman (Frieda, her brain and the name tag on the woman's chest supplied) that had been there the last time Beverly had come in, and Beverly greeted her with a smile. "Hi, how are you?"

The woman's smile was genuine this time. "Fine; you?"

"Not bad. Is Mr. Knott in?"

"Oh," Frieda frowned. "I'm not sure. I can check, if you'd like? Or, you can go on up and check for yourself."

"Oh, no," Beverly waved off the suggestion, though not unkindly. "That's alright. I don't feel comfortable doing that and would appreciate it if you would check."

Thankfully, Frieda seemed more than happy to take care of the task. She was probably just trying to make up for how she'd treated Beverly the last time, but Beverly would take it. "Of course, of course!" She hopped up from her seat. "Feel free to wait over in the lounge." And then she was darting off to the elevator, and Beverly quickly ducked behind the receptionist's desk, taking the woman's seat and shifting to face the large desktop computer.

Thankfully, the screen was unlocked, and Beverly shifted the mouse to hover over a tab labeled Appointments. It opened, and her eyes scanned over the typed words frantically.

9 a.m. – Meeting with Mrs. Richards (go over latest updates in new server production)

10:30 a.m. – Contact board (Mr. Knott's plan for developers)

11:00 a.m. – Delivery (J's)

11:15 a.m. – Lunch date (Karen from HR)

Closing the tab and snapping out of the chair, Beverly rushed away from the desk and settled on a plush seat in the lounge, hoping her shaky hands weren't visible. Frieda came out of the elevator a moment later, an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, coming to a stop in front of Beverly. "It would appear Mr. Knott isn't in the office right now. I would imagine he'd be back soon, but I'm not sure. If I'm being honest, I don't remember him leaving; he may have gone somewhere in the building." Her features turned troubled, and Beverly almost felt bad—after all, she was the one who'd sent Francis a text and asked the man to meet her on the fifth floor at eleven sharp.

She had no doubt that the buzzing in her back pocket was him texting her, asking where she was and whether or not she was okay.

Oh, well; I deal with that, later.

"No problem," she insisted graciously, "I'll be fine waiting."

"Oh, good," Frieda said with a relieved smile. "Well, in that case—" She cut herself off when the doors swung open, revealing Deb, her backpack swung loosely over one shoulder; the woman's face paled. "I'll let you know when Mr. Knott returns," she told Beverly in a rush, turning to Deb and walking swiftly to the other girl.

But Beverly hadn't gotten enough information from the computer, and—acting on impulse that would probably get her killed later—she reached forward and grabbed the woman's arm in one hand, using the other to whip out her phone. Frieda was clearly startled, her eyes darting between Beverly and Deb nervously.

Trying to act casual, Beverly waved her phone in the air. "Oh, actually, I just received a text from Mr. Knott; he asked for me to meet him on the fifth floor, and he wants you to come, too."

Frieda swallowed thickly, using the hand not held by Beverly to brush invisible lint off her skirt (an anxious tick of hers, no doubt). "Of course. Just give me a moment to—"

"Right now!" Beverly interrupted, louder than she'd intended; she cleared her throat and tried again. "Sorry, but he'd like us both now. Like, right now." She nodded to Deb when Frieda wasn't looking, mouthing the words, Plan B.

Deb returned her words with a thumbs-up, speaking up for the first time when Frieda glanced at her once more. "I can deliver it," she told the woman. "Just give me a name and floor."

Frieda seemed to consider this, before shaking her head resolutely. "No, I have to do it. Just wait for me down here; this shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Deb and Beverly shared a quick glance, before Deb was crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at Frieda (Beverly couldn't help but immediately cheer inwardly, There's the bitch!). "No, I'll do it. Look, lady, I've got a busy schedule, alright? Either I deliver this now, or I don't come back for another week. Which would you prefer?"

"Mr. Knott really needs us," Beverly piped up helpfully, struggling to hide a smug smirk when Frieda's lips pursed tightly.

"Fine," she muttered after another pause. "Please let go of me, Beverly; I need to speak with this young woman, and then we can head up." Beverly obeyed, watching warily as the older woman stepped away from her.

God, please let this work.

Frieda strode to Deb, leaning forward to whisper something in the other girl's ear, then turning back to face Beverly. "Alright, let's go." Frieda led the way to the elevator, and Beverly spun around to send Deb an encouraging look, mouthing, You got this.

Deb nodded once, though the movement was uneven and lacking confidence. They shared one last look before the doors slid closed, and Beverly tried to ignore the finality in the action.