"Aviana, get back to the office—now," Guy Dunn snaps as I step out of Harbor City airport. "I told you I'm bringing samples," I say into the phone while dragging my suitcase. "They went criminally fast in customs." "Samples don't sell themselves. The East Bay pop-up tanked without you. You are not allowed to land and loaf." His voice is all teeth. "StreamWave influencer drop tonight and your conversion better hit seventy percent." "Seventy?" I laugh. "You want miracles or numbers?" "Get a taxi. Be at desk in two hours. I don't care how—" "I get it, boss." I dip into an exaggerated bow I know he can't see. "I also get oxygen, and luggage, and that thing called sleep." "Save the jokes. You're on thin ice with headquarters. One more 'sleep' and I'll put you on the next unpaid trial campaign." I glance at the live feed icon blinking on my phone—my tablet inventory shows pending returns, a looped clip from last month's StreamWave pitch flagged for low conversion. My thumb scrolls past a message from Sophie: Landing soon? Coffee? It’s an SOS emoji. "I have Sophie," I say. "And I have an Uber that will teleport me to the office." "You don't 'have' Sophie, you have to answer for Sophie," Guy Dunn says. "And no teleportation. You ride. You sell. Understand?" "Crystal." I hang up before he can invent another deadline. A woman at baggage claim