Xashai stretched her long legs as she relaxed on a sofa, savoring a respite from the incessant flurry of daily demands. These last few days had been nothing short of relentless, her responsibilities as the business negotiator multiplying like rabbits in heat. If she wasn't arranging shipping schedules, she was deep in negotiation with local buyers and suppliers, always seeking the most profitable opportunities for Mr. Mycroft's burgeoning enterprise.

  Still, the compensation was nothing to scoff at—a tidy 5,000 credits a week, plus commission. She hadn't had a payday like this in... well, ever. Perhaps after a couple of months, she'd be able to upgrade her modest living arrangements in the city to something more suitable. There was a particular penthouse in a coveted section of the city that had caught her eye.

  Expensive? Most certainly.

  Worth it? She'd have to see about that.

  She sipped her chai tea, the comforting warmth of the beverage soothing her frayed nerves as she looked over her schedule for the rest of the day. It was unusually clear. For once, it seemed she'd have a moment to herself, which was a rare and welcome luxury.

  Time for a break.

  Xashai had a treat in mind, one that always managed to make her forget the stresses of the world. She made her way to her personal console, fingers tapping against the holographic keys, accessing the myriad of shows and movies available for streaming.

  As the opening credits of her show began to roll, a familiar, soothing voice filled the room. "Welcome to another episode of The Alchemical Death Kitchen. I'm your host, Kristina Chatterby. Today, we'll be exploring the wonders of Elderflame Peppers. Now, these fiery delights may seem intimidating, but fear not! We're going to transform them into a delicious, albeit somewhat dangerous, delicacy."

  Xashai's grin widened. She'd been a fan of Kristina's culinary adventures since her teens, the Gnomish cook always pushing the boundaries of what could be considered edible. Her show, 'The Alchemical Death Kitchen', was legendary among those who dared to expand their culinary horizons.

  Kristina was the perfect mix of charming, daring, and absolutely fearless in the face of gastronomic peril. Each episode showcased her attempts to whip up dishes that no sane person would dream of eating, served up with a hearty dose of humor.

  In the past, Xashai had found solace in the show's bizarre world as a means to momentarily escape the pressures of her cutthroat career. Watching it now was a nostalgic ritual, a guilty pleasure she indulged in when the chance arose.

  "As we delve into the fiery realm of Elderflame Peppers, I must stress the importance of safety," Kristina continued. "These peppers are not to be trifled with. Their capsaicin levels are off the charts, and mishandling them could lead to a trip to the local Healer." She pointed towards the cameras, her expression turning serious. "Please, don't try this at home."

  Xashai chuckled to herself. The last time she'd attempted an Alchemical Kitchen recipe, the aftermath had been... memorable, to say the least. She still couldn't look at a Grovescale Toad without feeling a tinge of regret.

  Kristina then went on to describe the preparation process, laying out the assortment of spices and ingredients needed for her fiery concoction. As she sliced and diced, she shared anecdotes and fun facts about each ingredient, making the whole endeavor feel both educational and entertaining.

  As Xashai watched, she felt her mind drift from the mundane challenges of her day-to-day life. For a while, it was just her, Kristina's lively banter, and the tantalizing prospect of food that might very well set her mouth aflame.

  Life, she decided, was too short to shy away from the odd gastronomic adventure. With a newfound resolve, she decided to make one of Kristina's creations for dinner tonight. It was a chance to reconnect with her daring teenage self, the one who would gleefully take on the world, one exotic, potentially life-threatening pepper at a time.

  Just as Kristina was reaching the climax of her pepper-filled narrative, the communicator chimed, disrupting her reverie. The number flashing on the screen was Mr. Mycroft's.

  With a sigh, she paused the stream and reached for the device. "Yes, sir?"

  "Xashai," came the voice from the other end. "How are the contracts coming along?"

  "Well, sir," she replied, trying to mask her disappointment at being drawn back into her role. "Everything is proceeding smoothly. We've secured several profitable deals, and there's potential for more. I've also got my eye on a few promising trade routes that could be very lucrative for us."

  There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was brisk. "Excellent. Keep me posted. I may need you for some internal projects in the near future."

  "Understood," she replied, already mentally recalibrating her schedule for the coming days.

  "Good. That's all."

  The call disconnected.

  Xashai stood there for a moment, the communicator still in her hand, before turning her attention back to the frozen image of Kristina, mid-pour of a simmering, ominous-looking sauce.

  "Now, where were we?" she mumbled, setting the call device aside.

  She resumed the stream, letting Kristina's voice fill the room once more. Work could wait, for now. At least she had tonight to herself, a chance to experiment with the boundaries of her own culinary capabilities and sanity. As the Gnomish host whisked her viewers through the complexities of her latest creation, Xashai found herself drawn back into the comfort of the familiar show.

  Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for now, she was content to be a part of Kristina's world, if only vicariously.

  Her boss had set up the meeting with Gerald Silt from Logistics and Alice Blankenship from Marketing. While he hadn't provided any details about the nature of their impending collaboration, he'd left Xashai with a simple, direct instruction: 'Work with them, and make it count.'

  Her previous encounters with them had been brief and purely professional, revolving around the transportation and marketing of the goods from the Tower. Beyond these superficial interactions, they'd maintained a cordial distance. And that was perfectly fine with her. She preferred to keep her relationships at work clear and unencumbered—for the most part.

  After two hours of being briefed about the latest developments from both departments, Xashai headed back to her office. It was clear that they were gearing up for something big.

  Just as she was ready to settle behind her desk, a knock came at the door.

  "Come in," she called out, straightening in her chair.

  "Ms. Xashai?" a young intern stepped into the room, poking her head in. "There's, uh, a delivery for you."

  "A delivery?" Xashai raised a curious eyebrow.

  "Yes, ma'am." The intern's voice was hesitant. "It's out at the reception desk."

  A delivery? She hadn't ordered anything recently—much less addressed to her office. Odd.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Xashai sighed, standing up. "Alright, let's see what this is about."

  Whatever it was, she'd sort it out.

  She followed the intern, her heels clicking a brisk rhythm against the polished floor. As she approached the lobby, she spotted a stout dwarf standing behind the reception desk, a weathered pack slung over his shoulder and a voluminous beard draping over his barrel chest. In his hands, he clutched a leather-bound box tied with a worn strap.

  He didn't seem the type to deliver letters—and Xashai was familiar with all the standard couriers operating in the area. What was this about?

  "Are you Ms. Xashai?" the dwarf inquired gruffly, his deep-set eyes peering up at her.

  "You're not here about that wine subscription, are you? Because I think the three cases I ordered will last me for some time," Xashai responded with a playful lilt.

  Truth be told, those three cases might not even last her the month. Yet, somehow, her dry wit seemed to amuse the stout dwarf.

  His laughter erupted, a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to originate from the very depths of his barrel-like chest. "Wine subscription, eh? Now that's a novel delivery service I haven't heard of," he remarked, his bushy eyebrows wiggling mischievously. "Maybe you could refer me to your provider? A dwarf could use a good drink now and then." His face broke into a broad smile.

  "Alas," Xashai retorted, returning his smile with a coy one of her own, "they're on backorder. Maybe next time, my friend."

  The dwarf chuckled and shook his head. "Quite the character, aren't we?" he mused, his hearty laugh filling the air once more. "Well, I'm actually here on behalf of Mr. Mycroft. He sent me to deliver this to you," he said, placing the leatherbound package onto the reception desk with a distinct thud.

  Xashai's brow furrowed in confusion. "This is from Mr. Mycroft?"

  The dwarf responded with a nonchalant nod. "That's what I said, lass."

  "What is it?" she asked, gesturing towards the box.

  He shrugged. "Beats me. All I was told was to deliver this to a stunning young woman working here at the office of Mr. Lawrence Mycroft. Wouldn't you know it? There's only one person who fits that description around here, so here I am."

  As she reached for the box, Xashai cast a casual glance at the receptionist's desk. "And you just let anyone in here?" she admonished playfully, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "What would Mr. Mycroft say about such lax security?"

  The receptionist, a half-elf woman with a steely gaze, merely scoffed. "As if anyone could just waltz in here without being thoroughly vetted."

  "Especially a little old me," the dwarf interjected, pointing to himself with his thick, stumpy thumb. "Anyways, I should be getting a move on. Got plenty more deliveries to make today."

  "Thank you," Xashai offered.

  "My pleasure, lass," he replied, ambling out of the office. "Now, if you could just tell me where I can sign up for that wine delivery service," he added over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.

  With a soft, affectionate chuckle and a shake of her head, Xashai undid the package, revealing its contents: a state-of-the-art tablet, its screen a crisp, high-resolution wonder.

  And yet, her interest didn't linger in its cutting-edge technology. Something else immediately ensnared her attention—a gilded letter sealed with a conspicuous wax insignia. As she eased the letter open, her gaze swept over the words penned in an elegant, flowing script:

  My dear Xashai,

  Please find enclosed your first month's salary and bonus, as well as an additional sum for your expertise in securing our most recent business ventures.

  Your contributions have been invaluable to the company, and I hope this token of my appreciation reflects that. Additionally, I have included an extra 1,000 credits towards a little project of yours that caught my interest. Should it bear fruit, do not hesitate to request further funds.

  Always look forward to more of your excellent work,

  Lawrence Mycroft

  Xashai's eyes widened in surprise. She had forgotten all about that private side project of hers—the one she had mentioned in passing during their first meeting. It was a risky endeavor, but it was close to her heart. That he not only remembered but chose to provide support for it was... unexpected.

  Then again, her employer was full of surprises.

  Her lips curled into a soft, appreciative smile. "Aren't you a charmer, Mr. Mycroft?"

  Applying to that job vacancy had been the right decision after all. At first, her curiosity over such a lucrative offer was what drew her in. Then, her meeting with Mr. Mycroft—an interesting man, she admitted, with captivating eyes and an intriguing otherwordly aura—sealed the deal. Now, she couldn't deny he was winning her over even more.

  Was he her type, though?

  Hard to say. She was in no rush and preferred taking things slowly in such matters. But for now, he certainly was becoming a more and more intriguing figure. Perhaps she could arrange a little dinner or lunch—just to talk shop, of course. Maybe find out a little more about him in the process.

  She glanced below the signature, noticing a footnote she almost overlooked:

  P.S. — I want you to spend a week in Ichthys learning all you can about the regional market. I'll need a list of all the goods and their going prices, along with a map of the various trade routes to the area. See Elspeth for transportation details; she'll be arranging everything for your trip.

  She read it once, twice, three times. Then, she gently placed the tablet on her desk, sat back in her chair, and sighed.

  "You've got to be kidding me." She was supposed to have the week off after all that running around. Instead, it was going to be even more work in that archaic world with no modern amenities, surrounded by a bunch of people who still had a hankering for swords and bows. What next?

  A grumble escaped her as she slumped back in her chair. The joy of an unexpected vacation was overshadowed by the immediate reality of a taxing journey to a world she had little interest in. Ichthys, a city brimming with all the comforts of medieval life, was a destination that, in Xashai's opinion, ranked somewhere between watching paint dry and being forced to endure a dull lecture on the history of toenail clippings.

  Just wonderful.

  With a resigned sigh, she acknowledged the inevitable and swiped the tablet open. Her thumb danced over the screen, opening the various applications necessary for the day's work, preparing herself to immerse once more in the minutiae of spreadsheets, numbers, and market analyses.

  Time to get to work.

  Yesterday...

  "It'd be better if you wrote her the message," Elspeth suggested midway through writing the letter. "Such personal touches will engender loyalty over time."

  Zark'thul looked up at her with his usual nonplussed expression. "That's the reason why you're here: to act on my behalf. If I start personally writing every letter, responding to every issue, attending every meeting, where does it stop? Soon, everyone will be demanding pieces of my time."

  "There's truth to that. Yet, as I've stated, those who have a personal connection with you are more likely to remain loyal in times of strife."

  The truth of her argument pricked at him. He shrugged. "Perhaps in due time, but not for something as insignificant as this. She's already getting paid well beyond her expectations. Why do we need to give her a letter just to tell her about this trip to Ichthys? She's a negotiator. She knows the score."

  "That's a logical assessment, but human interactions are often founded on emotional, rather than logical, grounds," Elspeth replied with a small smile.

  "She's a Gixiet, not human."

  "My point remains the same."

  Zark'thul tapped the table with a single digit, a low guttural rumble escaping his throat. "Fine. The next one. Just so you'll stop complaining today, I'll be the one to mail her."

  Elspeth nodded.

  After signing off, Zark'thul headed to the mail room and mailed the letter to his employee. What a bothersome task. Just thinking about it drained him of any desire to be nice to anyone ever again. He wished to be alone for the remainder of the day.

  He returned to his office and sat down at his desk.

  A few hours later, Elspeth returned with a tray containing his lunch and set it down. "Did you drop off the letter to her office?"

  "Why there? She's on her weekend. I dropped it into a mailbox. What difference does it make?"

  Elspeth remained still. Her left eye twitched, her smile gone. "Sir, the mail won't reach her place until tomorrow, which is when she heads back to work. She might not read it until the end of the day tomorrow. That would be too late."

  "Is that an issue?" he asked.

  "She won't have time to prepare for the trip, and her lack of readiness could jeopardize her mission."

  His eyes narrowed. "Surely you exaggerate. What's a day in the grand scheme of things?"

  "It is an unprofessional way to conduct business, sir. But there is still time. We can message the courier service to have it delivered to her office instead."

  "Can't we just email this thing to her?" he countered, irritated.

  Elspeth raised a brow. "And then have to explain the blunder? Besides, it doesn't carry the same weight, sir. It lacks the personal touch."

  Zark'thul signed, already reaching for his phone. "What's the number for that courier?"