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I open another tab, typing the name in the search bar. A bunch of results come up, and I press the first one that comes up. It’s their website. I read through it, trying to understand who they are. A videographer and editor. Oh. I probably have to do a music video with them, then. I then spot a list of sponsors and participants. It’s a list of a lot of weird, yet known names. One name in particular catches my attention: Roland Miller. Well, would you look at that? Roland has a connection with them. I jump back to the search bar and type “Vid Vibez” and “Imagine Designs.” Another poor choice of business names, but evenworse because the name had been changed. The business name used to be better, then Roland came in and changed it.
A new set of results pop up, with a small paragraph at the top. The paragraph mentions Roland’s connection and partnership with the managers of the company, and how they’re known to be the biggest clients to both companies. Partnership. They work with each other. That’s interesting. How will they be partners if Roland’s all the way in New York?
I wonder if they know their dearest client is moving all the way to New York. It must be very frustrating to have to hear it so suddenly, especially from someone other than Roland. I spin the chair to the front, close my laptop, and place it on the desk. I grab my phone, calling Lorenzo and wait for him to answer.
“Hello. Why are you calling me at eleven p.m.?” he quickly asks, chatter noises around him. Okay, so he’s not asleep. I forgot how late it is.
“I was organizing some things. But, I have a plan,” I tell him, pushing the chair back, away from the desk and into the middle of the room.
“A plan for what? And how the hell is your brain working at nearly midnight?” he asks, raising his voice slightly. I get up and walk to my bookshelf, counting through the folders that are stored there until I pick out a light blue one, the number 184 marked on it.
“For forcing Roland to stay in Los Angeles. I just have to hope Roland isn’t the only person who cares for his money like it’s his life,” I tell him as I return to my seat and open the folder. The file is thin, with only a couple of documents inside. I open to one of them.
“At eleven thirty!?” he exclaims. He acts like this isn’t normal for me. Everyone knows I stay up, mostly because of work, sometimes because I just can’t sleep.
“Yes, are you going to listen to the idea or not?” I press.
“Of course, sorry, continue,” he apologizes, and the chatter around him begins to fade until the only sound coming from the other side, other than his voice, is the sound of the breeze breathing into my ear. “I can hear you now.”
I clear my throat before beginning the explanation. “So, Oliver and I are doing additional work considering content and events, because of industry development and all that, and I was looking through them earlier. While doing so, I saw something about a company called Vid Vibez.”
“What kind of name is that?” Lorenzo interrupts, a tint of disgust in his voice. Well, good to know we think alike.
“Don’t ask. Anyway, I searched them up since I had no idea who they were, and I figured out they’re my videographers, but I also gathered some valuable information,” I mention, also looking through the papers to find something.
“Wait, if they’ve worked with you before, how come you didn’t know who they were?” This is the second time he interrupts. I frown, even though he can’t see my face.
“I don’t remember names, Lorenzo, I work with them occasionally. Anyway, that’s not the point,” I say, and I know he’s smiling from the other side of the line. “It turns out that they’re partners with Roland. But I’m guessing they don’t know he’s moving, because no one does. You told me Roland planned to make it some surprise or emergency announcement. They need him here, though. If they think it’s an emergency, they’ll pull strings. But not if they know otherwise. Not if they’re tipped off by a certain worried client. If Roland cherishes his business as much as everyone says he does, they’ll be a reason to force him to stay,” I conclude.
Silence fills the line, filling me with doubt. I wait for an answer, hoping he is processing the idea rather than thinking of a proper way to tell me how stupid it is.
“You thought of this? At nearly midnight. Val, you are actually crazy. Your brain works in a miraculous way,” he says and I detect awe in his voice. Either that, or it’s insults. I have no idea if I'm supposed to take that positively or negatively.
“So, is it a good idea or not?” I ignore the sentence and go straight to the point. Lorenzo knows more about Roland’s persona than I do, his acceptance is proof that it’ll work. I spin the chair, waiting for his answer.
“Yes. Yes, it is. It’s a great idea. It’s risky because I have no idea about that company with a weird name, but it could work. Do you need anything from me?”
Thank God, because I don’t have the brain fuel to think of any other ideas, and I’m running out of time. I close the file on my lap and lean my head back on the chair. Do I need anything from him? Most of this is me and my hopefully great manipulation skills.
A thought then pops up in my head. I’m doing this as Val. They might figure it out somehow. It would be weird if Val did something like that for Elias out of nowhere.
“Yes, actually. I need you to take credit. If Elias or Aurora ask, you tell them you came up with the idea and got Val, a.k.a. me, on board with it. If it comes from me, it’ll be weird and suspicious,” I tell him. I mean, it’s not a hard job. Just take credit. It won’t be unbelievable that Lorenzo got Valentina to do such a thing for him, everyone knows he’s good friends with her.
“Sounds easy. I’ll tell you if it works. Elias will probably tell me,” he assures me.
“It will work. It has to.”
“Don’t be too certain, you’ll jinx yourself,” he points out.
“It’s called being positive,” I tell him, finally getting up and placing my chair in its normal spot, tucked under the desk. I put the file back in its place, making sure it stays in numerical order.
“Well, I’m positive you’re going to wake up dead tomorrow if you don’t turn off your computer and your brain right now.”
He’s exaggerating, I’ll be fine. But he’s not wrong either, I’ll be very tired if I don’t go to sleep now. Although he isn’t one to talk, since he was just surrounded by people talking a minute ago.
“Look who’s talking. Where even are you?” I ask, tidying the rest of my room.
“At a café. And I’m different. I’m on a vacation, and I don’t have songs to plan tomorrow. You also need more sleep than me, it’s just a fact,” he tells me, making me frown once again. I roll my eyes, walking toward my bed.
