Page 31 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

S eattle glittered with its glass towers catching sunlight and reflecting it back in dazzling fragments.

Ava gazed out the wall of windows in the Seattle Floral Design Studio's reception area, the city spread before her like an offering.

From this height—the twenty-third floor of a sleek downtown building—the streets looked like arteries, cars flowing through them in orderly patterns.

Everything designed, everything purposeful.

Unlike Millfield, where roads curved along old creek beds and buildings clustered according to decades of small decisions rather than a master plan.

"Ms. Bennett?" A voice pulled her attention from the view. "They're ready for you now."

The receptionist named Mara, according to her sleek acrylic name tag, stood beside a set of frosted glass doors. Her black clothing was impeccably tailored, her hair pulled back in a severe knot that looked almost painful. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, which remained coolly assessing.

"Thank you," Ava said, smoothing her hands down her dress.

The fabric felt foreign against her skin, too structured, too formal.

Not like the soft cotton aprons and casual clothes she wore at Bloom James Christoff, Operations Manager; Erika Reyes, Senior Designer.

"Please, sit," Dyane gestured to an empty chair. Her silver hair was cut in a sharp bob that accentuated her angular features. "We've been looking forward to meeting you."

Ava sat, placing her portfolio on the table before her.

The leather cover was worn at the corners, well-used but cared for.

She'd spent the flight organizing it, selecting her best work, arranging it to tell a story of her experience and vision.

Now, under the cool assessment of these three professionals, she wondered if it was enough. If she was enough.

"Let's begin with your background," Dyane said, folding her hands on the table. Her nails were perfectly manicured, painted a subtle gray that matched her outfit. "Tell us about Bloom & Vine."

Ava took a breath, centering herself. This was familiar ground, at least. "The shop has been in my family for twenty years. My mother started it when I was a child, and I grew up learning the business from the ground up. When she passed away earlier this year, I took over operations."

"And you've maintained the same aesthetic?" Erika asked, her eyes sharp behind fashionable glasses. "Or have you introduced your own vision?"

"Both, I suppose," Ava said. "I honor the traditions and style my mother established, but I've been experimenting with my own approach as well. Finding a balance between heritage and innovation."

James nodded, making a note on the tablet before him. The soft tap of his fingers against the screen was the only sound in the room. "And what attracted you to our studio? We're quite different from a small-town flower shop."

The question, though politely phrased, carried an edge. As if "small-town flower shop" were somehow lesser, a stepping stone rather than a destination in itself. Ava felt a flicker of defensiveness, which she quickly suppressed.

"I'm drawn to the opportunity to expand my skills," she said carefully. "To work with a team of professionals, to learn new techniques and approaches. The scale and scope of your projects is something I haven't had the chance to experience yet."

Dyane smiled, a practiced smirk that conveyed approval without warmth. "Growth mindset. Excellent. Let's see your portfolio."

The next hour passed in a blur of questions, observations, and critiques.

Ava presented her work, explaining her design choices, the stories behind certain arrangements, the techniques she'd developed over years of practice.

The trio asked insightful questions, made appreciative noises at appropriate moments, exchanged glances that Ava couldn't quite interpret.

"Your traditional work is exceptional," Erika said, lingering over a photograph of a wedding bouquet Ava had created—garden roses and ranunculus in soft peach and ivory, with trailing ribbons and delicate ferns. "There's a sense of history here, of established craftsmanship."

"But we're curious about your more contemporary pieces," James added. "Do you have examples of more architectural work? Designs that push boundaries rather than honor traditions?"

Ava turned to a section near the back of her portfolio.

"These are some recent experiments," she said, revealing photographs of arrangements that incorporated unusual elements—metal wire, geometric forms, unexpected color combinations.

"I've been exploring the tension between structure and organic flow. "

Dyane leaned forward, suddenly more interested. "Now these speak to the kind of work we do here. Innovative, bold, challenging conventional expectations."

The meeting continued, shifting from her portfolio to a tour of the facilities.

Ava was shown the materials library, where every imaginable flower, foliage, and accessory was cataloged and stored in climate-controlled conditions.

The fabrication room, where custom structures were built to support complex installations.

The consultation spaces, where clients were presented with concepts and mood boards.

Everything was impressive, state-of-the-art, professional. Everything spoke of success and ambition and forward momentum. Everything was exactly what she had imagined when she'd first considered the apprenticeship. So why did she feel this growing unease, this sense of something essential missing?

In the materials library, she ran her fingers over a bin of preserved moss, expecting the familiar softness. Instead, it felt stiff, almost plastic. Treated with something to maintain its color and form at the expense of its natural texture.

"And here's where you would work initially," Erika explained, gesturing to a row of identical workstations in a corner of the main design floor. "Our apprentices begin by supporting senior designers, learning our methods and standards. With your experience, you'd likely advance quickly."

Ava looked at the stark white table, the perfectly arranged tools, the absence of personality or individuality.

She tried to imagine herself here, day after day, creating according to someone else's vision, in this silent, sterile space.

No radio playing softly in the background.

No Mrs. Connelly stopping by with town gossip and strong opinions about flower choices.

No Emerson appearing with coffee and quiet support.

"It's quite different from what you're used to, I imagine," Erika said, watching her face.

"Yes," Ava admitted. "But different can be good. A chance to grow, to see things from a new perspective."

Erika nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Exactly. Now, let's discuss logistics. The apprenticeship is six months initially, with the possibility of permanent placement afterward, depending on performance..."