“What do you want me to do? Write you a haiku?”
    “You are the one who does all of the creative designing here. Figure something out.”
    A hushed exhale of some form of irritation was the only thing that escaped Emily’s lips as she leaned against the sofa, platinum blonde hair cascading the cushion where her head currently rested.
    The two sat in a rather large room, decorated with framed records on walls, posters, a Foosball table, and trinkets aplenty. A recording studio could be seen not far off, as well as various instruments and pieces of relative equipment and miscellaneous technology. Though lamps were found here and there, the only light that seeped into the building was that from the windows, the summer morning sun shining through and casting its light on the wooden floor.
     Though it might be perceived as messy to some, Emily pushed the fact that there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place.
    “You can’t make me do all of the work,” she said, shaking her head in exasperation. “Our last sale results sucked, and it’s eventually all gonna be pushed on James’s shoulders.”
    “I know,” said Mark, fingers nervously tapping at his laptop as he spun in his chair, the light of the electronic device reflecting in his glasses. “I feel bad for him, y’know? This entire store is his, and, despite how small it is, we’ve been doing okay. Records labels in this little corner of New York are just not selling as much as they used to be.”
    A light ring interrupted their thoughts, the noise signaling someone entering the shop. A man of a fit stature walked in, balancing a bag labeled with “McDonald’s,” and a cup holder containing three differentiated coffees. He closed the door behind him with his foot, and cautiously walked over to both Emily and Mark, setting both the food and the coffees down on the table between the two, a lounge-like area surrounding it.
    Emily sat up, taking the coffee cup in her hand with a gracious ‘thank you’ directed toward James. Mark repeated the gesture, grabbing the bag and sorting through it as well. He managed to fish out a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, sighing in utter relief as he removed it from its wrapping.
    “Welcome home,” Emily said, taking a sip of her coffee before leaning back once more. “Any good news? We could use it right about now.”
    James took a seat next to her, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on his knees. He simply shook his head, his leg jiggling just slightly. Mark groaned soon after, though Emily wasn’t sure if it was because of the breakfast sandwich or James’s lack of optimism. Before Emily had the chance, however, James began to speak.
    “If we don’t consider something soon, I’m afraid we won’t be here for much longer.”
A solemn silence fell over the room, the three of them freezing in an unsure state of mind, the only prominent white noise left being that of Mark chomping away at his breakfast.  Emily, in return, folded her hands in her lap, a sigh leaving her mouth.
“No new record propositions, then?” she asked, head turning to face James.
“None,” he replied. “We haven't gotten any attention from anyone, whether it be someone actually interested in buying the company, or a band looking for a huge break. Though, I must say, it's not like we really have pushed our name out there. I'm sure there are plenty of people who have never heard of our records before.”
“Listen, James, I love your idea for giving small bands and solo artists chances,” intruded Mark. “I think it's great, don't get me wrong, but---” He sat up, throwing the leftover paper wrapping of his sandwich into a nearby bin, “---we're not making any money, man. We signed that contract with iTunes a while back, but it's not like that'd necessarily help, you know? Anyone can put a CD on iTunes. What we need here is some proper advertising. Our website and posters around this fraction of NYC isn't going to do much anymore. You see fliers for whatever anytime, anywhere.”
“We have friends who work for Apple, don't we?” added Emily. “We could try to have them sneak us in to some sort of bargain.”
James shook his head. “I continue to stand by my belief that this company can make it on our own.  We just need to find the right people.”
“Such as---”
Emily's phone began vibrating, the steady hum of such a noise diverting their current thoughts. It took her a moment to react before she fished it from the pocket of her jeans, only to see the screen reading that of a rather unfamiliar number.
Her eyes widened, her gaze whipping from Mark to James before answering the phone. They both leaned in, doing their best to pick up what was being said on the other line.
“Oh, you're—-” Emily spoke before getting cut off.
A chain of conversation continued to unravel itself, Emily replying only when it was necessary, and her tone holding an edge of politeness not normally present in her conversations with Mark and James, where she allowed the fact that she was an exceptionally blunt person to overcome her. The two men listened in with great intent, both of them literally sitting on the edge of the seat, an exchanged glance signaling a mutual understanding of how this may be exceptionally important to their company. At this rate, the anticipation made them jump at any relatively good news.
As soon as she pressed the red button to signal the end of the call, all three of them opened their mouth at once, before both Mark and James closed their own and allowed Emily to speak freely.
“That was Jacob Heffner. We're going to be bought out if we don't act quickly,” she announced.

The faces of the two men fell, disappointment shattering any hopes they had before Emily had announced the news. They both knew who Heffner was, and they both knew that he was not normally a bearer of good news. His job was to manage the companies in the field of record studios. He, above all, told those who sold labels to rising artists what to do, how to do it, and when to do it.
“What are we going to do, then?” Mark inquired. “We hardly have enough time.”
“I don't know,” admitted James. “I suppose we'll figure it out at some point.”

The next morning, Emily's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door bell chiming. She furiously wiped at her face with her sleeve, freshly wept tears streaming down her face, and the jumbled mass of nearly incoherent words from the TV still echoing in her mind as James entered the building.
“Emily?” he inquired, stepping further into the room as he closed the door behind him. “What's wrong?”
She gestured towards the mounted TV in response, and James's focus shifted to it.
“...A hit and run was reported last night, a silver sedan striking and killing the CEO of New York Records last night before promptly driving off. The man's name was Jacob Heffner, and his family---”
With a shaking hand, Emily turned the power off, before burying her hands in her face, shaking inhales and exhales mixed with sobs leaving her.
James took a moment to process the words, anxiety etched in his features as frustration and fear rose up to his eyes. He slowly turned to Emily, almost afraid to breathe, to move even more than needed.
He spoke, then. “That was your sedan, wasn’t it?”
Emily nodded.
James brought his hands to his hair and pulled at the strands, a shaky exhale leaving his lungs as he began to pace.
“I---I didn’t mean to I swear,” Emily cried. “This wasn’t meant to happen, I didn’t know what to do, I—“
Her words were about to cross the line of comprehendible as her tears fell more freely and she almost threw herself into hysterics.
“B-But maybe this is a good thing, right?” You—He was going to close us down if I didn’t—“
“No,” began James, his voice rising with each syllable. “No, this is definitely not a good thing. I wanted to keep the store open just like the rest of you, but this—“
His phone began to ring, then, an incoming call from, once again, an unknown number.
With one more glance at Emily, he took his phone out of his pocket, staring at the screen for a brief second before accepting the call.
“Hello?” he inquired, doing his best to remain composed.
“Hello, James. This is Mr. Heffner’s secretary,” a feminine voice replied. “I’m not sure if I’m authorized to tell you this, but, as you may have known, Mr. Heffner wanted you to take over the company if anything were to happen to him. You’re the most experienced out of all of the sellers, and you have a better hand in the music industry than a majority of us do!” A light, solemn laugh followed as she continued. “But—I’m sure you’ve already gotten an invitation to the funeral. I assume that more will be discussed after that arrangement.”
James paused, swallowing down the lump in his throat before responding.
“I—just learned about his death a few moments ago. I’m sorry, I’m just—A bit shocked he thought this highly of me.”
“Yes, well,” the woman said and heaved a sign, “I’ll be sure to make the proper meetings to get you up to speed. There is going to be an investigation, of course. I couldn’t possibly imagine—“
She cut herself off, her tone becoming friendly more so than sorrowful.
“You’ll be getting a call back from us soon.”
The line went dead, and James simply dropped his phone to the floor.