A Chance Encounter
The CrossLogix "office" barely deserved the name. A narrow room with peeling paint and a faint smell of cardboard, it looked more like a forgotten storeroom than the headquarters of a company. Still, Daniel sat there every day, hunched over his laptop, doing everything himself—deliveries, emails, even the clumsy attempts at advertising.
On this particular morning, he was trying to design a flyer in a free template program. The result looked like a ransom note pretending to be a business ad.
The bell above the office door jingled.
Daniel looked up. A young woman looking like she was in her early twenties walked in, her steps confident but not arrogant, her laptop bag slung across her shoulder like it belonged there. She wore a navy blouse tucked into dark jeans, professional without being stiff. Her dark hair framed a face that was both sharp and approachable.
"Sorry, is this CrossLogix?" she asked, scanning the room.
"Yes," Daniel replied cautiously. "Can I help you?"
She extended a hand. "Elizabeth Torez. Patel from the bookstore gave me your name. He said you're starting something interesting, but your marketing needs… divine intervention."
Daniel blinked. Patel, one of his few remaining vendors, had clearly grown tired of his amateur attempts and sent help.
"I appreciate the offer," Daniel said, shaking her hand. "But I can't afford consultants right now."
Elizabeth tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Who said anything about money? Patel already promised me store credit for first editions if I got your ads in shape. I'd bleed for a rare copy of Hemingway, so—consider me invested."
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You're working for books?"
"First editions," she corrected firmly. "Don't insult me."
He laughed—an actual, unguarded laugh he hadn't heard from himself in months.
Elizabeth leaned over his laptop and caught sight of the flyer on the screen. Her expression tightened like she'd tasted something sour. "Is that your ad?"
Daniel groaned. "Supposed to be."
"Good. Then I don't feel bad saying it's a crime against design." She dropped her bag on the desk and opened her laptop with a flourish. "Sit. Watch. Learn."
⸻
For the next hour, Daniel found himself captivated. Elizabeth worked with effortless speed, weaving colors and fonts like a magician pulling order out of chaos. But more than her skill, it was the way she explained things—clear, confident, no condescension.
"You're not just selling packages from A to B," she said, her hands flying over the keys. "You're selling trust. Parents ordering birthday cakes, students ordering textbooks—people need to believe you won't drop the ball."
When she finally turned the screen toward him, Daniel couldn't help but stare.
A sleek, professional ad glowed on the monitor. The design was simple, modern, almost elegant. The tagline read:
"CrossLogix: From Local Hands to Your Doorstep—Fast, Reliable, Trusted."
Daniel let out a slow breath. "That's… incredible."
Elizabeth smiled tilted wryly. "It's decent. Don't flatter me yet. But it'll get people clicking. And clicks become customers."
She packed her laptop, brushing hair from her face. "I'll come back tomorrow. You need more than one ad, and frankly, I can't let you go out there with that disaster of a flyer."
Daniel started to protest, but she cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't argue. Patel gave me my payment already. Books. I'm happy. You get marketing. You're welcome."
And with that, she was gone—confident, purposeful, like a storm passing through and rearranging everything it touched.
⸻
That evening, as Daniel picked up Ethan from school, Elizabeth's name still lingered in his mind.
Ethan piled into the car, sweaty and noisy, talking about who had scored what goal during his soccer game with his friends, waving a juice box like a trophy.
"Daddy, did the work make a million dollars today?" he asked.
"Not quite," Daniel chuckled, starting the car. "But we might be heading in the right direction."
At the stoplight, he glanced in the rearview mirror at his son. For a fleeting second, he imagined Elizabeth in the passenger seat—sharp, lively, unafraid to speak her mind. Someone who might actually see value in what he was building.
The thought startled him, and he shook it off. It was too soon. Far too soon.
But deep down, he couldn't ignore it: something had shifted.
Elizabeth had entered like a spark into dry wood. And Daniel wasn't sure yet if it was the kind of fire that warmed or burned.