Lulu did end up hiring someone—actually, three someones. Which meant that, seemingly overnight, she'd gone from being an almost-homeless freelancer with a ghost problem to the employer of four people (if one counted Mindy, and Lulu absolutely did).
The most surprising hire of the bunch? Easily Bird Boy Bobby. Or at least, that's what Lulu had dubbed him in her head.
Bobby was the candidate who insisted he could communicate with birds. Lulu had fully expected him to be a write-off. Especially when he walked into the interview cradling a tiny birdcage like it was some precious item and introduced his parakeet as "Cassandra, the Clairvoyant," she'd almost cancelled the meeting on the spot.
Almost.
Then, the ghost of her most recently deceased client, the one that had flatlined on the phone with Mindy, wandered in behind her—and Cassandra lost her tiny bird mind.
Wings flapped. Screeches filled the air. And then, in a voice disturbingly similar to a terrified woman in a horror movie, the bird shrieked:
"Ghost! Squawk! Ghooost! SQUAAAAAWK—GHOST!"
Lulu and Bobby stared at each other.
The ghost, slightly offended, had crossed his arms.
Cassandra, meanwhile, had continued her squawking existential crisis.
Two more experiments (and a whispered apology to her ghostly clients) later, Lulu had confirmed that yes, this bird could likely see the dead.
Which meant Bobby—eccentric as he was—was hired.
His official title became Administrative Assistant, Paranormal Scheduling Support.
Unofficially? Bird Boy Bobby.
To be fair, aside from his firm belief that he and Cassandra shared a psychic connection, Bobby was refreshingly normal. Friendly. Punctual. Efficient. Surprisingly good at sorting calendar invites.
But Lulu still couldn't get completely on board with the idea of a 'psychic connection' with a bird (yes, Lulu appreciated the irony of her skepticism considering that she sees dead people). But despite her skepticism, Bobby (or more like Cassandra) was now one of Lulu's most valuable employees.
His only condition for employment was that Cassandra receive weekly bird snacks and quiet time during lunch. Lulu agreed and even included this in his contract—it was the least the bird deserved for what appeared to be a traumatic experience for it.
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The other hires were Tracey and Emma—two women who had applied separately but immediately bonded in the waiting room over their shared experience working at terrible start-ups and a mutual love of ghost documentaries.
Tracey was all confidence and caffeine, with two nose piercings, a denim jacket covered in enamel pins, and a talent for customer service that bordered on psychic.
"Hi, Mr. Stevenson! Just calling to make sure you don't want your ashes shot out of a confetti cannon when you pass away. Oh, you do? Okay then!"
She handled difficult clients like she'd been born for it.
Emma, by contrast, was quieter and extremely detail-oriented, the kind of person who color-coded spreadsheets for fun and triple-checked contract wording like it was sacred scripture.
She wore cardigans, glasses, and a look of gentle, judgmental calm that made any of the clients thinking about pulling a fast one with Lulu's unique payment method. At her suggestion Lulu'd even added a requirement that Spectral Solutions be notified whenever a person tried to access the safety deposit boxes again—in case clients tried to remove the cash meant to be left there for after their deaths.
The three of them—Bobby, Tracey, and Emma—managed nearly all the client intake now. They fielded online requests, scheduled meetings, helped clients write out their final messages, ensured the creation and legal formatting of safety deposit agreements, and monitored when boxes were accessed, and the amount of cash meant to be placed in each box.
Tracey and Emma even helped organize the client's physical documents and confirmed the cash was present with bank staff—without ever opening the deposit boxes themselves, of course. They were efficient, professional, and weirdly enthusiastic about death logistics.
Bobby on the other hand, mostly stayed in office.
And yes—Spectral Solutions had an actual office now. Just a small unit above a bubble tea shop, but it had waiting chairs, filing cabinets, a front desk for Bobby, office spaces for Lulu and the other employees and a door with their name on it. Lulu no longer had to meet clients in public libraries or coffee shops like she was running a sketchy pyramid scheme rather than a real business.
Bobby stayed in the office full-time, answering phones, confirming appointments, and—most importantly—notifying Lulu the moment Cassandra started screaming.
With this setup, Lulu had become something of a spiritual shopkeeper. She only showed up when alerted that a client had passed. Bobby would send a message ("Lady Cassandra says that there is a ghost. Please arrive at your earliest convenience."), and Lulu would head in to meet the newly dead, collect their access code, and confirm if they wanted to amend any part of their after-death plan.
The actual execution of those plans (i.e. speaking with families, or making speeches at funerals)? Tracey, Emma, and an increasingly over-invested Mindy handled all of that.
In the last two weeks alone, they'd signed contracts with over a hundred living individuals. Five had already passed—and everything had gone smoothly.
Lulu's income had multiplied. Her stress? Not so much.
That night, she sat on her couch, twirling a pen in her fingers. For the first time in weeks, she was completely alone. The apartment was silent. Her tea was still warm. There was nothing pressing on her schedule.
"…I should thank Mindy," she said aloud to no one. "She was right. I never thought I'd be able to go hands-off with this. I almost miss being in the field."
As if in direct response, a voice came from behind her, soft and polite:
"Excuse me, may I have a moment of your time?"