Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Mr. Abrams, however, looked comfortable. I’d love to sit on him. He had that whole Daddy vibe, including silver at his temples and a trimmed beard, crow’s-feet in the corners of his eyes, and suits made exclusively for his body. I guessed he was in his mid-to-late forties.
It was a travesty that he had a giant stick up his ass. He wasn’t merely demanding as fuck and strict; he was dull and seemingly devoid of emotion.
I cleared my throat to get his attention. “Mr. Abrams?”
He stopped typing on his computer and peered at me over the rim of his glasses.
“I have a delivery for you from Mr. Williams on the ground floor,” I said. “Suravi’s not here, but I can leave it on her desk if you’d prefer.”
He dismissed that and motioned for me to come forward.
I could make some serious strides on my Fitbit in his office, it was that big. At least compared to the tiny office I shared with Mya and Kim. And “office” was a stretch. Only a single wall separated us from the cubicle area.
“It sounds like a Christmas gift, sir,” I commented as I handed him the parcels.
“It makes sounds?” He wasn’t pleased. “Then please stay here while I open it so I can decide whether to send it back with you.”
Hey. Rude. “Maybe Santa can replace it with a lump of coal.”
“Perhaps,” was his only reaction.
While he carefully tore the wrapping, I inspected his boring desk. I mean, the desk itself was nice, probably some expensive mahogany or oak thing, but he had nothing personal on it. No photos, no knickknacks. I knew he was unmarried and had no kids, but he had several nieces and nephews.
“It’s a nice rug you have here,” I offered. “I kinda wanna do cartwheels on it.” Or break-dance all over it with Kim.
He paused his unwrapping and glanced up at me. “You don’t have to fill the silence.”
“No, I know. I do that voluntarily.”
“That’s a shame,” he muttered and returned to his gift.
I suppressed a sigh and stuck my hands down into the pockets of my slacks.
The only thing that was a crying shame was this fun-sucker of a man. I could count my interactions with him on one hand—in the four years I’d been here—and they’d all required some serious aftercare to brighten my mood again.
Underneath the plain wrapping paper was a bottle of whiskey or scotch, and he held it up to read the tag strapped to its neck.
“This is a nice bourbon,” he commented. “I’m sure my uncle will enjoy it.”
“Sir?”
“It’s addressed to Clarke Abrams, my uncle.” He set the bottle aside, along with the other parcel, and I cursed to myself. “I assume this package is for him too. I’ll be at corporate tomorrow—I can deliver them to him.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Very few things embarrassed me, but this kind of mistake definitely did. My collar felt tight, and my ears started burning.
“I’m so sorry, sir. That’s my mistake,” I managed to say. “Mr. Williams told me to personally deliver it to Mr. Abrams at corporate, and I just assumed he meant you—and you’re here on Wednesdays, so… I’m sorry. This isn’t actually my job, so you don’t have to worry about this happening again. I’ll be back at my desk as soon as the servers—”
“Please, for the love of God, stop rambling.” Mr. Abrams leaned back in his seat. I swallowed uncomfortably. He observed me. “If Mr. Williams gave you the instructions, your assumption feels…foolish.”
“Yep. Well aware. It’s been a long week.” Fuck, let me get out of here, please.
“It’s Wednesday.”
“So people keep telling me.” I gestured to the packages. “May I have them back? I need to go downtown before your uncle leaves for the day.”
“He won’t get them, regardless.” He checked his watch. “He leaves right after the breakfast meeting on the days my aunt gets dialysis.”
That was…sweet, I supposed. Clarke Abrams was in his seventies, if I wasn’t mistaken. It probably wouldn’t be that many years before he handed over the corporation to two of his sons and the nephew in front of me.
I suddenly had an idea. “You’re going to corporate tomorrow.”
“As I mentioned.”
“And you live in Santa Monica, right?”
His forehead creased. “I do.”
“So you’re passing Culver City on the way,” I said. “We can carpool. Pick me up outside the office tomorrow, and that way, I can follow Mr. Williams’s order and deliver the packages to Mr. Abrams myself. What do you say?”
“I was unaware that you were capable of following orders.”
“Hey.” I put my hands on my hips, getting a tad irritated. I knew I’d fucked up. How long did I have to suffer? “You’ve never complained about my work before. Please cut me some slack.”
He frowned at me. He was good at that. “I don’t even know who you are, what your name is, or what it is that you do here.”