The Delivery Girl

2. Note

Callen

Get rid of IT, or you're dead.

"It's just someone messing with us," I groan, "can we drop it?"

Hours have gone by since the note arrived in the office. Despite my many attempts to get them to leave, Hayley and Jacob have spent their entire day standing by my desk, rereading and discussing the note. What a shitty way to spend my Saturday, I barely get any free time as it is.

"Even so, we need to take proper precautions," Jacob reminds me sternly. "Your father has already decided to double my hours."

"No offense Jacob, but even if he had quadrupled your hours, you would be just as useless," I retort.

I lean back in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. Jacob has been working for me since I started here and I've never needed him. He had an eight year contract with dad that stated he'd work for the CEO at Sterling Studios. Unfortunately for me, it never specified who the CEO had to be, and his contract continued, despite dad retiring. Just a couple years left before I can kick him out of here.

The president of a photography agency does not need a bodyguard in the first place. The only people who know who I am are my employees. They're professionals who I think very highly of – which is saying a lot. I've known all of them for years, long enough to know that none of them are murderers. 

"Did you look up the return address?" I ask.

"Yeah, it doesn't exist," Hayley says. "No such address in the city."

We suddenly hear two knocks on the door before a girl carrying a paper bag peeks inside. "Hi, uh, food delivery for Hayley?"

That was surprisingly quick.

We thought they'd surely be too busy to get food to us anytime soon, especially after that angry sounding man called Hayley back.

"Yes, you can leave it over there," Hayley says without looking up and points to the coffee table by the side of the room.

Dad put that sitting area together when he first designed his office. Two brown leather sofas, a wooden coffee table with some magazines I've never opened, and a fluffy rug underneath. I would sit here during my visits when I was little, usually kept busy with a juice box and video game.

Most of the furniture that was once in here has been swapped out to fit my needs. Dad preferred a warm, rustic look with reds and browns, wooden furniture, and most things were done with fabric. After I took over, I had it redone with blacks and whites, and glass. He wasn't thrilled when he first saw it, but knew that it was no longer his office, and he didn't have a say in the decor.

Despite that, the little sitting area hasn't been touched. Dad used it quite often, his door was always open. His staff would come in just to chat, mom and I visited every few weeks, and he often let friends come in to hang out.

I, on the other hand, don't use it and haven't had the time to get rid of it. I have no idea how he managed to get anything done with it here. Only people who are scheduled come in to see me. Walk-ins are rare, I don't have the time for meaningless pleasantries. I might go downstairs every once in a while to check on how people are doing, but I spend most of my days at the office alone. 

That's just how I like it.

The girl hesitates, looking down at her wet rain boots, then over to the clean rug under the sofa and coffee table. "I... don't think that's a good idea."

"That's fine," I say and quickly stand up. "I'll take that."

She wordlessly nods and nervously hands me the bag with shaky hands. She makes eye contact for a split second before immediately flickering her eyes away. I eye her curiously – maybe we've met before? Jet black hair, clinging to her face. Cheeks and nose flushed pink from the cold. Big, slightly nervous, brown eyes that dart around the room.