My job.
Not Elijah and how hot he is.
Two hours later, I’m neck deep in nursing my umpteenth papercut from wrapping tape when something thumps lightly out in the hall.
I freeze.
Every nerve in my body jumps like I’ve just been dumped into cold water and my heart begins to race. Everyone else went home. There’s no one else here. Another thump follows, and I leap up from my seat while my pounding heart leaps up into my throat.
Oh, no.
Is it a thief? It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been robbed, and Jimmy’s cutbacks on security leave this place wide open for someone eager to make a quick buck at this time of year. Time and time again, I told Jimmy that all products should be kept in the warehouse, but he kept insisting that website and subscription stock be kept in the offices.
It’s an open secret to anyone who sees the mail pickups from here.
Audible footsteps creep closer and closer to my door, so I grab my phone to dial 911 while snatching up the nearest item to me. It’s a crystal tiara intended as a raffle prize for an email customer, and now it’s the only thing I have to protect myself.
Another thump occurs just outside my door, and a squeak of fright escapes my throat. The phone slips from my hand as I desperately dash toward the door in order to lock it.
I’m too slow.
The handle dips and the hinge creaks as the door opens. Reflex takes over, and I act before I can think.
“Get out!” I scream, raising the tiara like a blade and slamming it down hard on the intruder.
“Ouch!” yells a painfully familiar voice as the figure emerging through the door immediately topples to the ground and lands at my feet.
I stare down, panting and brandishing the tiara, ready to strike again, until I lock eyes with the man on the floor.
“Elijah?”
15
ELIJAH
“I’m so, so, so sorry,” Calliope gasps, her breath brushing softly against my hair as she stands over me, another butterfly stitch clasped in her hand.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” she says. “And you really should get this checked at the hospital.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“I cut you with a diamond tiara. It’s bad.”
I huff out a soft breath. “I’ve had worse.”
Calliope leans back, squinting under the harsh breakroom light. “From jewelry?”
“Uh… no, not from jewelry. But it honestly doesn’t even hurt that much. It feels more like a bruise. You’ve got a strong arm.”
Calliope lunging at me with a crown in hand might be the most terrifying and equally amusing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Inhindsight, I should have announced myself, but it didn’t cross my mind that she would be on the defensive.
“Oh, God, I feel terrible,” she whines as she returns to gently cleaning the small gash on my forehead. “I heard all these thumps, and we’ve been robbed before. All I could think was that someone was here to do something fucked up, y’know?”
I gaze past her body to the plastic box of tarts that used to hold four perfectly shaped snow-themed cream tarts. Until I tripped over myself and dropped the tarts on the floor. Twice. Now the cream is splodged all over the package and the pastries have been shoved together on their two trips to the floor, or three after we both took a tumble under Calliope’s blow.
“I understand. It’s really not your fault. It happens.”
