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“Adrian doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Can you check for my package?”
She huffs, scrunching her nose up. “I guess.”
“Thank you,” I grind out.
“I’d slap that girl if I were there.”
I jolt in surprise, having completely forgotten that I was still on the phone with Sarah.
“I’m turning over a new leaf.”
The girl, her name tag reading TORI, pops her head above the counter. “Excuse me?”
I point to the Pod in my ear. “I’m on the phone.”
“It’s rude to be on the phone when you’re at the service desk.”
“It’s rude to be stupid, but here we are,” Sarah whispers.
I give the girl a small grin, refusing to apologize for rude behavior when I’ve been met with the very same from her.
“My package?”
“There’s nothing back here for Rachel Wilton.”
“Whitney Nelson,” I correct. “My name is Whitney Nelson.”
Tori scoffs again before dipping her head behind the counter. “Here it is!”
She pops up, a medium-sized box in her hands, and a jubilant smile on her face as if finding the box cured world hunger or something.
“Thank you,” I say without feeling an ounce of gratitude as I take the box. “Wait.”
I look down at the label.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah asks, but I’ll deal with my friend after dealing with the cranky girl in front of me.
“This isn’t mine.” I slide the box back across the counter.
“It says W. Nelson. Last I checked, Whitney started with a W.”
“It also says apartment 1213.” I point to the label, take a deep breath, and count to ten in my head. “I live in apartment 913.”
“I sent it to the right place,” Sarah assures me.
“I know you did. This happens all the time,” I tell her.
I haven’t met who ever W. Nelson is in apartment 1213, but I’ve learned to double-check my deliveries.
“I don’t make mistakes,” Tori snaps.
“I’m sure you don’t.” I give her a smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “But this package isn’t mine. Is there another package back there for apartment 913?”
“No.”
Tori doesn’t even bother to check.
“What time do you get off?”
Her eyes narrow. “Three. Why?”
“No reason,” I tell her before walking away.
“You have the patience of a saint,” Sarah says as I climb back on the elevator, ready to hole away in my apartment for the day because I’ve had enough of people.
“I really don’t,” I promise, because it’s only going to take me about five minutes on my computer to cause some major inconveniences for that girl. I sure hope she brought a little cash to work and packed her own lunch because it’s going to be impossible for her to use any of her credit cards for the rest of the day when I’m done with her.
“Listen, I have to finish getting ready for work. I’ll try to figure out what happened to the package on my end. Call me if you get it.”
“What’s in the box?”
“Talk soon!”
She hangs up before answering the question, and I’m left extremely curious and apprehensive at the same time.
The bellow comes from deep inside my apartment the second I push open the door.
“Hush,” I insist, rushing to close the door behind me.
The cat bellows again.
“Seriously? You know you aren’t supposed to be in here.”
Simon, the stray cat I secretly hid in a backpack and smuggled into my apartment six months ago, doesn’t care that he isn’t allowed here. All the orange tabby cares about is that he’s hungry. He’d risk exposure for a bowl of food.
“If you get us kicked out of this apartment, I’m not going to be very happy with you,” I warn, but like the well-trained human I am, I head straight for the pantry to fill his bowl.
Most might think it’s crazy to leave an apartment you love because an animal you never had any intentions of keeping is discovered, but I’d never give him away or relinquish him to a shelter. Where Simon goes; I go, plain and simple.
“Now I have to start work early this morning,” I tell him. “So, I need you to be quiet.”
As if already planning to thwart my plans, Simon drops his head to the bowl I just filled and begins to purr loudly while he eats.
“I’m serious, Simon. The job I start today is serious, and the boss seems like a real stickler for timely work. I can’t have you caterwauling all over the place like normal.”
I think the creature knows that he’s not supposed to be here because he demands attention and if his requests aren’t met with immediate love and affection, he runs all over the place screaming at the top of his lungs like I’m trying to beat him.
Needless to say, my cat runs my life, not the other way around.Chapter 3Wren
“Creep!”
“I’ll leave you here tonight if you don’t keep your damn beak closed,” I threaten.
“I like it here,” Puff counters. “Try me, sucka!”
I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the screen in front of me.
