Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security #2) - Marie James Page 0,5
so.
“They didn’t notify you?”
“Nope.”
Knowing she isn’t going to let it go, I jump on the elevator to head to the front desk even though it’s only two flights of stairs down. I already did the stairs once today and I’ll wait until the second coming of Christ before I do it twice in one day.
“I’m going to check,” I assure her as I climb off the elevator and head in the direction of a smiling girl I don’t recognize.
Where’s Adrian? Adrian is nice and mostly pleasant to deal with.
The counter girl giggles like a middle-schooler at the guy standing in front of her, and it’s clear she’s in no hurry to wrap up her flirting to see what I need.
At least Adrian would hurry up to help me. Granted, he’d talk to my tits rather than my face, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“You’re going to love it,” Sarah says.
My eyes cut toward the AirPod in my right ear, as if looking in that direction would help me evaluate the misplaced cheer in her tone.
“What did you send me?” I’m already suspicious. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s sent me something. We send each other stuff all the time, but if memory serves correctly, this is the very first time she has called to verify receipt of a delivery.
“You’ll see,” she singsongs, and I’m seconds away from going back upstairs and refusing to take delivery of my package when the girl behind the counter rudely clears her throat and glares at me.
“Can I help you?”
My head snaps back at the irritation in her voice. Excuse me for interrupting your flirting and forcing you to actually do your job.
The guy at the counter winks at me as he walks past, but I ignore him. Do guys think that actually works? Gross.
“I had a package delivered.”
She tilts her head to the side as if I’ve spoken in a different language.
“Whitney Nelson, apartment 913.” She continues to stare like I’ve grown an additional head in the last sixty seconds. “Too big to fit in my box. Delivered yesterday. Adrian usually holds them behind the desk.”
“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