The Delivery Girl

8. Envelope

"Mail's here," George calls cheerfully as he slowly pushes the squeaky mail cart into the room.

George never really needs to announce his arrival – I heard him whistling from down the hall a minute or two ago. He certainly doesn't walk as quickly as he used to when dad first hired him, and I don't have the heart to fire him.

"Thanks George," I say as he places a small stack of envelopes and packages on my desk. I hear him whistling a tune, vaguely resembling Camptown Racers, as he heads back down the hall.

Just as I take out my letter opener, Jacob steps inside my office and stands by the door. I stop and wait to see what he wants, but he remains silent, watching me like I'm his prey.

"Are you expecting me to be opening a fucking bomb?" I groan. I swear he's been crossing more and more boundaries over the last week, apparently thinking I somehow wouldn't notice. "Can you at least be less creepy and sit down?"

"You told me to stay out of your way," he points out.

"Yeah but I didn't tell you to silently watch me like a ghost," I retort.

To my surprise, he obliges and takes a seat in front of my desk. I open each envelope and quickly skim through the contents – nothing interesting or important. Who even sends paper mail these days?

It's a tedious process; Hayley used to filter through my mail for me, until I received a document with... sensitive information one day.

I've done it myself since then.

I pause at the last envelope – it's oddly different from the others. Beige and faded instead of white, address messily written by hand instead of a printed label, and it smells faintly of grape. My jaw tightens.

Inside is a small note.

I said take IT down, or else you'll pay.

I try not to react and place it back in the envelope, but Jacob immediately catches on. He quickly reaches over and snatches the note out of my hand and reads it.

He frowns at the note before sighing and tossing it back onto the table. "Callen, this is serious," he warns, standing back up. "Can you think of anything that it can be? And who would be threatening you?"

I try to think of any enemies I might have made recently. There was that guy I cut off this morning, I guess. "No, not really." I reach for the next package, excited for what's most likely the new golf shoes I ordered last week.

He firmly places his large hand onto the box before I can take it, effectively blocking me. I swear to god, this guy's hand is as big as a dinner plate. "I was told your father knows a good lawyer since your parents' divorce."

"That guy was full of shit," I sneer.

I doubt we'd be able to find him anyways. He reached out a few years ago after – somehow – finding out about Hayley's issue with that stalker and offered his services. I told him I'd beat the ever living shit out of him if he ever contacted me again.

We haven't heard from him since.

"Fine, but I know you're not stupid," he says sternly, his brown eyes darkening. "You know what happens when someone in power starts to gain too many enemies."

"I'm in charge of a company, not a country," I scoff. My grip on the envelope opener tightens as I feel the frustration beginning to grow. My patience with Jacob has been growing slimmer and slimmer, and I know he's going to break me one day. "It's just two little notes. Nothing but empty threats."