Page 3 of Daddy Christmas

“So people keep telling me.” I gestured to the packages. “May I have them back? I need to go downtown before your uncle leaves for the day.”

“He won’t get them, regardless.” He checked his watch. “He leaves right after the breakfast meeting on the days my aunt gets dialysis.”

That was…sweet, I supposed. Clarke Abrams was in his seventies, if I wasn’t mistaken. It probably wouldn’t be that many years before he handed over the corporation to two of his sons and the nephew in front of me.

I suddenly had an idea. “You’re going to corporate tomorrow.”

“As I mentioned.”

“And you live in Santa Monica, right?”

His forehead creased. “I do.”

“So you’re passing Culver City on the way,” I said. “We can carpool. Pick me up outside the office tomorrow, and that way, I can follow Mr. Williams’s order and deliver the packages to Mr. Abrams myself. What do you say?”

“I was unaware that you were capable of following orders.”

“Hey.” I put my hands on my hips, getting a tad irritated. I knew I’d fucked up. How long did I have to suffer? “You’ve never complained about my work before. Please cut me some slack.”

He frowned at me. He was good at that. “I don’t even know who you are, what your name is, or what it is that you do here.”

“My name is Parker Jacobson, and I’m a mildly insulted graphic designer,” I snapped. Damn it, he was stealing all my holiday cheer! “I designed your business cards, among other things.”

Such as this year’s gift to the employees from corporate.

“I see.” He leaned forward and picked up one of his business cards from the little holder. “Well, Parker Jacobson, it’s not normal behavior to ask your boss for a ride.”

My ears felt hot again. The man made me feel like Bambi on ice, which I’d already thought was my default setting in life. I usually tumbled around and hoped for the best. And I knew I wasn’t always normal. Most people had a little voice in the back of their head that let them know what was okay to say out loud. Well, that voice fell out and died when my mom dropped me as a baby.

“Excuse me for trying to save the planet,” I fibbed. “We’re in a global climate crisis, you know.”

He snorted at that, and for a fraction of a second, I swore I spotted a smile. I took that as a huge win.

Then he pushed the packages my way again. “Be downstairs at seven thirty on the dot, and if you speak excessively in the car, you’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” I grinned and hurriedly scooped up the packages again. “I’ll have the bottle rewrapped. I’m looking forward to my walk. See you tomorrow.”

He shook his head at me, but I focused on the pinch of amusement in his eyes.

DECEMBER 2

I yawned as an expensive car drove up right outside the entrance, and I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised to see Mr. Abrams rolling down the window from the back seat. Of fucking course he had a personal driver. Of course he did.

“Get in, Parker Jacobson. We have a planet to save.”

“Ha-ha.” It was too early to acknowledge his probably first joke ever. Before I could open the door, his driver was out of the car and opening it for me. “Oh, wow. Thank you.”

This was unbelievable. Maybe it wasn’t grand enough to be called a limousine, but it still had a divider between the driver’s section and the rear, and two seats faced each other back here. With my boxes from Mr. Williams in my grasp, I sat down across from Mr. Abrams and buckled my seat belt.

Mr. Abrams was reading the paper. No glasses today.

What a fun travel companion he must be.

“Did you bring a paper as a social cue for me to keep my mouth shut?” I asked. “Because that won’t work.”

He didn’t even look up from the paper. “It’s a long walk to corporate from here.”

I wrinkled my nose.

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