Page 59 of Santa Daddies
Thankfully, Tank takes off while I’m having my impure thoughts about naughty times with my nonexistent Daddy. I can’t imagine having to answer him questioning me on why I’m blushing. Nope. No, thanks. Hard pass.
First things first, I tug my letter from my satchel. I check the address one more time to ensure it’s going to the right place—a P.O. Box for Santa letters for adults that I found ages ago —andthen head toward the mail room. It’s a few flights down, which means I get to see a few familiar faces along the way that I don’t normally run into.
After waving and chatting with people, I finally reach the right place. There are a couple of people milling about, though not nearly as many as there can sometimes be. NightShade is a huge company. There’s about a million pieces of mail going through here all the time.
Ok, so maybe not a million, but it’s a freaking lot of them.
“Hey, Jared. What brings you to our lovely mail abode?” Percy, the mail room supervisor, asks once he spots me.
I shrug and hold up the envelope. “Outgoing mail. Where can I put it?”
He points to the side of the room as his phone rings. “There’s a cart over there. Drop it and I’ll get it out with today’s stuff.” Then he turns on his customer service voice for whoever is on the call.
I don’t take any offense for the move. It’s one I’ve had to do plenty of times myself. Balancing everything takes a love of work and multitasking. Percy and me are the same word in different fonts.
Walking over to the spot he pointed out shows me two carts. Neither are labeled to indicate what is outgoing and what isn’t. I bite my lip. Percy is still talking to whomever called, and the other attendant is officially MIA.
The carts don’t have any vast differences from what I can see. Not wanting to dig around through anyone’s stuff, I eenie-meenie it until I settle on one. Dropping the letter, I scurry from the room with a quick wave to Percy.
Either I got the right cart, or I didn’t. I’m sure whoever finds my letter, should someone be unfortunate enough to do so, will put it back in the outgoing post. If nothing else, they’ll hunt medown to bring it to me. Most people know me since I work so closely with Tank.
Since I’m already away from my desk, I decide to just go down to the front desk to let them know about the new hire. They’ve probably been sent the paperwork from HR already. And if there’s something they need from me, I can always do it when I’m back at my desk.
I take the elevator to the first floor. When the doors open, I’m greeted by Sinclair. He’s Memphis’s partner and our official coffee supplier. His shop has the best drinks in the whole city, and that’s even counting my bestie’s place, which does occasionally have a brew or two depending on the season.
“Oh!” Sinclair startles once he notices me. “I didn’t need an escort up or anything. I brought proper carriers this time.”
It’s then I notice the numerous coffee cups on either side of him. He’s got this custom contraption that allows him to bring all the drinks to us at once. While Memphis, or really any of us, would definitely come down to help him, Sinclair always feels the need to do the work himself.
Stubborn man.
“I’m not here to help, though I totally would. Came down to do the new guy’s security stuff.”
“New guy?”
“Yep. He’s working with Grant. Tank told me about it this morning.”
Dinging draws both of our attention to the still open elevator door I’m blocking. I step out of the way, then motion for Sinclair to climb on. He eyes me, then nods to his right hand.
“You want me to put yours on your desk?”
“Please! I definitely need a boost this morning.”
He grins and nods as the door closes. I watch the numbers climb for a moment before turning to the front desk. There are several people bustling around the space, some looking forvisitor passes, and others are inquiring about the public spaces they can access.
NightShade is pretty famous as far as companies in this city go. Even if you took out the actual businesses themselves, Tank fascinates people. He’s part of the who’s who in town, rubbing elbows with billionaires and celebrities of every caliber.
Approaching the desk, I wait for Jim to finish issuing the temporary pass to the young guy who is probably here for an interview, if his overly dressy outfit and obvious nerves are any indication. Once he’s done, he turns to me with a grin.
“Jared, my friend. Tell me your problem and I’ll solve it.”
I shake my head as my own smile widens. “Nothing to solve, really. We’ve got a new hire who needs security clearance. The big guy told me to get with you.”
“You usually email.”
“Well, I was already away from my desk. It made more sense to come on down.”
“Did it?”
