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I’m desperately trying not to let the bags swing to disrupt the pastries inside the boxes as I fast walk to the office address. When I see the modest sign that reads Battlements Inc. a little huff-squeak of happiness bursts from my mouth. I’ve made it!
But really, this is when everything goes to complete and utter shit.
Battlements Inc. isn’t some small company with a couple hundred employees that rents out space in this monstrosity of a building. Oh no, they actually own the whole building. All forty-eight floors. And how did I learn all this? The Gatekeeper.
I’ve only just stepped through the thick-glass automatic doors when a security guard approaches me, tilts his body to look in my suspicious bags then gestures to the large marble desk to the side. He’s blocking the card-access gates and making me feel like I should have known where go. Geez dude, my bad.
Giving him a flat smile, I turn to the desk. Or maybe I should call it a fortress, because it doesn’t look like any check-in desk I’ve ever seen. There are more security personnel behind the desk, watching the crowd and guarding the man who sits in the center, a sneer on his lips with a headset.
He’s the one I have to talk to about getting access. Better known as The Gatekeeper. No one passes without his say-so.
Here’s the thing about Gatekeepers – most of them are kind, trigger happy people that will grant you access to the land with no more than your name and a smile. When I work temp jobs, I’m that person. You treat me with kindness, I’m going to show you the same and we’ll all go on with our day. But this guy, even from afar, I know is the worst kind of Gatekeeper – the power-tripping, leering, ignore you till you’re about to scream rude jerk.
I hoped against hope he wasn’t like that, but I wasn’t having a very lucky morning. I was definitely going to be late in delivering this order. Fudge me.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly walk over so he can see me coming. My arms are shaking at this point as exhaustion starts to kick in. Sweat has broken out on my hairline, highlighting a weakness I know this guy is going to exploit.
I’m steps away when I force a big smile on my face. The desk is too high for me to place all the bags and boxes I’m holding down, so I rest my hands on the edge to take some of the pressure off. The handles of two bags holding three boxes of pastries inside are wrapped around my forearms and then three additional boxes are balanced in my arms.
“Hi There,” I sing, looking right at The Gatekeeper. “I’m here to make a delivery.”
The man doesn’t move. His gaze remains downward, he doesn’t even flinch at the high octave of my voice. He’s a thin man, with slicked back hair and wears a suit that looks too big for him if the way the shoulders sag is any indication. When his head tilts up, a spark of hope ignites in me, causing me to stand taller. But he keeps his gaze forward, looking right through me and asking a question into his headset. I watch as his lips curl into a small, evil smile.
Okay, I was done with this. I tried to ask politely. I gave this guy the benefit of the doubt, hoping he would prove me wrong and be kind. But ignoring me wasn’t nice and I was done playing. He was absolutely going to make me late and that couldn’t happen.
“Excuse me. Hello. Hi. Can you see me? I have a delivery, please.”
It was the slapping of my hand on the marble top that got his attention. It was the bad kind of attention, but I don’t care. These donuts and croissants need to be delivered.
His beady black eyes glared at me as his fingers moved across the keyboard without looking. “One minute,” he replied.
I start counting. He was only getting sixty seconds more to ignore me.
“The company you’re delivering for,” he asks in a monotone voice that sends chills up my spine.
“Bake, Rattle & Roll.” More typing, more aggressive eye contact.
“And the contents.”
Was this guy trying to be funny? “Breakfast pastries. Croissants and donuts.”
“How many of each?”
What in the goddamn hell was he asking me? He wanted an exact count? Why?
“I don’t know how many of each. Maybe six dozen donuts and two dozen croissants?”
He didn’t like that answer, his bottom lip pushes up to make his frown even more pronounced. “That’s a shame. I can’t let you up without knowing the contents. I have forty-eight floors to protect.”
Kill him with kindness. Kill him with kindness.
Taking a long, deep breath, I fight back my anger. Lashing out at this jerk-face wouldn’t solve anything. Strangling him would get me kicked out…never mind access to the elevators. I imagined myself wearing hoop earrings and pulling them off, ready to throw him down. That kind of helped. My fingers arch on the marble desk as my nails hit the hard surface. Harsh words are on the tip of my tongue, a stern tone I only used in the most of situations.
“Listen, who cares—”
“She’s with me.”
The voice cuts me off. My cheeks fill with air and I’m about to kindly, but harshly, tell the new person who thinks they’re helping, that I have his handled, when something tingles at the back of my memory. Does the voice…sound familiar?
