Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Emery

I slumped against a brick wall, my feet screaming in protest after eight hours of submitting countless résumés in person and having a few on-the-spot interviews. Who knew job hunting could be more exhausting than actually working? At least when I worked with Josh, I got to sit in a chair most of the day. Now my fancy interview heels—purchased during happier times when I had disposable income—were trying to murder me one blister at a time.

“This is fine,” I muttered to myself, channeling that meme of the dog in the burning house. “Everything is totally fine.”

A man walking past gave me a concerned look, probably wondering if I was one of those people who had fascinating conversations with invisible friends. Little did he know, I saved my conversations for my noodles. I straightened up, trying to project “temporarily down on my luck” rather than “completely unhinged.”

The day’s interviews played through my mind like a greatest hits compilation of awkwardness. There was the startup where they asked me to role-play selling a pencil (I may have gotten carried away with a backstory about the pencil’s tragic childhood). Then the marketing firm where I’d accidentally knocked over a $300 desk sculpture that looked suspiciously like something a three-year-old would make with Play-Doh.

And let’s not forget the insurance company where the interviewer kept calling me “Emily” despite my corrections, and I finally gave up and accepted my new identity crisis.

Something had to give. The universe couldn’t keep kicking me while I was down. That would be bad cosmic karma.

My phone buzzed with another text from Josh. Baby, please call me. I miss you.

I deleted it with perhaps more force than necessary. That would be a hard pass. I would rather French kiss Gary’s tinfoil hat than talk to him more than absolutely necessary. Necessary being to make arrangements to have the rest of my belongings moved to storage.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the street, reminding me that soon I’d have to return to my motel room. Just as I was about to admit defeat and treat myself to another gourmet microwave dinner, a building across the street caught my eye.

The storefront was sleek and modern, with elaborate holiday displays featuring expertly wrapped presents. Through the window, it looked like a gift-wrapping paradise, complete with rows of paper, ribbon, and enough sparkly accessories to make a unicorn jealous.

Wrap It Up.

Well, that was... suggestive. I snorted at the name, my inner twelve-year-old immediately going to places that would make my mother blush. Though I guess ‘Package Your Package’ would be worse.

Slogans started popping into my head the longer I stared at the name. Don’t forget protection for your presents. We specialize in handling your goods.

A couple walking past gave me strange looks as I stood there laughing at my own jokes. Great. But honestly? After the day I’d had, I deserved a little inappropriate humor.

I walked across the street, hoping to suck up some of the holiday cheer. Christmas was by far my favorite holiday simply because I loved decorating with all the things.

And then I saw the sign hanging on the door: Now Hiring Seasonal Help. Start tomorrow!

Was my destiny to spread cheer this holiday season instead of turning into the Grinch? It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for a job, but it was better than nothing.

I squared my shoulders, giving myself a pep talk. What’s the worst that could happen? They say no? It felt like I’d already been rejected by half the businesses in the city. Plus, I was actually good at wrapping presents.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed open the door, a little bell announcing my entrance with a cheerful tinkle that seemed way too optimistic for my current life situation. The scent of cinnamon and pine hit me immediately, along with the overwhelming urge to make at least three more inappropriate jokes about handling packages.

Well, here goes nothing. Time to see if I could wrap up this job search—pun absolutely intended.

A perky blonde behind a curved white desk beamed at me as if I’d just made her entire day by walking in. Her name tag read ‘Sophie’ with a tiny snowflake sticker next to it.

“Welcome to Wrap It Up! How can I help make your holidays magical today?” Her enthusiasm was almost aggressive, like she’d snorted candy canes before her shift.

I glanced around the front showroom, taking in the winter wonderland vibe. Every surface sparkled with carefully curated displays of wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. The entire space looked like Martha Stewart and Pottery Barn had a baby and then bedazzled it.

“Hi, I, uh, saw your hiring sign?” I gestured vaguely toward the window, trying not to get distracted by a roll of paper covered in prancing reindeer wearing sunglasses. “Unless that was a hallucination brought on by job-hunting delirium, which is totally possible at this point.”

Sophie’s smile somehow got even brighter. “Oh my gosh, perfect timing! We’re desperate for seasonal help. Between you and me…” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “People really procrastinate on their gift wrapping. Like, criminally procrastinate. Last year, someone brought in their entire family’s presents at 6 PM on Christmas Eve. It was chaos. Pure chaos.”

“Wow, that’s...”

“A nightmare? Yeah. I still have flashbacks about paper cuts.” She stood up, smoothing her impeccable black pencil skirt. “Let me show you around! Follow me to where the magic happens.”

She led me through a door marked ‘Employees Only,’ and I nearly got whiplash from the sudden change in atmosphere. Gone was the festive wonderland, replaced by what looked like a cross between a warehouse and a scientific laboratory.

“Holy mood swing, Batman,” I muttered, taking in the stark gray walls and clinical lighting.

Sophie giggled. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock at first. We call it the North Pole’s Operating Room. You know, where presents go for their makeover?”

Dozens of people sat or stood at individual stations, methodically wrapping various items with the precision of surgeons. The only spots of color came from the wrapping materials themselves. The silence was almost eerie, broken only by the whisper of paper and snick of scissors.

“Is it always this quiet?” I whispered, feeling like I was in a library where the books might shush me.

“Oh yeah. The Three Scrooges insist on it. They say chaos leads to crooked corners and wrinkled paper.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Personally, I think they just really commit to the whole silent night thing.”

As we approached a modern steel staircase, I had to ask, “The Three Scrooges?”

“The owners,” Sophie explained, her heels clicking on the steps. “Max, Ronan, and Levi.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “They’re particular about how things are done. But don’t worry! They rarely come down from their ivory tower of perfectionism, but they’re always watching.”

She gestured to a wall of windows that looked down into the space and a balcony of sorts where someone could stand and watch like an overlord.

“So, what you’re saying is, they’re wrapped a little too tight?” I couldn’t help myself.

Sophie snorted, then quickly covered her mouth, glancing around as if someone might pop out and scold her for breaking the silence. “Oh my God, that was terrible. I love it. You’ll fit right in here. Well, with me at least. The others might need some unwrapping.”

We reached the second floor, which housed offices. “Ready to meet HR?” Sophie paused at one of the doors.

I smoothed down my blouse, suddenly very aware of how many times I’d sat on curbs today and wondered if I should dust my ass off. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Though I should warn you, my last job interview involved me creating an origin story for a number two pencil.”

“Trust me, around here, that’s practically normal. We once had someone show their wrapping technique using their own shoe. While wearing it.”

Well, at least I couldn’t do worse than that. Probably.

Sophie left me with a cheerful woman named Janet, whose desk featured both a professional nameplate and a tiny elf that danced when you pressed its stomach. The contrast felt oddly fitting for this place.

Janet smiled warmly, scanning my hastily updated résumé. “So, Emery, tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I’m great at keeping things under wraps.” I immediately regretted my pun when Janet blinked rapidly at me. “Sorry, I cope with humor. Especially when I’m nervous. Or breathing.”

Janet laughed, putting me slightly at ease. “That’s refreshing, actually. We could use some laughs around here.”

The door opened without warning, and I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees. A man strode in, and my brain short-circuited. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and an intensity that made you want to either run away or climb him like a tree. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than my car.

“Janet-” He stopped, noticing me. His blue eyes were like arctic ice, beautiful but potentially lethal.

“Ah, Mr. Gray.” Janet’s voice had shifted from warm-kindergarten-teacher to corporate-professional so fast I got whiplash. “This is Emery Williams, interviewing for a seasonal position. Emery, this is Ronan Gray, one of our owners.”

I stood, extending my hand, praying it wasn’t sweaty. “Nice to meet you. I promise I won’t wrap any shoes while wearing them.”

His handshake was firm, brief, and completely ignored my attempt at humor. “Janet, test her skills.”

Janet immediately produced a box, wrapping paper, and ribbon like she’d been waiting for this cue. “We just need to see your gift-wrapping ability before moving forward.”

Great. A practical exam with Mr. Fifty Shades of Grumpy watching. No pressure.

I took a steadying breath and got to work, hyperaware of Ronan’s presence as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The paper was thick, high-quality stuff that was so expensive it only made sense to buy it on clearance after Christmas.

I started by measuring the paper and cutting it with the sharpest scissors I’d ever laid hands on. I mean, they were so sharp a permit should be required to handle them.

Shaking my head, I refocused on the task. I secured the paper with tape, folded the edges into perfect triangles, and cut a length of ribbon. While I didn’t normally wrap presents using ribbon, I thought I made the perfect bow with tails that cascaded elegantly down the sides.

“Adequate.” Ronan’s appraisal made me jump. “You’ll need to complete our training video before starting tomorrow. One hour on proper technique.”

“Just one? And here I was hoping for a full wrapping TED talk.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Ronan’s expression could have frozen Hell. “Ms. Williams, we serve clients who spend hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars for perfect presentation. We are the premier gift-wrapping concierge service in the United States. This isn’t some mall kiosk with bathroom breaks and top forty radio.”

I swallowed hard. “Right. Sorry. No more jokes about wrapping it up.” I winced. “I mean, about the job. The very serious job. Which I very seriously want.”

“Tomorrow. Eight AM sharp. Don’t be late.” He left as abruptly as he’d arrived, leaving the smell of expensive cologne and intimidation in his wake.

Janet smiled. “Well, welcome aboard! Don’t worry about Mr. Gray. He’s... passionate about our services.”

I nodded, still processing what had just happened and if I should be excited or scared. I had a job now but had also apparently signed up to work for the Christian Grey of gift wrapping. At least the view would be nice, even if he had the humor range of a brick wall.

“Thank you, Janet. I’ll go home and practice my serious face in the mirror.”

And maybe Google search how to stop making inappropriate jokes while I was at it.