Page 18 of Shots Fired

I stand quickly and head over to hug them all, each of them taken by surprise when I pull them into me. “It’s a really sweet gift. I wasn’t expecting anything, to be honest.”

“Well, actually”—Sienna thumbs behind her—“when I used the restroom a second ago, I noticed there was another package being delivered for you. I think you can expect a call from reception at any moment.”

I head back to my desk, checking my email and messages. “I’ve not heard anything.”

Sienna nods confidently. “They probably haven’t had the time to let you know yet, but the delivery guy definitely said your name.” She chuckles. “I don’t know what it is, but good luck getting it home.”

My interest officially at an all-time high, I thank my colleagues and boss once more and head for reception. There’s no way Mum, Jon, or Jack would mail my gift directly to work …

“Hey,” I say, leaning against the desk.

Becky, our friendly receptionist, swivels around in her chair and instantly clicks her fingers. “Ah, yes! Darcy. I just took a package for you.” She raises both brows, a soft but excitable grin threatening to emerge. “I have no idea who this is from, but, girl, you’re living the dream.”

She reaches beneath her desk and pulls out a large white box. “It’s not actually that heavy. I think the supplier overdid it on packaging.”

I stand motionless. “Did the delivery guy say who it was from?”

Becky shakes her head. “No. The only name he gave was yours.” She spins the box around, revealingSaksprinted in black. “Like I said, living the dream.”

On an uncertain smile, I take the relatively light box and walk it back to my desk, all the while running over who could’ve bought me this. As much as my girls—Collins, Jenna, andKendra—love me, there’s no way they’d go shopping at Saks. None of us have that kind of budget on our salaries. Possibly Collins, but she wouldn’t be seen dead in a department store.

I return to empty desks but decide I’m not waiting around for Sienna and Penelope and quickly grab a pair of scissors, slicing the heavy-duty tape.

The box is filled with packing peanuts and white tissue paper, which I push to one side.

Oh Lord.

A medium-sized tan leather Saint Laurent tote. This style costs in excess of three thousand dollars. Easily.

Pulling it from the packaging, I root around for a card or anything to indicate who sent me this.

Nothing.

Elbows braced on the desk, I clasp my hands under my chin and stare at the beautiful handbag, convinced this has to be some kind of mix-up. If Dad had sent me anything, especially like this, he sure would’ve let me know it was from him.

Still clueless and kind of emotional over the most luxurious gift I’ve ever received, I pick up my phone and take a picture, sending it to my girls.

Me: So, this just happened. Any idea who it’s from? *picture attached*

Jenna: Ah, yes, that’s from me. I spent an entire two months’ wages on it. Love ya, babe.

Me: Are you being for real?

Jenna: No, I am not. I actually need money to eat.

Collins: I don’t even know what brand that is, let alone would I head out and buy one.

Me: Saint Laurent? Everyone knows it!

Collins: Do they manufacture motorcycles?

Me: No. I don’t think so.

Collins: Exactly.

Kendra: I have died and gone to designer-bag heaven.

Me: Not from you and Jack then?

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