Chapter 7 Elijah
ELIJAH
Two days after several floors of the office building turned into indoor swimming pools, I arrive at the warehouse near the coast of San Francisco with only one thing on my mind.
Calliope.
I can’t believe she’s actually here.
I’ve spent the past two days trying to work out whether she remembered me and hid it really well or I’m completely forgotten.
Unable to decide in the moment, I’d gone with the latter and pretended I didn’t know her either to try and save us both some awkward embarrassment, but even when I announced my name, there wasn’t a single flicker of recognition.
Granted, it’s been five or six years since I saw her last, but I could never forget that face. Or that smile. Or that body.
My rental car glides into the parking lot without a hitch and I park near the front of the building, surprised by how busy this place seems. This soon after the new year, I’d expect a skeleton crew as staff make the most of their holidays.
I climb out of the car, and Calliope immediately catches my eye just as the slight saltiness in the air catches in my lungs. We’re close enough to the coast that the enticing scents of the sea drift in with the wind. If it weren’t utterly freezing with ice covering the ground, I’d be tempted.
Can’t remember the last time I went to the beach.
Calliope stands near the entrance, her head down and her black hair creating a long curtain to protect her face from the cold wind. She rubs her bare hands together and stamps her booted feet in the snow, trying to conserve what little warmth she has left.
“Calliope?” I hurry toward her, painfully aware that every second I take to admire her is a second longer she has to spend out in the cold.
Her head snaps up and she tucks her hair behind her ear while giving me a polite smile. “Mr. Baird.”
Oh, that stings. “Just Elijah, please.”
“Alright. Elijah. Are you ready for your tour?”
“Yes, please. I hope it’s warmer in there than it is out here.”
“You’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid,” Calliope says, leaning back as she hauls open the door. “You won’t find much warmth in these warehouses.”
“What about the workers?” I ask as I follow her inside.
“In Jimmy’s words, they work enough to warm themselves up.”
I stall on the doormat, stamping my feet to rid my shoes of any lingering snow that hitched a lift on the walk from my car. “I’m assuming well within regulations?”
“Of course. You’ll find everything here is up to code. To the letter, and not a generous amount more.”
She wasn’t kidding. While there’s a subtle warmth to the air that’s only detectable in the first few minutes after walking inside from the bitter cold, it’s too cool inside for me to be comfortable.
I huddle into my coat and follow behind Calliope as she shoves her hands into her pockets and uses her shoulder to open the next door just past reception.
“How long has Angelic Jewels been working out of these warehouses?”
“About four years,” Calliope replies. “We used to have warehouses deeper in the city closer to the offices, but there was a rent dispute and we secured these at a cheaper rate.”
No wonder Jimmy’s scrimping on the heat.
Despite the numerous cars in the parking lot, the interior warehouse is vast enough that we only run into one or two people during the tour.
Stacks upon stacks of metal shelving stretch high to the rafters while countless wooden crates weigh down the shelves, line the floors, and stack high on pallets near a larger delivery door.
One man drives around in a forklift, moving the crates around, but Calliope takes me on a route that prevents us from getting in the way.
“So, explain to me how this works,” I say as I fall into step beside her. “This feels more like a storage warehouse than a shipment one.”
“It sort of is. Jimmy will decide what he wants sent to the stores once each season switches, and those specific jewels are usually sent here first. In the back there, we have a small sorting team that will go through these crates when smaller numbers are required, but more often than not, these crates themselves are delivered to the stores in our trucks. Then it’s up to the staff to ensure that the right stock goes on sale at the right time. ”
“Seems… inefficient.”
“It depends.” Calliope huddles deeper into her coat. “Everything is well packaged so it’s not hard to sift through, and it only becomes an issue if the stock doesn’t sell in the stores.”
“Common these days, I’d expect.”
She flashes me another polite smile but doesn’t reply.
Instead, she adjusts our route and leads me closer to some open crates where countless soft black bags rest atop thickly piled fine straw.
“Everything is clearly labeled so as long as there isn’t a mix-up with our own supplier, it’s a smooth process. ”
“Are these checked?” I ask, plucking one of the black bags out of the straw.
“What sort of quality control ensures that these are all in pristine condition before they reach the stores?” The silver cord around the top of the black bag unwraps against my palm, and a ruby necklace spills onto my palm.
The white gold chain drapes past my fingers as I examine the gorgeous stone embedded within.
“Luck,” Calliope murmurs, and there’s a lick of personality there before she reverts back to her professional tone. “The warehouse relies on a lot of temporary contracts. If there are people to spare, then the stock is thoroughly checked.”
It’s what she doesn’t say that catches my attention. No doubt, Jimmy’s cost-cutting measures ensure there is never enough staff for that sort of thing. It’s not ideal, but I can work with it.
“Tell me about the subscription service.” The necklace glides back into the bag and I tie it shut. “I’ve heard amazing things.”
Calliope stares up at me with wide eyes. “Oh, uhm… what do you want to know?”
After tossing the bag back into the crate, I smile easily. “Everything.”
She doesn’t seem willing at first, as if something is stopping her from delving into the details of her own department. I suspect Jimmy has something to do with it since in the short time I’ve known the man, I’ve gotten a decent grasp of how he runs things and treats people.
For the rest of the tour, Calliope starts telling me everything I want to know, and her words flow more easily the longer she talks.
The subscription service was her idea and salvaged a Black Friday idea from countless years ago.
What started with catalogues quickly grew into a monthly subscription box with over 1.
5 million customers across the country. The majority of the customer base exists in San Francisco, but Calliope’s spent the better part of two years working on expansion.
People love the ease and mystery of getting beautiful jewelry in the mail every month while not taking an extreme hit to their bank account, themed boxes with holidays and seasons always get a surge of interest, and the website has a constant struggle with the influx of popularity that she struggles to stay on top of.
She delves deep into the workings of things, but unfortunately, I tune out the information.
I’m far more caught up in how she looks while talking about something she’s passionate about.
Her hands escape her pockets and she moves them around, angling her body toward me the faster she talks.
She smiles every so often and her eyes light up in delight as she finishes telling me about the surge of popularity over Christmas and her ideas for future expansion if she can just get Jimmy on board.
“He doesn’t see the value in the service?” I ask as we finally loop back around to the reception.
“No. He talks about the department as if we’re in competition with one another. Like the website sales are robbing the stores of potential sales.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Right?” Calliope laughs and our eyes meet.
For a split second, I’m back at that bar introducing myself as Eli.
Then she looks away and my heart skips a beat.
Did she have the same thought or does she truly not know who I am?
She’s remained professional for the entire tour, but each time she looks my way, I yearn for her to say something that tells me she remembers.
The longer this goes on, the more awkward it feels for me to say something, especially when she’s just getting comfortable.
“I have to say I disagree with him. The subscription service sounds like a gem, pardon the phrase.”
It draws a soft laugh from her and she leans against the reception desk. “Maybe you can have some sway over him since they're your gemstones. Although if you’re truly only here to check on quality control of stones during shipment, then I’m not sure how successful that would be.”
“If I’m truly here for that?” There’s a subtle edge in her tone that catches my attention. Jimmy insisted on keeping the acquisition a secret until it was a done deal to prevent panic, but from how Calliope talks, I’m not sure he’s been successful.
“Yeah, I mean—oh, I’m so sorry. Please excuse me.” A festive jingle rises up from her pocket and Calliope reaches for her phone.
“Take your time,” I say as she steps away toward the door and huddles into herself while pressing her phone to her ear.
“Mom, what’s the matter? Oh… oh, yes, this is she.” She pauses. “What?”
My heart lurches in alarm and I step forward, my attention focused on Calliope as her body tightens into a rigid line and she shoves her other hand into her hair, pulling at the strands.
“When? Yes, yes, okay, I’ll be right there. Just make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, okay? Yes, I’ll be right there.” She hangs up and spins to face me, but Calliope as she is now isn’t the calm, professional woman she was thirty seconds ago.
Panic floods her eyes and her cheeks flush as she nervously tugs at her hair. “I’m so, so sorry, but I really have to go.”
“Is everything alright?”
“No, I–I mean yes, or I’m not sure. It’s a family emergency. I’m so sorry to cut this short, but we can reschedule if there’s anything you think I haven’t covered.” She’s already halfway out the door, and the icy wind sends a rush of goosebumps over my entire body. “I’m really sorry!”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I follow her, unable to let go of the panic in her eyes.
She stumbles slightly on the ice outside, and reflexively, I reach out to her. I catch her elbow and let her regain her balance. “Fuck!”
“You’re okay,” I assure her.
“No, it’s not that it’s… Jimmy drove me here. I don’t have my car!” She pulls her elbow out of my grip and turns her attention to her phone, where I glimpse the logo of a taxi company flashing on her screen.
“I’ll take you.” The words escape me before I even fully register them.
Calliope raises her head and locks gazes with me, her brows pulling together. She’s clearly debating the safety of getting into a car with a stranger, but it seems her emergency wins out. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. Just tell me where to go and I’ll take you.”