The Swapped Ceo

Chap 3: Deliveries On Alert

Later in the evening, as the city retired to its bed, its streets pulsed to a new rhythm. The last light of day off the great skyscrapers painted them a blue hue, but the peace of dusk was quickly overtaken by the day's noise. Strangers hurried down sidewalks, clutching briefcases, grocery cartons, or steaming coffee cups. The roads were filled with cars, their horns blaring as irate motorists weaved in and out of the congestion in an attempt to make it home before dusk.

Street vendors bellowed with enthusiasm, each of them fighting to top the other's pitch over his unbeatable bargains. A newspaper vendor sped across the street as it handed out paper, shouting and following the people for them to buy so that the vendor could finally retire.

The vendor moved to stop a passerby but nearly missing a bicycle by the narrowest margin, as a busker performed a cheerful tune on his guitar, struggling to be heard over the din of the city.

Liam soaked it all up from the driver's seat of his battered delivery truck. The city pulsed with energy, with noise, with madness—and he loved it.

"Let's get this over with," Liam growled, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he was about to dive headfirst into his own personal hell.

His van was not much to look at—merely an old, white clunker with peeling paint and a dented back door he had long ceased to notice. But to Liam, it was a little more than a car. It was his office, his workhorse, and, on poor weeks, his bed.

He consulted the GPS on his dashboard, its cheerful voice giving him directions. "Turn left in 200 meters."

"Sure, sure," Liam snarled, clicking on the turn signal. "Like I don't know these roads better than you."

As he turned, the van jounced over a pothole, and the stacks of parcels in the back rattled ominously. Liam winced. "Hang on, guys. We'll get there in one piece. Maybe."

The radio sputtered into life, and Liam tuned it to a station that played lively pop music. Humming to himself, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove along the bumpy road.

His first stop was a small grocery store wedged between two large ones. Liam pulled over, stretched his legs, and picked up a box of fresh fruits from the back.

A bell above the door rang out as he entered.

"Liam! Right on time, as usual," bellowed Mr. Campbell, the aged shop proprietor. His wife, Margaret, leaned out of the back room with a smile.

"You're getting us all forgetful with your punctuality," she said, laughing. "Sit and have a cup of tea with us, dear?"

Liam laughed as he stowed the box behind the counter. "Can't today, Mrs. Campbell. Got a whole route. But I couldn't help having one or two of those oatmeal cookies you bake."

Mrs. Campbell laughed, disappearing into the back before reemerging with a sackful of cookies. Liam accepted it from her with a bow. "You're a lifesaver."

"You should eat more," she teased softly.

"I'll try," Liam promised, already out the door.

As he climbed into the van, he shoved a cookie into his mouth, savoring the sweet buttery flavor. "This job's not so bad," he muttered, pulling away from the curb.

His second stop was within the middle of the business district, where buildings reached high up. Liam guided the van into the loading dock of an office skyscraper and stepped out, clutching a stack of packages in his arms.

The reception area was light-years away from the mad outside—cool and quiet, with a scent of sheened marble, a grand chandelier looming above that appeared designed to scare visitors. Liam approached the reception desk and cleared his throat.

"Delivery for the finance department."

The receptionist provided a fleeting up glance, fingers dancing on her keyboard. She nodded brusquely in the direction of one corner and said not a word.

Liam rolled his eyes but kept his smile. "Good chat. We should do this again sometime."

She shot him a side-eye, and he chuckled to himself as he walked off into the distance. Leaving the packages in the designated area, he stopped for a moment to observe the office workers leaning over their desks, faces illuminated by their screens.

"Remind me never to work a desk job," he muttered. "I’d lose my mind in two days."

By noon, Liam was at a bustling street market, expertly maneuvering the van through tight alleys, barely missing a speeding scooter.

The marketplace was alive with color and noise. Vendors called out prices, children darted between stalls, and the scent of sizzling skewers filled the air. Liam handed a package to a trinket vendor, who grinned in gratitude.

"You’re a lifesaver, Liam. Traffic’s been a nightmare today."

"Tell me about it," Liam replied, adjusting his cap. "I’m practically writing my memoirs: Tales of a Delivery Driver."

The salesman laughed. "You should be mayor. Fix this city's roads."

"Mayor Liam, eh?" He grinned. "Sounds decent."

When the sun was about to set, Liam drove his van back to the delivery warehouse. The warehouse was alive: drivers unloading freight, overseers shouting at folks.

"Late again, Liam?" Gruff but nice Mr. Dawson shouted.

Liam threw up his hands in mock defeat. "Right on schedule, boss. You just love picking on me."

Mr. Dawson snorted. "If you teased less, you'd be finished sooner."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't be your little pet worker," Liam shot back, making his coworkers laugh.

As Liam headed home for the day, he saw a massive billboard for Tianhu Group. The sleek logo glowed in the midst of the city's filth.

"Must be nice," he growled, shaking his head. "Rich people in their own little bubble."

The street lamps sprang into life as the moon climbed higher, its light casting long shadows along the pavement. Liam let out a breath, feeling the bite of the night air on his skin as he walked home, ready to do it all again tomorrow.