Letters From?

Time to write!

A character finds letters written to them from someone they've never met, which bear dates from the future.

Sounds very Lake House, but could be fun.

The first letter was on the breakfast table. I'd gotten my cup out, filled it with water, and set it in the microwave to heat for my hot chocolate and had sat down at the table to wait for the timer, my forehead resting in my hands and my fingers in my hair. I was exhausted. I rarely slept well. It wasn't until the timer went off and I pushed back from the table to retrieve my mug that I noticed the envelope on the table.
"Weird," I muttered, picking it up and turning it over.
It was addressed to me, Shauna Winderly, but there was no return address.
The beeping of the microwave, even more irritating than normal given the early hour, made me pause in my contemplation of where the letter could have come from, but once my hot chocolate had been made I broke the seal of the envelope, pulled out the letter and began reading as I sipped my beverage.

Dear Shauna,
     It's been nearly a year now, and my feelings haven't changed. I was delighted to receive your letter last month, and I'm sorry I did not respond sooner. I simply did not know what to say. This is really no excuse though. I should have written straightaway.
  First, I want you to know I truly am sorry about Eric. Despite my feelings for you, I wanted you to be happy, even if that meant picking Eric over me. I did not leave, as you thought, to make you feel guilty or to prove to you that you couldn't keep us both in your life. I left because I didn't want to mess things up by staying and saying something to you that would jeopardize our friendship. Of course, this was still a selfish choice, and if I could go back, I'd do it differently. I'm sorry you felt alone. That is never what I intended.
   Second, it would be wonderful to see you again sometime, but I'm afraid I'm a little booked at the moment. Perhaps we could meet for a weekend in New York? I'm sure we can arrange something, my funds are just a little low right now and I need to finish this project before there's an option of me catching a plane anywhere. 
  Shauna. There's so much I want to say in this letter and so much I cannot say. I'm sorry I can't write more now, for lack of the right words. I'll do my best however in saying, I hope you're smiling. Right now, because the world needs your smile.
  
All my best,
Jayce

Despite Jayce's fond wish for me to smiling, that was not what I was doing. Instead I stared at the paper, completely confused. Who was this Jayce individual? Maybe even more to the point, who was Eric and why was Jayce sorry about him? Did Eric die, or did he just leave me?
I set the letter down. This is probably all just some big joke. How someone had managed to get the letter into my house, I had not the faintest, but I dismissed the odd letter as a prank, refolding it and sticking it into the torn envelope, then went upstairs to get ready for work.

***
"Thank you, sir, for your patience. Mr. Grayson is ready to see you now," I said, addressing the heavy set gentleman who was waiting to make a proposal about a merger to Mr. Todd Grayson, founder and CEO of Grayson Electronics Co., one of the largest electronic companies in the United States. I knew that the gentleman, Lloyd Harris, one of Sony's bigmen, would have to deliver a solid pitch to earn himself any more than five minutes of Mr. Grayson's time. The man was over scheduled  overworked, and overwrought with the responsibilities the quickly expanding company presented to him. Unfortunately, as his secretary I was automatically over scheduled, overworked, and overwrought as well. I wondered what his three personal assistants did to keep themselves sane.

As Mr. Harris walked through the door leading to Mr. Grayson's office I suppressed a sigh and shut my eyes, rubbing my temples, feeling a headache beginning to press in on either side of my head. A sharp ping of the tiny bell snapped my eyes open and my attention to the man standing in front of my desk.

He was tall, perhaps even very tall. My initial guess would place him at 6' 2'' or 3''. He had sandy hair combed carefully back from his face, leaving him looking very polished, but not slicked back in a way that looked greasy or overdone.

"How can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep my appraisal of his appearance purely professional.

"I'm here to speak with Mr. Grayson," he told me, smiling in a way that revealed teeth which must have spent time in braces.

"Do you have an appointment?" I asked, looking at the Excel document on my computer screen listing Mr. Grayson's appointments for the day.

"Yes, eleven o' clock," he replied confidently.

Mr. Grayson still had another two people to talk to before eleven, but you had to give the man credit for being prompt. A strange sensation took me though as I looked at the name written in the eleven o' clock time slot, a ping which sent me questioning. The man's name was Eric Riley.