Page 22 of The Christmas Trap

It’s best I put distance between us and get on with the Titanic-sized list of tasks he’s dumped on my plate.

I hurry out, making sure to bang the door behind me, to let him know I’m not impressed with how he’s treated me so far.

He may be my boss, but he doesn’t get to blow hot and cold.

He doesn’t get to order me around like I’m dumb. Good thing, I’m able to think on my feet and had the presence of mind to hold my own.

It’s something I’ve had to learn. Something which, hasn't expanded to my personal life. Still, I'm glad I've learned to assert myself in the workplace. I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t ensure my time is used for more of the thinking stuff.

In fact, with a little training and on the job experience, I could stand in for him if he can’t attend a meeting. Hopefully, that’s why he asked me to shadow him. Though he could have given me a little more time to acclimatize to my position.

Not that I expected any level of empathy from Sir Barks-a-lot. Haha! Cheered up by my silly name for my boss, I make it to my desk.

First thing, I email the board of directors, introducing myself and telling them the board meeting has been postponed.

In seconds, my phone rings. It’s a member of the board telling me off for changing the date of the meeting.

I introduce myself, soothe their temper and explain it was due to Mr. Davenport having to attend to other business, which I’m guessing is kind of the truth. I mean, he can’t make the meeting because he’s doing something else, right?

I follow up with calls to each board member to let them know that the meeting date has changed.

I’m unable to reach one of them and leave him a message.

When I speak to the senior-most member, he’s rude and slaps down the phone. Anger squeezes my guts.

Internally, I blame Mr. Oogie-Boogie-In-A-Tailored-Suit for people yelling at me. Then remind myself that this is the job…Kind of.

There really didn’t seem to be any reason to postpone the meeting. Of course, I don’t know what he's doing instead. Might be something of great importance.Like jerking off?

The thought of the big guy, with his big hand around his big cock, twists my belly with heat. I reach for my bottle of water and chug down on it.Ugh, what is wrong with me?I need to stay professional, remember?

I shove aside the familiar twang of guilt and confusion and tap open my Christmas playlist. I slip in my wireless buds, and the first notes of my favorite holiday track fill my ears. My shoulders drop an inch. Suddenly, the world feels a whole lot less catastrophic.

Fueled by the festive spirit, I call Evelyn at reception to ask who organizes the annual office holiday party. The silence on the line is my first hint. Her answer is the second.

There has never been a party to celebrate the festive season.

Not once.

I am horrified.

My boss might be Ebenezer Scrooge, brought to life and stuffed into a tailored suit, but that is no reason for the rest of the staff to live devoid of glitter, cookies, and joy. Someone has to restore festive balance to this office.

Apparently, that someone is me.It’s the kind of challenge I relish.

I jot down a reminder to bring it up with Mr. Seasonal-Apathy himself, then dive headfirst into answering all five hundred of my emails.

Correction. Most arehisemails which have been routed to me. And I'm grateful for the experience.

It’s an immersion in the business of Davenport Capital. Which is the investment arm of Davenport Group. The company backs emerging businesses and innovative ventures around the world. I’m riveted.

I soak up the information, managing to reply to most emails with a combination of logic and experience, as well as searching online for gaps in my knowledge. I become aware of a figure standing over me.

"You must be the new secretary.” He smiles a megawatt smile. The kind which, combined with his high cheekbones, square jaw, and a suit that must cost more than my entire month’s salary, marks him out as a privileged prat. The kind born with money raining down on him. The kind very similar to my boss.

"I’m Mr. Davenport's executive assistant." I keep my tone pleasant.

"My apologies." He presses his hand to his chest, a contrite expression on his face. "I was wondering why the board meeting was moved."