Her genuine cheer for this season causes nausea to rise in my stomach. That and the burning in my chest that always starts in early November. Despite what I said to Suzette minutes earlier, I know what the date is. I don’t need to look at a calendar. Yesterday, when I awakened with the burning in my chest, I knew the date. That sensation always begins around early November, reminding me of the coming holidays, and with them, the reminder of what I lost sixteen years ago.
A little over a decade and a half, the same amount of time I’ve lived life in a wheelchair.
“That meeting with Cypress is today, right?” Suzette questions, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes. Today at ten,” I murmur in response, watching as my computer boots up. “You have all the previous meeting papers printed and filed, correct?”
“I do,” she says, sounding proud.
Glancing up, my gaze first catches the fake Christmas tree that sits in the corner of the lobby. By all accounts, the tree is beautiful. This will be my third holiday season at Townsend Industries, specifically as Aaron Townsend's executive assistant. Each year the office is outfitted by professional decorators for the holidays. Rumor is, Aaron wasn’t much for holiday decor before becoming a family man.
A shame he still isn’t.
Who needs to be reminded continuously of the holidays?
As my thoughts sour yet again, Suzette begins humming along to the instrumental version of “Jingle Bells”.
“Aaron will be in shortly, and I suspect he’ll be needing his coffee and that file as soon as possible,” I tell Suzette with a lifted eyebrow.
She doesn’t seem to pick up on my attitude, but she does smile. “They’re already on his desk, just as you taught me.”
I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes. Though I’m the executive assistant to the CEO of the company, Suzette transferred in six months ago to take on tasks such as filing, and organizing his travel and meetings, while my work responsibilities have been increasing to include things like leading meetings.
To be honest, my goal isn’t to remain an administrative assistant for my entire career. Not that there’s anything wrong with the role, but I know I have so much more to contribute. And while most who visit this office tend to have fear around even meeting Aaron Towsend, I’ve found him to be an entirely fair, ethical, and brilliant leader of this company. Aggressive? Yes. Arrogant at times? Absolutely. Even demanding? That’d be a hell yes.
But he’s efficient.
Moreover, he didn’t overlook me because of my disability. He saw I could do the job and do it well and gave me an opportunity. I’m not the type that feels sorry for myself, but you’d be surprised how many past employers overlooked me due to my being in a wheelchair.
Dumb fucks.
I run my hand across my chest to calm the burning sensation yet again. Reminding myself that I’m at work, I log into my email to respond to a few while I print out some notes I took from my last conversation with one of the executives over at Cypress Mental Health and Addiction. The company is on track to become one of Townsend Industries’ subsidiaries as Aaron moves the company toward expanding into the healthcare sector.
I would fucking kill to be on this merger team. Sure, I’ve done a lot of the research and work regarding setting up meetings, reviewing Cypress’ annual reports for the previous five years, and even spoken with a few execs on behalf of Aaron himself. However, I’m seen as a stepping stone to therealdecision makers, which is not where I want to be long-term.
“Good morning, Aaron,” I greet as soon as he passes through the door, with his surly scowl in place.
It’s not unusual to see him scowling, so the face doesn’t bother me. However, his frown deepening does.
“Morning,” he grumbles, much the same way I had upon first entering the office.
“I can have the music turned down if you like? Better yet, let me call the guys in security to cut it off entirely.” I assume his frown is due to his distaste of holiday music.
I’m likely projecting because he lifts a dark eyebrow as he glances up. “What music?” He pauses a beat, and then waves his hand in the air. “The music is fine. Patience tells me it gives the office a warmer feel. She says it makes me more palatable to the staff or whatever.” He rolls his eyes.
Patience, Aaron’s wife, is probably the only person on the planet who could get Aaron to play music in the office willingly.
“One of the twins spilled their oatmeal on me this morning,” he gripes, glancing down at the dark grey button-up shirt beneath his black suit jacket.
For the first time since he entered, I see the stain. I don’t bother asking which twin he’s referring to, given the fact that he and Patience have two sets of twins that are almost seven years apart.
“I’m certain he did it on purpose so that I could give him back to his mother.” Aaron shakes his head, frowning. “Boy’s trying to steal my wife.”
I grin for the first time that morning. Theirs. One of Aaron and Patience’s younger twins. He’s a mama’s boy.
Aaron continues griping as he strolls down the hallway toward his office. I follow, same as I do each morning, running down his schedule for the day, which I always have memorized.
“The meeting with Cypress is going to take up the rest of the morning and probably spill into the afternoon. I’ve already told Suzette to put in a lunch order from the restaurant down the street that you like.”
