Live, Laugh, Loathe

Chapter 5: Damon

I'm still stunned.

When I woke up this morning to an email stating that my new assistant Andrew was starting today, I would never have expected her to walk through my door.

Ignoring the fact that her legal name is Andrew. Even if I had assumed that my new EA would be a woman, I would still have never guessed it would be her.

And that's not even the worst part.

No, the worst part is she doesn't remember me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her for three months, and now she turns up completely out of the blue and has no idea who I am. If my ego hadn't already been bruised with our brief encounter that night, it was now. Fuck, this is a mess.

Actually, that's not accurate. It's only a mess for me. She's spent the first hour together reviewing my calendar for the next two weeks and discussing the finer points of my needs. It's no secret I'm not the most organized guy in the world. But I'm damn good at my job, and I love it here.

Not that anyone would know, I keep things close to the chest. If Collin were here, he'd tell you I had a fifty-foot wall surrounding my heart, keeping everyone out and making me look like a prick. I can't argue with his assessment. When you lose both your parents at the age of thirteen and bounce from foster home to foster home, trust is not something that comes easy.

She's now sitting at her desk just outside of my office, furiously typing away at her laptop. I have no idea what she's doing, but her focus is admirable. I don't think she's looked up from her screen once in the last forty-five minutes.

Me? Yeah, I've spent more time watching her than preparing for my next meeting.

There's a ding from her desk, and her typing immediately stops.

"Mr. Martinez, our meeting starts in five minutes in Conference Room C. Shall we?" Oh man, I need to get this attraction to her under control, or I'm going to have a semi every time she calls me Mr. Martinez. Fuck, nope. I can't have her using the honorific.

"Call me Damon. Let's go." I keep it brief as I charge past, not bothering to wait for her. The longer I'm in her presence, the worse it will be.

She's maybe ten feet behind me, but I can feel her ire and frustrated glare. I wonder if she's plotting how best to dispose of my body. What the hell am I gonna do?

---

Six hours later, we're wrapping up our final meeting. I quickly glance over at Drew's hands which have not stopped typing since our Hong Kong clients got on the video call.

Her fingers must be aching by now.

I feel bad but say nothing. As much as I wish it wasn't true, this is the job. My assistant came with me when I first came on as COO five years ago. She was a workhorse in her sixties and believed that she was wasting time if she wasn't working. She and I made a good team, and I was devastated when she retired last year. And the string of assistants that have paraded in and out since proved how much I needed her. Sadly, she told me exactly where I could shove it last month when I begged her to come back. Then fed me cookies. At least she was still willing to feed me cookies.

Drew will have to sink or swim here, and I can't interfere.

Once we're back at our desks, I quickly gather my things. I texted Collin, Danny, and Richard for an emergency guys' night. I need outside opinions on what to do here. Luckily, Collin already needed something to do, as he's been kicked out for the night. He apparently won a bet with Rachel that he could get her pregnant before their first anniversary. They just found out tonight that they're expecting. Rachel is furious because he won naming rights, and she only gets one veto. Collin is over the moon and has already shared a screenshot of his baby name list with us. After seeing his options so far, I'm on Rachel's side.

I don't bother to say anything to Drew as I leave; it's nearly seven o'clock, and the rest of the office is quiet; hopefully, she'll go soon herself. I spent the entire day limiting our conversations as much as possible to avoid inappropriate thoughts. Honestly, it didn't help much, but at least I didn't have her clock my semi at any point.

Fuck, this is messed up.

---

"Dude!" Collin sloshes his beer as he sits up straighter in the booth. He was already tipsy when we arrived and has fully embraced drunk status now. "You're telling us that the woman you've been twisted up over for months is now your assistant? As in, you'll have to work every freaking day with her. And she doesn't remember you?"

When I nod, he throws his head back and cackles. Man, I'd love to punch him right now. Danny and Richard are snickering, too but at least being quiet about it.

"I honestly don't know what to do, guys. She was so angry with me that night, and I feel like I should apologize. It feels wrong to not refresh her memory. But at the same time, by not saying anything, I have a chance to show her that the way I acted that night was abnormal. But she's also my assistant, so even if she did decide I'm not a complete asshole, nothing could ever happen between us." I slam the whiskey I've been nursing back and try not to wince. The bartender definitely did not give me the top shelf I asked for.

"Dude, you have to come clean. Put yourself in her shoes. How would you feel if you found out your boss was some mean guy you threw a drink at who deliberately withheld that information from you so he could get on your good side? Honesty is always best. Especially in this situation." Goddamn, Richard always knows what to do.

"Fuck, you're right." I run my hand through my hair several times, tugging the strands in frustration.

"You said there were a few open positions in the company, right? Offer her a transfer after you fess up; that way, she doesn't feel like she's obligated to work for you." More sage advice.

"Rich, when did you get to be smart?" The dude shrugs like he isn't sure. He literally has an answer for everything and is never shy about it. We all groan and roll our eyes. No need to boost his ego anymore.

"Alright, tomorrow I'll talk to her and come clean. She originally was going to work for our CPO, so if she really wants it, I'll transfer her there. And, find myself a new assistant. Again."

Fuck, this sucks.

When I finally get home hours later, the urge to go beat off in the shower is strong. Before, when I didn't know who she was and believed I'd never see her again, masturbating to fantasies of her didn't feel wrong. Now? It is.

Instead, I take out my frustration on the treadmill until I nearly collapse from exhaustion. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.