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Three weeks had zipped by in a blur of spreadsheets, late-night calls to Rowan, and enough caffeine to fuel a small city. Honestly, I was starting to feel like a zombie in a perfectly fitted suit.
Fairchild Innovations was in peak busy season, some huge merger deal was looming, which had Mr. Fairchild drowning in negotiations, board meetings, and all the other alpha-male tasks that conquer the corporate world.
As his P.A., I was right in the thick of it, juggling his schedule like a circus performer on a unicycle, grabbing documents at all hours, and basically making sure he didn't spontaneously combust from stress. The office had turned into a hive of activity, with everyone buzzing around like overworked bees, and the air was thick with a mix of determination and a hint of desperation.
It was thrilling in a masochistic way, but any chance of sneaking in another one of those mind-blowing encounters we'd had felt about as likely as me winning the lottery.
