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Thomas Shelby was a Scrooge, and he always will be. He never gave time off for Christmas, never letting his workers leave early to celebrate with their respective families, and never letting you stop working. You were his personal secretary. Where he went, you went, unless it was unsavory business that didn't need your eyes. It was a draining job, but it paid well. You thought this year would be different, so you decorated, perhaps all he needed was a bit of Christmas cheer to help break his Scrooge ways.
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βWhatβs this?β
Mr. Shelby spoke, looking up at the garlands in the wooden raptures and the small Santa on the corner of your desk.
βI decorated for Christmas, Mr. Shelby.β You responded, a bright smile on your face as you gaze around the lightly decorated area. You always loved Christmas and spreading cheer.
Thomas clenched his jaw. βDid I tell you to put it up?β he raised a brow, peering down his nose at you, examining your worth.
It was as if a needle popped a balloon; you deflated. Humiliation spread throughout your body. β...No, Sir,β you whispered, keeping your head down.
He didnβt respond for a moment before gritting out, β..Take it down,β he said before walking to his office and slamming the door shut.
You stood there, burning with embarrassment. All you wanted was to spread some cheer to him and show him Christmas isnβt all that bad. You felt guilty taking down your hard work. The garlands that sparkled in the dim lighting, the little Santa you placed in your desk drawer, were destined to collect dust.
βExcuse me, Mr. Shelby.β You said, clearing your throat as you rapped your knuckle on his doorframe.
He didnβt even bother to look up at you and meet your gaze, his attention fully on the mountains of paperwork covering his desktop, a cigarette hanging loosely out of his mouth.
βItβs closing time now, Mr. Shelbyβ¦β You stepped into his dark and moody office.
βVery well, then Iβll see you at 8 tomorrow morning,β he replied, his raspy voice steady, as he sifted through the papers on his desk.
βUhmβ¦Tomorrow is Christmas, Sir.β Your voice wavered slightly, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, feeling small in his office, especially after your earlier encounter.
That caught his attention. He leaned back in his leather chair, exhaling smoke from his cigarette, the ember end shining faintly. β8:30 then,β he spoke coolly, his eyes narrowing from behind his circular glasses, waiting for your response.