Ban Bean
Active member
Beatrice sat in her office, quite contented to go over financial reports and memos at her desk, while the world outside was occupied with snow, Christmas and cheer. Even if she celebrated Christmas in a religious sense, she hadn't been a fan of the time of year since her parents died. Work was a distraction, and there was much she had to plan before her announcement. Then her obligatory trip to New York to spend the holidays with Amos, as expected. He was family after all.
Beatrice heard a knock on the door. Her secretary, Monica, stood in the doorway, "You wanted to see Mr. Creed?"
"Yes, forgive me," Bea politely stood from her chair. "Please come in. There's a few matters I wished to discuss, Director."
She would never get used to being the superior to older, more experienced people, but it was simply a matter of circumstance. When she was older it would be easier to manage people.
Her office was an oddly stark place. A desk, two sofa chairs for more personal meetings and interviews, a small bookcase and filing cabinets. The few items that weren't strictly professional were a few photos on her desk, a large potted plant in the corner, and a small basket of knitting tucked in a bin near of the sofa chairs. It was a certain contrast to Beatrice herself, a young woman wearing black lipstick, black eye make-up and a nosering. She wore combat boots with her pinstripe pantsuit, and a bright turquoise blouse with matching jewelry. The image was only ruined by her arm in an ugly sling, and the cover-up over her bruises.
"Please, make yourself comfortable."
Beatrice heard a knock on the door. Her secretary, Monica, stood in the doorway, "You wanted to see Mr. Creed?"
"Yes, forgive me," Bea politely stood from her chair. "Please come in. There's a few matters I wished to discuss, Director."
She would never get used to being the superior to older, more experienced people, but it was simply a matter of circumstance. When she was older it would be easier to manage people.
Her office was an oddly stark place. A desk, two sofa chairs for more personal meetings and interviews, a small bookcase and filing cabinets. The few items that weren't strictly professional were a few photos on her desk, a large potted plant in the corner, and a small basket of knitting tucked in a bin near of the sofa chairs. It was a certain contrast to Beatrice herself, a young woman wearing black lipstick, black eye make-up and a nosering. She wore combat boots with her pinstripe pantsuit, and a bright turquoise blouse with matching jewelry. The image was only ruined by her arm in an ugly sling, and the cover-up over her bruises.
"Please, make yourself comfortable."
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