Chapter 1 Sam

A Work Happy Hour was an oxymoron. I'd considered asking Hecate to encourage Chris's tie to venture closer to the tea light candle that was flickering on the table.

Stranger things have happened.

However, I hadn't worked with deities in years, and from experience, Hecate did not like being called upon willy-nilly. While unfortunate, Chris was going to stay char-free.

Asshole .

I stirred my third Long Island iced tea and ignored the chatter from the two other design assistants. They were new...ish. And I was not new. No, no. I'd been a graphic design assistant for almost two years. I'd been to forty-seven thousand happy hours, a billion and a half coffee runs, and I'd finally been taking lead on some campaigns with the promise of a junior designer role. I'd also slept with Chris about twelve times, but really four if I was only counting the ones where I got off, too.

Selfish fucking— his eyes snapped to mine from the end of the table, and I wondered if I'd said that last part out loud. No one else seemed disturbed, so I figured I was safe. The straw hit air at the bottom of my glass, and that was my cue to grab a cab, go home, and research an appropriate hex in response to him recommending someone else for the promotion.

I wobbled in my heels. That's a bad sign.

"Chris... have a spectacular evening," I ground out when I passed his chair.

He had the decency to look concerned and raked his hand through his bad haircut. I stopped and tuned into his energy. He was worried.

But about what...

I focused through the haze and followed his gaze flitting over to Melissa. I grinned despite the tears threatening to make an appearance after this shit-tastic day. Melissa was one of the new-ish assistants, and if the wave of fear I felt was any indication, he really didn't want me to tell her he'd been sleeping with me while flirting with her. I leaned toward him.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe. But Melissa probably isn't into guys who always finish first."

I shrugged, hoping I delivered that message in a menacing way. Chris' mouth hung open, and I felt like my chances of making it out of this bar in one piece were looking up.

"Sam!" a booming voice called as I attempted my getaway.

I groaned inwardly as David Carter, a senior graphic designer, and a garbage disposal of a human, waved me over. The only thought that sprang to mind when looking at him was how badly he wanted to be Harvey from Suits . He was not Harvey. He wasn't even Louis.

"David." I waved and turned to keep going.

"Oh, come on, come say hi. We haven't seen you all night."

You should have tried harder to reach Hecate, I scolded myself as I shuffled over to his side of the table, determined not to sway.

"Hi."

"You heading out already?"

"It would seem so."

My eyes shot to Chris, who was trying to look invested in something happening on his phone.

"Well, next time, you've gotta sit down here with us. You could be the most awesome assistant at this firm if you really got to know all the designers and their different styles." He grinned like he had just bestowed some wisdom worthy of Master Yoda.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Of all the times for him to do this, it had to be when I was three Long Islands deep and already poised to hex someone's balls off. The white-hot anger that had been kept buried since the announcement that afternoon was no longer contained. It burned its way up my chest, and my fists clenched around the strap of my bag to brace myself for whatever was going to come out of my mouth.

"Well, David, thankfully, I don't give a rat's ass about being an awesome design assistant . I'm already an awesome fucking designer. I'm guessing that Chris here hasn't given me credit for my work on the Olive-Juice account, right? Or any of the others I've worked on this year, and no one else could be bothered to get their heads out of their asses long enough to notice. So why don't you both just fuck all the way off?"

I turned on my heel, not stopping to note any of their faces, and I welcomed the cool night air as it filled my lungs.

FURY CARRIED ME ALL the way home and into bed, so I didn't have any type of remorse about the events of the evening. That was my Taurus Mars talking. God, I fucking hated being condescended to, maybe more than anything else in the world. But at about two am, when the drinks came back to haunt me, my more rational Libra moon made an appearance. I started to wonder if perhaps I'd crossed a line.

Not more of a line than Chris crossed in sleeping with his design assistant, but of course, no one knows about that.

Ugh. I downed some ibuprofen and attempted to shut up my brain, at least until the sun had shown its face.

As it happened, life did not get any better at eight a.m. There were three missed calls from my HR manager and one email in my work inbox. On a Saturday. I closed one eye like viewing the email with the other one might make being written up at work easier to take.

Ms. Marsh,

Your employment with Willow & Bark Graphic Design Co. is hereby terminated immediately. The reasons for this termination of employment are:

Insubordination: According to Section IV of the handbook, all employees will conduct themselves professionally when representing the company.

Harassment: According to Section IV of the handbook, harassment is defined as offensive conduct that may include, but is not limited to, offensive jokes, slurs, or name-calling, physical assault,, intimidation, ridicule or mockery, insults, offensive pictures, and interference with work performance.

You will coordinate with Connie Carter, your HR representative, to arrange for the return of your keys, computer, and any other items belonging to the company, as well as receipt of your final compensation for work provided.

Respectfully,

John Matthews

CEO

Willow & Bark Graphic Design Co.

Well. Fuck.