3. Sloan

CHAPTER 3

Sloan

"R eally, Boris! Did you have to make this so fucking hot?" Sloan barks, wiping the scalding tea from her lip. "Fucking twatgoblin."

"I heard that!" Boris, the goblin assistant, calls from the hall.

"Good. I meant for you to hear it."

A low huff sounds from outside her office, signaling his displeasure with her. Well, fucking tough titties. It's part of his job to bring her tea when she asks for it, and it isn't unreasonable to think that she should be able to drink it without burning off a lip.

Leaning back in her chair, she calls on her magic, relishing the familiar sizzle under her skin as it pools at her fingertips. Sloan touches the tender spot on her lip with the faint silver tendril, and warm relief spreads from the point of contact, soothing the dull ache. Glancing in the small circular mirror on her desk, she checks to ensure any remaining redness has vanished with the sting. Success. Not that she really expected anything less than perfection, but sometimes magic can have a mind of its own, and it doesn't hurt to check.

The ding of an incoming email pulls her attention. She pushes the tea away, allowing it to cool naturally some more before attempting to drink it again, and reads the new message.

"Blah, blah, blah. Less money spent. Too many risks. Do better," she mumbles. These messages from her various clients are always the same—less protection for their staff and as little cost to the company as possible. The majority of her work with her family's insurance company supports supernatural businesses that find themselves in need of revamped policies.

Her job as an actuary at the Wilks family insurance company, Insure Incandescent, means her day-to-day tends to involve answering a lot of emails, conducting meetings with shareholders and clients regarding potential risks as they build plans, and managing a lot of paperwork. It can be extremely monotonous and isn't glamorous, but she enjoys it. She likes being able to do something, even if it's filing a mountain of paperwork, that will help people in their time of need. Finding that balance between what the companies can afford and the protection their staff need can be challenging, but nothing excites her like a challenge. So many businesses don't realize that they should have policies in place to help care for their staff properly rather than try to get away with the minimum. Her job mostly involves telling these scum that it's far riskier to go cheap than to pay the higher premiums, they will be able to keep more of their money if they select the lowest premiums and minimal coverage. Unfortunately, with her parents as her bosses, she needs to follow their company mission and align her work with their values if she wants to keep her job, no matter how much she may disagree.

As her day unfolds rather uneventfully, Sloan falls into the rhythm of her work.

Answer a call.

Email a follow-up.

Print out this paperwork.

Send out that form.

The repetitiveness eats up her day; before long, it is time to head home. While placing her laptop in her purse, a loud buzz sounds from the desk. The phone illuminates as she picks it up, showing a text from Lachlan.

Lachlan

Be nice to Daisy

Sloan

I'm always nice.

Pah!

I just choked on my water

That's a shame.

Well, it's a shame that you didn't choke harder.

Sloan. I mean it.

We want this to work, and for that to happen, you two need to get along.

I have no issue working with Daisy.

She means it. She's never been bothered by Daisy. She doesn't generally think of Daisy. They don't typically run in the same circles, so she's an out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing. Sure, they have some history, but that was so long ago.

I hope you or Petra are having the same conversation with her.

She was the one who tried to trade me in.

Knowing you, I can't say I blame her

Go suck a hex.

Not waiting for a response, she picks up her purse, locks her phone, drops it into the front pocket, and slings it onto her shoulder as she walks out of the office.

"Goodnight, Boris," she says, passing him at his desk.

"Goodnight, madam," he responds, his tone even. She hears a grumbled "Ungrateful witch" as she nears the door.

"I heard that," she calls behind her.

"I meant you to," he calls back.

The left side of her mouth quirks up as she exits the building, amused. Her relationship with Boris is tolerable at best. They aren't overly friendly, and there's a lot of sass passed back and forth between them, but Sloan still looks forward to seeing the goblin every morning.

She climbs into her car and drives in silence all the way home, allowing the quiet to calm her ever-racing mind.

After changing out of her work attire and into a comfy pair of bright orange sweats, she conjures a glass of red wine and flops onto the sofa. Her feet curl underneath her with a blanket over her lap, and she picks up her current read, picking up where the murderer last left off.