The Definition of Fate

Chapter 42

to hate

is an easy lazy thing
but to love
takes strength
everyone has
but not all are
willing to practice.

- Rupi Kaur

The last thing that I want to do is ruin Christmas by spending it at work. Christmas is a sacred holiday meant to be celebrated with the Nativity story, Christmas lights, a huge tree, family, food, and stockings filled to the brim. It's not meant to be spent with gossipy coworkers and vicious bosses, yet here we are, going to shake hands and smile at people that I have to pretend to like.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" I growl at Chloe as Josh parks his Jeep in the parking lot.

"If you're going to stay at this job, you have to show that you're part of the social life here in addition to the actual work," Chloe says.

If I'm going to stay. If I even want to stay. "I'm not part of the social scene. Quentin and the gossip queens made sure that I'm not; the closest thing I have to a friend is Alaina and she still calls me 'Miss Evans.'"

"Miss Evans, I kind of like that." Josh laughs.

"Don't start," I growl at him. I'm not amused by this.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Chloe says, but stops herself. "I mean, itdoes suck, but there are other people outside of the reporters that you can get to know."

"Like Halle? My evil editor?"

"Are you sure the problem isn't your attitude?" Chloe snaps and then sighs. This whole fix-the-friendship thing is really going great. "I just think you need to give them a chance."

"Fine," I say.

But I have a Plan B: Josh. When everyone ostracizes me and laughs behind my back, I'll just talk to him. As much as he hates fancy dinners, he agreed to come along as my date tonight. I'm a little concerned he's going to deck Quentin, but I can't say I'd mind. The snake deserves it.

"C'mon," Chloe says, climbing out of the Jeep in her five inch Mary Jane heels, a dark shade of maroon to match her pencil dress and black shawl. "We're going to be late."

She leaves us behind, marching into the Christmas party with the bravery of a soldier going to war. Josh gets out of the car, the shoulders of his suit straining at the movement, and helps me out. I wore a pair of Bandolino heels that are incredibly uncomfortable because I wanted to look like a grown-up professional, which I'm obviously not because what adult uses the term "grown-up?" Deep breath, Rach.

"Are you ready?" Josh asks.

"Can we go to McDonald's instead?" I groan. "Unless they have a chocolate fondue with strawberries, in which case, I can put up with this for as long as it takes to stick a few of those in my purse and make a quick getaway."

Josh laughs. "Maybe Chloe's right; you do have a terrible attitude."

"You haven't heard the things they say about me," I growl.

"No, I haven't, but if I do..."

"No brawls this time, Josh," I say, remembering five years ago in a bar when a man assaulted me and Josh beat him to a pulp.

"Fine," he mumbles, but his hands ball into fists.

Josh's first instinct has always been to protect the people he cares about, and just being beside him makes me feel safe. Plus, he has 50 pounds of muscle on Quentin, so I'm pretty confident he could take him.