My weekend was about as exciting as a funeral. I probably looked like I'd attended one too. Saturday consisted of an unhealthy amount of chocolate, followed by an entire bottle of wine while my neighbor, Carlie, was over watching chick flicks with me and letting me vent to her about the Rutherford Laurence situation. I must've drunkenly repeated "Bald Ass-worth" several times because it was the first thing Carlie mentioned to me in a fit of laughter Sunday morning. The inability to control my own giggling only fueled my hangover migraine, but I couldn't seem to make it stop. Carlie and I probably laughed for an hour straight. Well, at least it felt like it.

Carlie had been my neighbor since a month after I'd moved in. The Mahogany River Apartments were a small complex, mostly home to sweet, elderly cat ladies and a few people around my age who mostly kept to themselves. I was lucky enough to have pleasant neighbors who rarely made much noise. It was definitely not what I'd expected when I moved in. All I'd had to go on was my previous apartment experience where everyone was either in a fraternity or just plain rude.

Carlie was two years younger than me. She worked at a salon a few miles up the road. We'd instantly hit it off when I went to introduce myself. She was stunning even as she hauled in boxes out of the back of a pickup wearing overalls and no makeup. She had the most perfect French manicure I'd ever seen and her hair looked amazing. She'd created a beautiful ombre look and I was immediately envious, telling her how I couldn't get over her hair color. Since then, I'd ditched the boxes from Walmart and let Carlie become my personal hairstylist. I'd always been pretty good at box-coloring myself but I loved the way my hair looked after Carlie did it. She'd even gotten me to start wearing French tips; something I'd never taken an interest in before. We'd quickly become best friends, bonding over girl stuff and ice cream. Carlie was my go-to person to complain to now and she'd gotten an earful about both Sean Ashworth and Alec, Friday and Saturday nights.

Sunday was a less enthusiastic drinking day for me as I attempted to rid my head of the migraine from hell. Carlie tried to talk me into going shopping with her but I was sure I'd puke all over her car if I left the apartment. She stuck around until almost midnight, texting me the next morning that she had overslept and was late to work. I was experiencing the same post-hangover problem and we jokingly blamed each other in a back and forth texting war until I left for work.

Corbin and Hilliard was a mess when I walked in. There were papers scattered all over the floors, a few broken glasses in the break room, a TV with a dent in the screen, and multiple other worrisome scenes. When I entered my office I noticed the poster boards for the Rutherford Laurence pitch were no longer where I'd tossed them in a pile. Confused, I set my bag beside my desk and wandered into the hallway. I spotted Michelle and asked her what the hell was going on.

"You didn't hear?" her eyes widened and she glanced down the hall where Mr. Hilliard's office was. The door shut with a paper taped to it saying not to disturb him.

"Hear what?"

Michelle let a heavy sigh go, pushing back the bangs that always hung over her forehead. "Mr. Hilliard flipped shit Friday evening after you went home," she told me. I leaned against the door facing while she spoke, intently listening. "He threw things and broke stuff and completely blew up like we've never seen before."

"But why?" I had seen Mr. Hilliard get angry a few times and yell around the office but I'd never seen him totally lose control. I was glad I hadn't stuck around the office Friday night.

Michelle's frown intensified, her eyes looking bloodshot. She probably hadn't gotten much sleep over the weekend. "We lost Rutherford Laurence." She leaned against the opposite side of the door. "Margaret finally called back about an hour after you left and told Renee that Sean had decided to go with another agency's pitch."

Now I was really pissed off. "He had a fucking meeting scheduled with us," I said through gritted teeth, feeling my cheeks heat up in oncoming rage. "He could've at least listened to my pitch before making a decision! And if not, it wouldn't have been that hard to call and cancel instead of leaving us hanging. He's an asshole!"

I was livid. I wanted to call Sean and tell him off. I wanted to strut into Rutherford Laurence's corporate headquarters, march right up to him and smack the living shit out of him. I wanted to rip him a new one for wasting mine and my coworkers' time - and for just being a dick in general. But I couldn't do that. I had to be the bigger person. Blowing up at Sean would only end in my termination of employment. I was convinced it was about time to invest in a punching bag and a lot more wine and ice cream. Carlie was going to get another earful when my workday was over.

And then there was Alec, who still hadn't returned my calls or texted me back. I was almost as pissed at him as I was at Sean. The problem was I didn't know if I had a right to be pissed at Alec. It wasn't like him to ignore me. He always texted me back at some point during the day, no matter what business or family engagement he might be in the middle of. Surely he could tell by my messages that I was getting worried about him. At first, I'd assumed he was mad about me not sleeping with him, but it had been a week and I seriously doubted Alec would stay mad that long over something so minute. I'd started to toss other possibilities around in my head. What if something had happened to him? What if he was in the hospital? What if he'd had to go out of town on short notice and just hadn't told me? The third possibility wasn't very probable though. Alec always told me when something came up.

Michelle and I talked a little while longer and when I went back into my office I took the opportunity to call Alec, hoping he'd finally answer. I'd called him six times over the weekend.

"You've reached Alec Shaffers. I'm either working or... not working! Leave a message!" I groaned at the all-too-familiar greeting.

"Hey, Alec," I sighed when I heard the beep. "I don't know if you're mad at me, or something happened, or what, but I'm worried about you and I wish you'd call me back. At least send me a text and let me know everything's okay." I paused a few seconds, staring blankly at my phone before pressing the end button.

Mr. Hilliard strolled into my office with an expression I couldn't read and a white mug of coffee with tacky green polka dots on it. His short, graying beard made him appear older than he was. He was dressed in his usual sharply-tailored charcoal suit and red tie with a matching crimson pocket hanky. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

Mr. Hilliard took a seat in one of the small mahogany chairs in front of my desk and set his mug on the coaster I left near the edge.

"I suspect by now you've heard about Rutherford Laurence," he said, looking out the window at the bank tower across the street.

I nodded and waited for him to continue. He didn't look as angry as I'd expected but I was still nervous to hear what he had to say.

"You did a good job, Bree." He finally made eye contact with me, grabbing his mug and taking a long sip of coffee. "You're a good employee and a great advertising agent."

By the way he was talking, I was under the impression he was about to say but you're fired. It sounded like the over-flattering lead up to the termination. I didn't understand why Corbin and Hilliard would fire me though. It wasn't my fault Sean Ashworth was an asshole. Although, I guess it was my fault that I didn't impress him enough to keep his interest in our agency. I tried to mentally prepare myself for Mr. Hilliard telling me I was fired. While I didn't think it was fair, I figured Corbin and Hilliard weren't interested in employing anyone who couldn't blow a potential client's mind on the first try.

"But?" I raised an eyebrow, slumping back in my chair.

Mr. Hilliard's brows furrowed. "But what, Bree? You do great work."

I was confused. Wasn't he going to let me go? Wasn't that what this was about? "Aren't you going to fire me for losing Rutherford Laurence?" I asked sheepishly, tapping my fingers in a nervous manner on the arm of the chair.

Shock swept across his face and I thought he was going to yell at me but he begun to laugh. It was a deep bellowing laugh that almost made it seem like he'd lost his marbles.

"You thought... I was going... to fire you?" Mr. Hilliard's words came between rumbles of laughter as he slapped his knee repeatedly. Some of his coffee spilled out of the mug, landing on his perfectly starched slacks.

I forced a bit of awkward laughter but I couldn't understand what was so funny. He finally calmed down and then his face became serious again.

"Bree, I'm not going to fire you. You have no control over what a client decides to do. Especially one as big as Rutherford Laurence," he said. "What I came in here for was to tell you I want you to attend that charity fundraiser in Raleigh tomorrow night. I heard Sean is going to be there addressing the media since it's such a big deal that the empire that is Rutherford Laurence is launching Healthier Is Happier, or whatever it's called, in Wilmington."

The charity fundraiser was being put on by some local celebrities and it would be a good opportunity for business executives to mingle and swap ideas. That was the main reason companies like Corbin and Hilliard and Harper Media attended. Everyone liked to find out which company was using which tactic on which client so that another company could try to outdo them and either steal the client or acquire several new clients with a stolen strategy. It was shitty but it was part of how business went.

"I don't see why I need to go," I frowned. "They're not launching it with us so what-"

"I heard through the grapevine that Sean's going to announce the agency he's working with at the end of the event," Mr. Hilliard told me. "I want you to go there and try to persuade him to let you do a last minute pitch before he makes his speech to the press."

"You're kidding, right?"

Normally I wouldn't have said such a thing to my boss but what he was asking me to do made no sense to me. Sean had made up his mind. He wasn't interested in my ideas and I wasn't interested in getting turned down again - or being told to fuck off for bothering him.

"Look, if you can't get his business, it's okay," he said. "But I want you to try. At least find out which agency he goes with and what their pitch was that caught his attention."