Page 1 of Mutual Discord

Chapter One

I managed to wait until the front door closed before I opened my mouth to scream.

It was a guttural sound that came up from my toes and reverberated through my body. A cry of pure, blinding-white rage.

“Motherfucking Josh!” I shrieked as I kicked off my loafers, sending them sailing over the sofa into the living room.

Prowling into the kitchen, I flung open the refrigerator door, ignoring the jars that rattled about, and stared at its contents. I was tempted to polish off the half bottle of sauvignon blanc on the top shelf but then remembered the “in case of emergency” stash in the upper cabinet. I definitely needed something stronger than wine.

Being laid off two weeks after your coworker stole your idea warranted at least a shot of tequila. Or two.

I grabbed a bottle of Patrón and a coffee mug because I was too impatient to find a shot glass. Pulling out a stool at the kitchen peninsula, I propped my phone against a bowl of fruit and poured a healthy amount of alcohol into the mug. I took a breath, threw back my head, and swallowed the tequila in one acrid mouthful.

God, the burn felt good. I dropped my head to the countertop as the fire roared down my throat and settled warmly in my belly.

In April, I had celebrated my five-year anniversary as a communication strategist at Desert Media 360, and I’d been content there. I liked my colleagues, and the projects I worked on were interesting and challenging. Although the company was a bit of a bro-fest, I got along well with everyone and flourished in the environment…or so I’d thought. Until I sat down in my usual chair for our weekly staff meeting and watched in confusion, and then mounting anger, as Josh Motherfucking Mitchell proceeded to give a presentation on a new campaign approach for Epperson Athletics, one of our oldest clients. A presentation I had worked on for months…and that he must have stolen from my project drive, which he had access to. My mouth had gone slack-jawed when my own colorful graphics had flashed on the screen. The absolute audacity of Josh to not only steal my pitch, but present it to the entire damn company in front of me…

Never one to shy away from calling someone out on their bullshit, I had raised my hand the first moment I could and asked Josh, point-blank, why he thought he could present my client pitch as if it was his own. In hindsight, I should have taken a different approach, but I’d been livid, and watching Josh stammer, his face red, had filled me with satisfaction. My supervisors thought differently, though. After several meetings with Josh and human resources, it was acknowledged that he’d taken the idea from me, yet I was reprimanded for not being a team player. Even now I clenched my teeth, remembering that I was labeled “difficult” because I’d stood up for myself. Because I hadn’t let Josh take credit for my creativity and hard work. It was, honestly, a miracle I hadn’t punched that asshole right in his smug face.

I poured more tequila into my mug and imagined how things would have played out if I had acted differently that day. The outcome would be the same, I thought before drinking another mouthful. I smacked my lips together as I pushed back the stool, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with water from the tap. I gulped down the entire glassful without hesitation. Chasing a mind-numbing buzz was one thing, but I was way too old for a hangover.

I slipped my phone into my pocket while I balanced the tequila bottle and mug in my hands and walked to the living room. Setting the items on the coffee table, I plopped onto the sofa and sent a quick text to Denise, my longtime friend.

Sofia: Your girl was fired. Want to get drunk with me?

Blinking dots appeared immediately, and while I waited for Denise’s response to arrive, I poured myself more tequila.

Denise: Fired? Are you serious?

Sofia: Sadly yeah.

Denise: It’s because of that asshole Josh, right? You should have let the air out of his tires like I told you to.

God, I loved that Denise had taken to calling Josh derogatory terms, just as I had. I had vented more to her during the last two weeks than to anyone else, so Denise’s loyalty was much appreciated.

Sofia: I may be out of a job, but that doesn’t mean I want a rap sheet!

Denise: And if you’re going to jail, go for something splashy. Something that makes men afraid of you.

Sofia: Exactly!

Sofia: I’ll tell you what happened while we finish this bottle of Patrón. You game?

Denise: Oh Lord, you better be drinking water because I refuse to drag your ass to bed this time around.

Sofia: I am!

Sofia: Promise!

Wrinkling my nose, I stared at the tequila in my mug. After this shot—or approximation of a shot—I’d wait until Denise arrived before I had any more.

Denise: I have to finish up one more thing, and then I’ll be there. An hour max.

Sofia: I’ll try to save you some tequila.

Denise: Girl, you better!

With a sigh, I set down my phone and stared unseeing out the window. It was late June and the worst time of year in the valley. Temperatures were in the triple digits already and only going to get worse, and I hated the idea of popping in and out of my car for job interviews in this heat. But there was nothing to be done for it. I had a comfortable amount in my savings account, but I had planned to use some of that money to update my bathroom and maybe take a trip to Puerto Rico next summer. I wouldn’t be able to do either of those things until I found a job.