Recap: Sook was a senior at FIT. Bffs include Jade, who she knew since she was in diapers/training bras, and Lafayette whom she met in college. Met brothers Alex and Eric on the night of her final project/fashion show celebration. Hit it off with Alex right away and became bffs with him. Hadley fucked Alex over, leaving him broken and leaving Sook and Eric to pick up the pieces. They're all struggling over Alex's fall. Sook met Preston, became engaged, and broke up with him all within 2 chapters. Eric has Freya baggage, though it's still unclear who Freya was, just that she drowned thinking he'd rescue her and that she's the reason he doesn't do relationships. Chapter 6 ended with Sook riding on the back of Eric's motorcycle back to Brooklyn and them making a date to meet his "one" the next night.

Chapter 7

"You're a lifesaver, G." I groaned, thanking the fashion gods for delivering me the perfect intern, before inhaling a quarter of the Thin Mint Frap Gladiola just brought me.

"Thinknuthinovit," she replied cheerfully in her usual mile a minute manner, "itwasalongthewayandIhadafeelingyou'dneeditaftertheweekyou'vehad."

I offered her a weak, but definitely grateful, smile then plopped down into my seat.

"BossLadywantsyouinherofficeASAPbutdon'tworryshedidn'tsoundangryoranything. Isthereanythingyouneedrightnow,becauseIdon'twantanyonetothinkyou'rehoggingmefromtherestofthebridaldepartmentorthatI'msuckinguptoyouit'sjustthatyou'vebeensoooonicetomesinceIgothereandlikeIsaid,you'vehadsuuchacrapweek."

It took my fuzzy brain another couple of sips before it processed what she said.

I shook my head, "Don't worry about the others. Ms. Ravenscroft never pays attention to office gossip. If she did, I never would've been promoted from intern."

Gladiola shot me a curious look but zipped out of my office without another word.

After stashing my purse in my drawer, I switched out of my flats and into a pair of office appropriate pumps, then made my way up to the 28th floor.

Exiting the elevator, I made a beeline for Pam's office. It took up half the floor. The other half was split into two equally large offices - one for her administrative assistant Miriam, and the other for her creative director Niall.

I waved to Miriam, whose silver locks and kind smile always reminded me of my Gran, and continued on. I didn't bother with Niall – he made it very clear, very early on in my career at Ravenscroft that he didn't think much of my work.

I knocked loudly on Pam's mahogany door, waited for her "Come in," and entered.

My boss looked striking this morning in a lavender pantsuit with a plunging neckline - adorned with a thin long strand of gold necklace - and pointed toe stilettos, and I told her so.

"I know, darling, that's why I designed it." was her response.

I bit my lip to keep a snarky comeback from escaping. She must've noticed because she simply smiled a satisfied smile and said, "Contrary to what my wife says, there are benefits to being the boss. But I didn't summon you here to discuss my personal life."

She gestured for me to take a seat in front of her desk, then continued, "What I tell you next is for your ears only."

I pondered over that for a quick second before nodding.

"We'll be in the midst of a hostile takeover. Possibly this season, my gut says the next."

My back straightened with alarm. The words "hostile" and "takeover" did not elicit any good feels. "Who's-"

"Felipe de Castro," she interrupted, confirming my suspicions.

Felipe de Castro was the proverbial thorn in our side if ever there was one. He was a relatively new designer but shot to fame after Petra Threadgill – Sophie Anne's biggest competitor in the movie industry, and a fellow A list actress – revealed he was her personal designer, and she his muse. Since then, he's been badmouthing Sophie Anne, Pam and Ravenscroft to whomever listened. It didn't help that each time he opened his trap, his sales numbers spiked. Though the same could be said for Ravenscroft. The public, it seemed, didn't discriminate when it came to gossip. As long as your name was in the news, you were in demand.

For a low rent designer whose shingle was still dripping paint it was so new, this was great. For an established couture house who neither wanted nor needed the negative publicity, this was like having the worst kind of criminal step in shit, then walk in uninvited, dragging it all over the place, through Buckingham Palace to tell the Queen of England that she's doing a piss poor job of ruling China.

"What can I do?"

Pam steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned in. "You're fired."

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Still reeling over the sucker punch that my mentor delivered this morning, I was in my favorite robe – threadbare and ratty-assed – drowning my sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry's Red Velvet Cake, when my doorbell rang.

With a grunt, I dropped the ice-cream down on my coffee table and dragged my sorry ass over to the front door. Having learned my lesson the hard way, I looked through the peephole first before unlatching the safety chain. Then I undid all three deadbolts, flipped the little lever for the lock on the doorknob horizontally to unlock it, and finally opened the door.

Eric took one look at me and asked, unceremoniously, "Jesus, you're still not over that jackass?"

I waved the blonde giant in.

"Who?" I wondered out loud, before remembering my broken engagement and amending, "Oh, him."

Thinking my response was answer enough, I left him to deal with the door and its plethora of locks while I made my way back to the only two men in my life who mattered.

"Sookie?"

I looked up from my now empty pint and found Eric sitting next to me on the sofa.

"Hmm?" I replied distractedly, fruitlessly scraping at the bottom of the carton.

"I've been calling your name for the past twenty minutes. Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I'm right here. Where'd you go?" I replied, still not paying him any mind.

"It's eight fifteen." He said, like those numbers were supposed to mean something to me.

I gestured with my hand for him to continue.

"I was supposed to pick you up at eight." he said slowly, like I was slow.

I stared at him for a while. Then I blinked; once, twice, three times before it hit me. I was supposed to meet the woman he'd been searching for. So I said oh so intelligently, "Ohhh..."

Okay, so maybe I was slow.

"Yeah, Oh. What the fuck's the matter with you?"

My head shot up at his words thinking I'd probably be able to summon some energy to be offended. But one look at his face - my first real look at him all night - and I deflated. His mouth was saying one thing, but his face was clearly saying something else; his brows were so furrowed, any closer and he'd have a unibrow. That definitely took the sting out of his attitude.

This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. He shouldn't have to worry about my crap on top of all the shit he was already dealing with in his life what with Alex going missing yet again, his new nightclub opening next week, the Herculean task of juggling so many women and keeping them all satisfied... I needed to suck it up and be a good friend. Lord knew he'd been an amazing one the past few weeks to me.

"I was fired." I blurted, then slapped a hand across my mouth before it started yapping about other things I specifically told it not to.

There was blessed silence for exactly four seconds - I know because I counted the Mississipi's - before he seemed to make up his mind, "Come work for me."

I stared at him, because my brain was functioning at a quarter of it's usual capacity but also because it didn't hit me until then, at that specific moment, just how beautiful he was.

We knew each other for as long as I knew Alex, this was true. But we didn't know each other until that night Alex hurt the two of us - both physically, when he manhandled me and gave his brother a bloody nose, and on a much deeper level when he stole from me and spewed, with vitriol, the garbage about Eric failing both Freya and him.

It happened a little over a month ago.

That was too short a time to know whether someone was trustworthy - especially so considering our two subsequent encounters (not including tonight) involved one, or both, of us getting shitfaced - but it was also just enough for him to learn one of my biggest flaws. It was something I was pretty good at hiding, but get a couple of drinks in me and it became obvious - I cursed like a sailor. And I did math like a drunken one. When I was sober. Oh, those and the fact that I had a serious problem with over imbibing on weekdays/nights made me a terrific catch to employers everywhere, I was sure.

As a boss, not to mention a successful one - which he undoubtedly was due to the level of loyalty and respect his employees have repeatedly shown him simply for showing up and working alongside them - one of those were enough to have a potential employee blacklisted. Two was enough to have them escorted off the premises. But all three? I was sure all three warranted a "Do Not Allow Entrance" flyer with my face on it taped to every security desk and front door he owned. Including the new club, that was seven businesses, an office, one apartment, and one townhouse. More than enough to make me a known entity in Manhattan. Definitely not what my brother had in mind when he said, "You're gonna be so fucking famous one day, everyone's gonna know your ugly mug," the day I started school at FIT.

Knowing I was being rude in my silence, I quickly went over some stock responses in my head. It took all of two milliseconds for me to decide they were insincere. Then I considered how to phrase my response to best impress upon him just how appreciative, flattered and grateful I was. That train of thought ended before it even started when I realized I didn't have a knack for words. So I decided to just hit him with the truth.

"You're fucking nuts."

Eric's reaction, which was to stare at me like I just said, "the aliens have landed and they want to take me with them" somehow gave me the impression that he thought the opposite was true.

"I'm fucking serious, E! I don't know anything about serving drinks. Most of the time, I don't even know what's in the shit I order. And, other than getting tossed out of a couple of bars in college, I know Jack shit about bouncing. What the hell can I possibly do for you that you couldn't find better on or fuck, on the subway?"

He didn't say one word. He continued to stare at me with that infuriating expression on his face.

"Look, I'm not saying I'm a complete idiot. I could probably memorize a cocktail recipe or two. But why would you even want such a noob staffing your bar when you can have a million freaking Chows performing gravity defying feats every night with the mixer? Or is it shaker? See! I don't even know what the silver cocktail maker thing is called! How the hell can I be a bartender?!"

When he continued to wait in silence, I continued, "Fine, I already know by heart the recipe to more than half of the drinks in the bartending cocktail book. But I can't catch the shaker behind my back."

More silence, but I swear I saw something triumphant gleam in his eyes. Probably because we both knew I was talking crazy. It was already a foregone conclusion that I'd be calling him, "boss". It wasn't like anyone else was knocking on my door with a job offer yet.

"Alright, you win. I'll come work for you."

I thought he'd finally crack and smile at those words. But nope, not Eric. Stoic as always. When he finally spoke, it was to say, "You'll be a hostess at Asgard. Now let's go meet Claudine, we've kept her waiting long enough."

A/N: ooh I feel evil, positively evil! To the two people still reading this fic, I thank you for your support and I'm sorry I left the cliffhanger unsolved. As I've said repeatedly in NED, I can't plot for shit but I do have an endgame in sight so I will finish the fic though it might take me another couple of years. I love you, don't hate me :D also, has anyone seen the bigger, buffer, ASkars? Holy crap he's HUGE! makes me wonder about the logistics of Tarzan/Jane sexytimes.. I mean, Margot Robbie (soo excited to see Suicide Squad!) is tiny next to him! But they sure do make a beautiful pair, don't they? Wonder how their chemistry is onscreen..