❨ our golden fleece ; hades&bea ❩

H A D E S

He spent most of his time in the office those days, perfection always out of reach but, cruelly enough, always close enough to keep him pushing harder. In the years since Hades Lochlan had begun his business, he'd grown into an empire. No longer a single floor of a rundown building he could barely make payments on, no. A skyscraper. A corner office with an oak desk and a box of too-expensive cigars he secretly hated smoking.

He loved his name in headlines so much that he was always striving to be the things they called him. When they called him brilliant, he released the kecleon and tripled his funding. When they called him cutthroat he trimmed the fat of his staff and hired people who were more qualified and had better connections. He retaliated against every hardball thrown at him by swinging for the fences. Now, they called him mad. They claimed that he was so caught up with wondering if he could that he no longer stopped to think whether or not he should.

It would've been easy to say they were wrong. After all, he was only giving the people what they asked of him. But, then, that went hand-in-hand with their accusations a lot of the time, didn't it?

The point was: no one would ever be satisfied. Not completely, and not at the same time. His muttations could've been the most gruesome in Games history, and there would be those who wished for something more friendly and cuddly. He'd practically driven himself insane before finally realizing it, but two mental breakdowns and a month-long sabbatical offered him enough time to reflect on what needed to be changed. It wasn't the people; it was his need to impress them.

He'd never been a pleaser. He was the one men and women crossed treacherous oceans and scorching deserts for. He was about as accommodating as a plague, and roughly as subtle about it as a gun. He'd gone weak, and with just three short days left before returning to work full time, he was determined to walk through those doors renewed. Stronger in every sense, and ready to dominate.

He lounged by the heated pool in his courtyard with a black sweater pulled past his fingertips as he peered down at the stack of paperwork in his lap. His avox, the mousy little shit, stood just behind him, his shadow looming and unsure and, most importantly, blocking his light.

"What?"

The boy held up a screen, which displayed a vehicle being allowed through the front gates.

He stood, tossing his reading glasses onto the pile of paperwork, and headed for the front door without thanking his help. Perhaps if he weren't so damn content to wallow in his own self pity, Hades would learn to appreciate him.

The moment he heard the knock, Hades opened the door.

"Mr. Lochlan," a woman said, "I’m Beatrix Alfray. I assume you’ve already heard, but I’ve recently been appointed Head Gamemaker for the upcoming Games. Bea is also fine, if you’d prefer."

Of course he'd already heard. Other than the fact that the Hunger Games were his primary source of income, he would've had to be living under a rock to have missed the posters that decorated every street corner or the coverage on every news channel.

"I believe congratulations are in order," he said, pleasantly as possible. He'd been told his stare stretched past intense and landed somewhere closer to unnerving; he stared anyway.

"May I come inside? I have a business proposition for you."

He stepped to the side without saying anything to allow her entrance.

"My office is this way," he ushered, walking forward without looking back.

"Mind the stairs. The marble can be tricky with heels."