The marble conference table looked like it had survived centuries — or maybe that was just from how often it had been slammed by divine hands.

“Can we at least pretend to be civilized for one meeting?” you said exhausted. “Just one?”

“I am being civilized. I haven’t electrocuted anyone yet.” Zeus scratched the sun tattoo on his forearm, like it itched when he was bored — or angry. “Though I could be convinced.”

“Try it and I’ll drag you through the floorboards,” Hades snorted, voice low and sharp. Shadows twitched around his chair legs like living smoke. “Again.”

“Oh please,” Poseidon cut in, rolling his eyes. He was leaning way too far back in his chair, abs visible through his half-buttoned shirt — again. “You two flex your little tantrums and I’m the one who gets blamed when the building floods or the lights explode.”

“The last time you three were in a room, half the marketing department cried and someone started a cult in the HR lounge. Stop it.”

“Tell that to your boyfriend here,” Zeus said, jabbing a thumb toward Hades, whose jaw clenched.

“He’s not—” you started.

“She’s mine,” Hades said at the same time. Quiet. Lethal.

You exhaled. Loudly.

Poseidon grinned. “She yells more at me when I flirt. That’s how I know she likes me.”

“I hate you,” you muttered.

“Exactly,” he said, still smiling.

Zeus raised a brow, amused. “You hate all of us equally. That’s what makes you charming.”

“No, what makes me charming is that I haven’t tasered any of you,” you said. “Yet.”

“Do it,” Hades said under his breath, voice nearly a purr. “I’d thank you for it.”