The Office Rival: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

“Your cousin? Because it’s polite when someone introduces himself.” I almost laugh at the question.

“Is something going on between you two?”

“It’s none of your

business, Jerk. You keep reminding me I have an ex, which makes me single, right? So the last time I checked, I’m not bound to anyone.”

“So that’s it? You don’t want anything more to do with me?”

“That’s it,” I repeat, staring him directly in the eyes.

“You’re fine to sweep this under the rug and forget that it ever happened?”

“Consider it swept, vacuumed, and in the trash taken away. Are we done now?”

“Apparently so.”

Lunch with Clive couldn’t have rolled around fast enough. Haden had gone back to his desk, and I was happy to put my head down and forget about our argument. Except, I couldn’t. Why was he so interested in my conversation with Marcus? He acted almost—don’t say it, Presley—jealous.

Okay, rewind. Haden has never shown interest in me before Friday night. He has been working at the company for close to twelve months now, and apart from the annoying pranks, not once has he shown any interest in my personal life, including my dating status.

The same goes for me. All I know is he is a manwhore who somehow attracts women into his manwhore lair where he screws them without a name to the face. I never really took the time to notice him, being so caught up in my work and relationship with Jason.

I’m fairly certain I’m overthinking things. He made it clear we were to forget Friday night happened. Surely, he is happy-dancing deep down inside that I am not calling and telling him that I love him.

And with all that said and done, it’s evident we both made a huge error in judgment. A mistake never to be repeated, and therefore, we move on because it’s all in the past.

Clive takes my mind off things at lunch, re-enacting every scenario from his almost National Lampoon’s European Vacation. All he is missing is Clark Griswold and a redhead named Rusty. We are sitting in a nearby café, having just ordered, when Dee walks in. She spots us immediately, and without using her manners and asking politely, takes a seat in the empty chair at our table.

Dee is the kind of woman who keeps the cosmetic industry booming. Her bleached blonde hair against her fake spray-on tan does nothing for her. She reminds me a lot of a Playboy bunny, an extremely flat-chested one. Beneath the layers of makeup she wears is no doubt a pretty woman. If only she didn’t make herself look like a Barbie doll.

“Your pitch was a winner. You’ve got that one in the bag,” Clive tells her with a mouthful of salad.

“Haden raised some good points, though,” she mumbles, a little disheartened.

“He has no clue, Dee,” I remind her.

“He does. No offense, Clive, but women don’t want to read about men getting hot and heavy. They want alpha billionaires breaking their virginity.”

“Why are you letting him sway you? Yeah, I get that you’re sleeping with him, but honestly, Dee, stand up to him.”

Shit, did I say that out loud?

“What? First of all, Presley, I haven’t slept with him. Fooled around, yes,” she snarls.

“Ooh, catty.” Clive raises his hand and makes a claw.

“I’m sorry, Dee. I shouldn’t have assumed that because I see you both tongue-wrestling at every opportunity, you have actually slept together.”

My tone is off. Snarky. Catty, as Clive just put it. Gee, someone would think I was jealous. Again, with that word.

“Everything but.” She winks this time.

“Ooh, a wink? Do tell!” Clive’s enthusiasm prompts Dee to fess up.

“He’s pierced.”

I choke on the cherry tomato that I’m swallowing that instant. Clive is patting me on the back repeatedly as I try to calm myself, gulping a whole heap of water.