The Office Rival: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

“I can’t believe I’m going to be an auntie!” She hands me a green gift bag, and I stare back at her, confused. “For the baby, silly.”

Finally catching on, I place my hand in the bag and pull out a white onesie. It’s tiny, and I mean one-of-my-boobs-could-barely-fit-in-there kind of tiny.

I hold the onesie up and read out the print. “My aunt is hotter than your aunt.”

Everyone around me breaks into laughter, and even though it’s lame, I laugh along with them.

Melissa pushes Gemma aside and reaches out her arms. I happily embrace her, and she gently whispers in my ear, “He’s cute, Pres… real cute.”

No shit. That is half my problem. If he were drop-dead ugly, I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.

The obligatory introductions begin, and already Gemma has found something in common with the Jerk—they both love horror flicks—something I despise. We move into the living room, and Gemma pops in a DVD since my parents were behind in technology. It’s something about a lunatic murdering people in some rural town. It’s gory, unpleasant, and by the time the second person is killed within ten minutes of the movie starting, I jump ship and escape to the kitchen where my sanity and will to live remain intact.

“Since you’re in here, how about you peel those potatoes for me?”

Mom hands me the bag of potatoes as I happily chat away about work, life in the city, and Vicky.

“That girl sounds like a bad influence,” Mom scowls.

“Honestly, Mom, I’m not ten. If anything, maybe I’m the bad influence. Uh, hello!” I point to my belly.

Mom simply shakes her head, then entertains me with the latest family gossip. Before I know it, the food is ready, and I am famished just smelling the enticing aromas.

An array of food is spread out on the dinner table. My mom, a.k.a. Martha Stewart, has gone all out, even using her fancy silverware. Everyone else enters the room, talking animatedly about the movie. I take a seat beside my dad, and Haden follows by sitting on my other side. We say grace, then dig in, all the while talking about random topics including Gemma and Melissa’s house in L.A.

“I love L.A. There’s a nice buzz to it. Plus, I love surfing,” Haden says.

“You’ll love our new place,” Melissa adds. “We’re a block from the beach, and there’s plenty of cafes and shops along the boardwalk. Maybe Presley can bring you along next time?”

“I’d love that.” He grins, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth while he watches me.

What the hell just happened? Now he’s taking va

cations with me.

When did it cross over from enemy to friend?

Note to self—do not rely on your family to hate him because clearly, he has them under some magic spell.

“So, Haden, tell us about your family?” My mom moves to the subject that I so desperately want to ask about but have never found the courage to do so. He places his fork down and appears to change his demeanor. His smile whittles to nothing but a bleak stare. The light in his eyes almost darkens.

“My family lives in New Jersey. Mom works at the local library in her spare time, and my twin sisters, Lucy and Lennie, are in college.”

“You have twin sisters?” I blurt out, almost spitting out my peas.

“Yes. Annoying twin sisters, but yes.”

“Oh my God, Pres, you could be carrying twins,” Gemma cries out loud.

I shut her down immediately. “No, there’s definitely only one baby inside.”

I take my phone out of my pocket and produce the picture I had taken of the ultrasound. I point out the baby as my phone is passed around the table until it lands into Haden’s palms.

Quietly, he stares at the photograph, and I realize only then that he hasn’t seen the picture of the baby yet. That’s partly my fault. For a man who yo-yos from giving a shit to not giving a shit, I figured he didn’t care about stuff like ultrasounds.

I watch his facial expression, the look of curiosity as his eyes narrow in on the baby, and the way his lips purse contently. He turns to face me and, embarrassed, I try to look away, but he has caught me staring.

“Do you know what the sex is?” he asks, just short of a whisper.