Happily Enemy After (Hawthorne Brothers 2)

Maybe it’s not so much changing minds as having a change of heart.

Whatever it is, it seems it doesn’t take much to make a man turn cold. In the Prince’s case, he can probably be forgiven because he was deceived. But Asher? What did I do to him to make him stop caring?

I leave my hand inside the bowl as I pause to recall how I’ve treated Asher in the past few weeks. I was cold to him when I first arrived at the airport. I refused his apology. I threw his present back at him. I kicked him in the balls.

Okay, fine. Maybe Asher has a reason to hate me. I can understand that. What I can’t understand is why I care so much about Asher not caring about me anymore.

I grab a handful of popcorn and try to shove it into my mouth. One of the pieces falls on my chest.

I shouldn’t care so much. Really, I shouldn’t. It’s best for both of us if he acts like any other boss and treats me just like any other employee. I can focus on my work. I can climb up the corporate ladder my own way. I don’t have to deal with spite from other people at the office. And then outside the office, we can just ignore each other even if we bump into each other in the elevator here at The Mistral or happen to be in the gym at the same time. We’ll act like complete strangers. He has his own life that has nothing to do with me. I have mine.

At least, I should have my own life. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the reason why I care so much about what Asher thinks and feels is because I don’t have a lot of other stuff going on. I don’t have much that I care about. And maybe I should. Instead of caring about Asher, I should care more about myself, do something for myself.

I glance at the shoe rack in the corner.

I didn’t bring a lot of my shoes with me from Switzerland, but I did keep my neon orange pumps. My clubbing shoes. The sight of them makes me grin.

I wonder what’s a nice club I can hit tomorrow night.

~

Well, this seems nice, I think as I step inside Xatharsis.

It took me only a few minutes to find it online. After looking at photos and reading several posts—I found out it got a recent makeover which made it more upscale and more popular—I thought I’d give it a try. So here I am in a glittering little black dress and my shiny neon orange pumps, which I suppose looks good since I got picked out of the line.

So far, I like what I see.

I like the space. I like that it’s not too crowded. I like the music, which isn’t all volume. I like the hexagonal DJ booth suspended from the ceiling right above the bar in the middle of the room. I like how the VIP lounges look like box seats in a theater but more modern, like they’ve been cut into the wall instead of protruding outward, more like real boxes. I wonder what it’s like to be there but at the same time, I don’t. I’m just here to drink, dance and have fun. In that order.

I walk over to the bar, sit on a velvet-covered stool and order an Old-Fashioned.

“Nice shoes,” the man seated next to me remarks.

I take a moment to appraise him. Young. Twenty-five maybe. Sandy blond. Lean. Clean-shaven. Nice nose. Cool bomber jacket. Not bad.

I’m not here to flirt, but I don’t think there’s any harm in flashing him a smile.

“Thanks.”

“Nice dress, too, actually,” he adds.

What next? Nice clutch? Nice watch? Nice hair?

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” I lie.

“Oh.” I hear the disappointment in his voice. “Right. I’m waiting for my friends, too.”

I didn’t say I was. And I didn’t ask. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him that smile.

He offers his hand. “I’m Jake.”

I don’t take it. Instead, I grab the drink that the bartender set down in front of me, gulp it down and pay.

“I’m going to dance.”

I disappear into the crowd on the dance floor and start moving to the rhythm. I don’t consider myself a particularly good dancer. I don’t dance in front of people or anything like that. But in places like this, no one cares. Everyone’s just losing themselves to the music.

That’s what I do. I close my eyes and let the music take control. My body moves on its own, my feet stepping forward and back, sliding to and fro, my hips swaying, my shoulders rolling, my head rocking back and forth. I can feel my blood pumping as sweat coats my skin, the endorphins flowing.

Now, this is fun. Definitely much more fun than sitting on my couch watching movies or lying in bed unable to sleep because of Asher.