Enemy's Secret

I try to smile. Since apologizing hasn't been working, maybe a bit of humor? "Well, you were crazy about me."

"Key word being were. Now?" Her chin lifts. Her eyes flash. "I hate you."

"Whoa there, hate? That's a bit much." I try to smile, but find that I can't. The way 'hate' rolled off her tongue so easily shook me.

"Not really," she says with a light eat-shit smile. "Anyway, I'll be seeing you."

"No, Kyra, just hold on a second." I move to block her path. Shit, why can't I just let her leave? "You don't really hate me." Why do I even care?

"Yeah, I really do," she says. "Think about it, Landon - there aren't many things worse than seeing your ex again." Her eyes narrow with thought, then her head tilts to the side. "OK, maybe getting a lobotomy, having your pants rip in the ass, and your dad and best friend getting married, but since I've been lucky enough not to experience those - I'm going to go."

She storms away, then pauses. "Oh, and Landon?"

"Yeah?"

"If it wasn't clear before, I still hate you. After that stunt you pulled back in college, I'd rather drink bleach than go out with you again."

God, talk about a psycho. Maybe I was a dick when I pulled that 'stunt', but still.

I find myself snapping too. "Good, because I hate you too."

Whoa - what now?

Her sculpted eyebrows arc. "Good."

"Good."

"I'm leaving now."

"Good."

"We're going to win this case and take your crooked ass down," she snaps.

"Yeah, you go and try that," I snap back.

And then she's gone and I can't seem to pry my eyes off her ass.

Where the hell did that come from? Obviously, I don't hate Kyra, even if she is being a major bitch. Then why blurt it out?

Maybe her saying she'd rather drink bleach than go out with me brought it on. Or how she kept saying 'I hate you' like it was a saw that could cut through me. Or how, despite all of this, I've got a hard-on that says she's hotter than ever.

Fuck it, I have to get home. Break the news to Greyson, then figure out what to do myself. Something tells me that Kyra and Goldtree Inc. aren't going to back down easy.

"Landon, glad I found you." It's Dirk, his face as impassive as ever.

"Haven't been hiding," I reply.

"Maybe you should." The crack of a smile that doesn't reach his eyes is the only indication that my lawyer just told a joke. "I don't want to worry you, but they have a good case. A damn good one."

"Good enough to not get thrown out of court," I say neutrally.

"Listen," he says. "Your dad has already had his name dragged through the mud this past year. Accusations of this kind aren't seeming as far-fetched as they once did."

"Accusations of this kind..." I shake my head, scowling. "My dad was a lot of things, Dirk, but he didn't copy other companies. He didn't need to."

"I know. Thing is, this Goldtree has quite the case. That doesn't mean they're going to win, though."

I eye him. "What's your point?"

"My point is that it's going to be a close one. So don't go pissing off Ms. Masterson."

"We were just talking. Why does it matter, anyway?"

"She's well-known around here. Killer at her job." Dirk's eyes narrow significantly. "And apparently even more killer when she's upset. She's credited with single-handedly revamping Ontario's hunting laws after a family member got hurt by a hunter. So don't piss her off."

I shrug. "I think that ship has sailed."

"Then don't piss her off further."

I glare at him. "Really? That's our game plan: don't piss off the opposing side's lawyer? That's what we're paying you for?"

"Careful," Dirk says quietly, rubbing his temples. "I'm doing this case partly as a favor, a thanks for all the times your father had my back. We both know The Ronald refused to touch this case with a ten-foot stick."

I grimace. It really is a measure of how low public opinion of Storm Media has sunk that even Ronald flat-out refuses to represent us - he almost represented O. J. Simpson, for Christ's sake.

"I will be careful," I say smoothly, turning to go. This conversation is long past its expiry date. "And we will win."

There's no other option. Although, as I'm leaving the building, it's not our win that's clogging my head. It's her.

Kyra.

Smiling that hateful smile.

Chapter 2

Kyra

"Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him," I grumble over whatever too-happy pop song is on the radio.

At the red light, I mash the station button until I get to an angry punk song that better expresses my current mood. "How fucking dare he."

It wasn't enough that he acted like the tool of the century back in college - he had to make a go of it again. I recognized the avid way he gazed at me, his easy smile, all too well. He was on the hunt. He saw something he liked.