Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

“I know. So I figured it wouldn’t be that hard for her to squeeze me in. I’d just be interrupting your morning yoga time or whatever it is you do in here.”

“Mostly, I just twiddle my thumbs and watch my money make more money.”

“You’re thoroughly obnoxious. You know that?”

“So people like to tell me.”

Sam picks up a box of paper clips and twists one, working it open before winding it up into a tight metal ball. “Why do you have these? Aren’t they passé? Do people like you even use paper?”

Sam isn’t being offensive because this is what we do. We pick away at each other. We’re guys, so it’s like giving each other manly back slaps. “I’ve actually been trying to go paperless by keeping everything stored away online in some dark, secret vault in order to save trees. I think Charlene just orders them for show. Same with the stapler, the binder clips, the file folders…”

“I see.”

“You do see. You’re seeing me right now, not some dentist, and not your work people. So, Sam, why are you actually here?”

“I need a favor.”

“I figured. What kind of favor? How many zeros?”

“Four.”

“Hmm.”

“With a five in front.”

“So you need fifty grand, and not from a bank or a legitimate lender?”

“You are a legitimate lender!”

“I lend to businesses. Not personal loans. Although, I’d just give you the money. You’re like a brother, Sam. Of course I would. You didn’t have to make an appointment. You could have just texted me, and the money would have been in your account in a few minutes.”

“No!” Sam flicks the paperclip off to the side. “See, that’s exactly what I don’t want our friendship to become. We go way back. Like, to the time we were still peeing our pants.”

“I never peed my pants after the age of five.”

He grimaces. “No need to rub it in. Anyway, the money isn’t for me. It would be a business loan for a business.”

“You’re thinking of going out on your own? Doing consulting? I always knew you were wasted where you are.”

Sam looks less than pleased with that. I’ve told him before, but he doesn’t want to be his own boss. He’s happy making good money while hardly doing anything for it. He has to work maybe one hour out of every day, and that’s averaged out over the week. It’s a good thing he likes movies and e-books because it would be boring just sitting around doing nothing, waiting for someone to farge up their not-so-advanced technology.

“It’s not for me,” Sam says, leaning back in the expensive egg-shaped chair I have in front of my desk. No one else would buy something so ugly, which is why I took extra delight in purchasing them and forcing people to have to sit in them. They’re black velvet, and they truly do look like someone hollowed out an oval and threw cushions and piping into it and called it a chair. “It’s for Stella.”

Now that has my attention. Of course, like everything else to do with Stella Winters, I keep a straight face. Sam would pound my nuts into oblivion with a wood baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire if my expression betrayed any of my interest. That is, well, anything beyond professional interest.

“Why does Stella need fifty K?”

“Because she broke up with that douchebag dick of a boyfriend I always knew was straight-up garbage. It’s been a while since they broke up. Anyway, I’ll skimp on the details and just say I’m delighted because it was long overdue. But…”

I can see where this is going. “But he has an investment in her bakery.”

“Yup. Fifty grand. He wants to be bought out. She doesn’t have that kind of money, and she can’t get a loan.”

“Really? She’s been operating for years.”

“Banks are dicks. What can I say?”

“Yes. All lenders are generally greasy, snaky sons of bitches.”

Sam picks up the box of paper clips, takes two out, and bends them right in front of me. “Nah, I know a few that are alright. You haven’t started buying hair oil yet, thank god.” He inspects my hair, which is currently tied into a man bun at the back of my head. “When are you going to cut that off? It’s getting pretty long. You made it. In fact, you didn’t just make it. You made it beyond belief. You could cut it now, man. You’re not going to lose it all. You’ve already tripled what you cashed in on the stocks, tripled that with the lending, and will probably triple that within the next year.”

“I know I said I’d cut it when I made enough money for my mom to retire, but I kind of like it.”

“My mom does a good job cutting hair. You could see her.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about that.” Sam’s hair is shaggy, curling over his ears. He probably hasn’t seen his mom for a cut in ages.