SEX LUST LOVE HATE: An Enemies-to-Lovers Office Romance Standalone

by Mika Jolie

  “Like what? Be a stick in the mud?” The banter with him is a sort of verbal tango, one beautifully chaotic dance.

  “Like my job.”

  Here we go again with the low blows. I roll my eyes so hard I think I checked out my own ass. “You know what, I’ll get this out of the way and save you the trouble. You’re right, what you do outside of the office is none of my business, and I don’t care.”

  “Why do I feel like I have no idea what we’re fighting about this time?”

  I sigh, suddenly fed up, although whether it’s with the fact that he’s giving me a hard time or that he keeps staring at me with those sapphire eyes, I can’t tell. “You’re waiting for me to comment on your lack of a social life so that you can say I party too much. Then you’ll ask me why I don’t give a shit about my job, which is wrong, by the way. Oh, and tell me that you think my dad just put me up for this position as a handout. So now that’s out of the way, how about we figure out a campaign that appeals to people who were born in this century?”

  “Touché,” he says, finally breaking eye contact.

  My phone chimes and I dig it out to see a message from Katharine lighting up the screen. We still on for tonight?

  I begin to tap out a response as Jagger asks, “Hot date?”

  “Interested in my sex life?” I ask, looking up from the phone and meet his gaze.

  “Not in the least.”

  To my surprise, a stab of disappointment punches me in the gut. “I’m meeting Katharine Morello for dinner.”

  “You designed her blog and e-store, didn’t you?”

  I nod and tap out a quick confirmation to Katharine. She and Coriander are two of my closest friends, and since I work with Katharine on her lingerie boutique and blog, the two of us spend a lot of time together.

  “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

  “Well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” I look up at him, hoping to come across as nonchalant as I ask, “What about you? Got any plans for your Friday night?”

  I’m not expecting him to say yes, so I’m a little surprised when he replies, “I’m volunteering with the Halftime Trust in Brooklyn.”

  “That’s that charity founded by those two athletes, right? The twins?”

  “That’s right,” Jagger says. “Hudson and River Baldwin. They give sports scholarships to underprivileged kids in the outer boroughs.”

  Jagger is the epitome of straight-laced. I bet he never uses offensive language. “You’re such a good boy. Do you go to old distant relatives’ suppers when you could be out partying?”

  “Your perception of me is rather amusing.” He chuckles and stands to his full six foot plus height. He dips his chin and meets my gaze. My pulse thunders and it’s not just annoyance. “And for the record,” he continues, “I’m not a boy, not in the least.”

  “So tell me about this project you’re working on,” Katharine says, reaching out and topping off my Chardonnay, the big engagement rock on her left finger glinting in the light. We’re sitting at a booth in a little seafood restaurant on the Lower East Side, polishing off our appetizers as we debrief one another. Katharine owns an upscale lingerie boutique in Midtown, and we first became friends when I masterminded her online storefront and blog. Even if I hadn’t boosted her sales, we still would have hit it off. We’re like two peas in a pod. “Unless it’s, like, confidential, or something.”

  I’ve just finished explaining the promotion situation, and she’s leaning back in her seat, a coy smile on her face.

  “Nah.” I take a sip of wine. “It’s this investment broker. Dad wants us to run their first campaign. The only problem is…” I purse my lips. What exactly is the problem? That my competitor is a prick? Or that he’s an incredibly good-looking prick?

  “Yeah?”

  “Jagger.”

  She raises a brow. “Your crush.”

  “Eww, no.” This isn’t the first time I’ve complained about Jagger to her. In her twisted mind, she truly believes the animosity Jagger and I have for each other is sexual repression. “I have to work with him on this campaign as we compete for the same position. It’s annoying as fuck.”

  Katharine takes a sip of her wine, then tucks a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Oh, now it gets interesting.”

  “He’s just such a wet blanket,” I pick up the menu and quickly skim through it. “It’s like he’s allergic to having fun, and he’s got a problem with me because I actually have a life outside of work. I don’t know if he’s just jealous because of Dad or…” I close the menu and place it on the crisp white table cover. “It’s just frustrating. We can’t seem to go five minutes without ending up at each other’s throats. And the worst part is I can’t even ignore him like I usually do. I’m stuck looking at his stupid face and perfect hair all day.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and when I look up, she’s grinning at me.

  “What?” I ask. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

  “Nothing,” she replies, helping herself to a piece of bread.

  “Spit it out.” Although I have a good idea where this is going.

  “It’s just… You’re talking about him like part of you wants to just sort it out in the bedroom.” She gives a knowing chuckle. “Nothing you haven’t heard from me before.”

  “You’ve been saying that for a year now,” I point out. “Jagger and I are enemies, and now we’re pitted against each other.”

  “With sizzling chemistry.”

  “If we had chemistry, we’d have fucked already. In case you’re wondering, that’s never gonna happen.”

  “Sure, sure.” She waves off my retort. “I guess I’m just imagining things, then. How long have we known each other?”

  “Okay, fine,” I admit, nearly spitting the words out, “so maybe he’s an attractive guy. But that doesn’t mean I want him anywhere near me.”

  The server approaches our table and we place our order. Once we’re alone again, Katharine picks up where our conversation left off.

  “Why not?” she says, and I can tell from her expression that she’s serious. “I mean, if there’s all this sexual tension, then maybe it would help for you guys to…you know, work some of it out.”

  “No way,” I tell her. “You know I don’t do complications. And Jagger has complication written all over him.”

  “Come on, Charlotte. You can’t continue basing every relationship on your mom and dad.”

  She underestimates me. I can and I do. Not wanting to sound like a temperamental tween, I take a sip of my white wine.

  “Heartbreak is an unfortunately common part of the human experience. We’ve all been there,” Katharine continues.

  “Is this from one of your blogs?” I tease. Not only is Katharine a successful entrepreneur, she also manages a kickass blog.

  “Ha.” She laughs. “Remember my douchebag ex-fiancé?”

  How can I forget about the cheating asshole who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and slept with one of Katharine’s BFFs? Last I heard, the two cheaters were no longer a couple and she was bashing him on Instagram. They deserved each other.

  “But you found Lucas,” I point out. I admire the relationship Katharine and Lucas have. They’re madly in love, with a deep sense of friendship and a great understanding between them. “And he’s the sexiest single dad I know.”

  The server returns with our meals. Once we assure her we’re fine and don’t need anything else, she smiles and walks over to the next table.

  “But we didn’t just magically fall in love,” Katharine reminds me, and I can’t help but chuckle over their whole pretend engagement plan to distract Lucas’s ex-wife and her custody battle over their daughter.

  “Sorry, my friend, but you two were always fucking each other with your eyes. It was just a matter of time.”

  “Fine.” She laughs, not denying the attraction that existed long before they pretended to be a couple. “My point is, you can’t just
plan on being single forever.”

  “I don’t do romance.”

  “Why not?” she demands. “Anything could happen. There certainly seems to be a spark. All you have to do now is turn it into a fire.”

  “Not happening,” I insist. “You know how I feel about relationships.”

  Katharine quiets as I continue to stare her down, and she finally concedes. “Okay,” she says, picking up her fork and taking a bite of her penne.

  “Look, it’s not a problem with dating in general, okay? I just don’t think it’s for me. I mean…” I steeple my fingers under the table. “You’ve seen my mom. Dad broke her heart when I was in middle school, and she still isn’t over it. Did I tell you I had to go baby her before I went into work one day last week because she saw a clip of him and his new wife?”

  “Ouch.”

  “A relationship isn’t worth the pain.” I reach over the table and squeeze her hand. “No offense. I love that you and Cori have found love,” I say. And I mean it. I’m so glad that my friend—and Katharine’s BFF and now sister-in-law—managed to find her soul mate. “As for me, I’d rather be an old single party girl than a heartbroken alcoholic.”

  As if on cue, my phone vibrates, and I glance at it to see a message from my mom: Can you come over? I made a mess of the living room.

  See what I mean?

  I consider the text for a moment before I reply. I’m at dinner. Can’t leave yet.

  But I don’t want to be alone right now, she texts back.

  Okay Mom. After dinner. I respond, my stomach already sinking.

  A moment later, her response arrives. Whatever. I knew you wouldn’t want to help.

  Ah, guilt. The gift that keeps on giving. Be there in one hour. I toss my phone back into my purse. I already know the process. It’s going to be blowing up for the rest of the night: first anger, then guilt trips, then self-flagellation and bitterness—like clockwork.

  And there it is, I suppose, my inner demons summed up and served on a golden plate. I’ll be damned if I’m going to change my tune now…especially for someone like Jagger Crane.

  6

  Jagger

  The event center is in Williamsburg, which puts it fifteen minutes away from my apartment. If I were in a hurry, I could take an Uber, but after being cooped up in an office with Charlotte all day, I could use the chance to stretch my legs.

  It’s one of those late summer nights where the air is cool and you know fall is fast approaching. Charlotte thinks I’m married to my job, and she’s right in the sense that I haven’t dated anyone seriously in more than two years out of dedication to moving up at Sloan Marketing. But she’s wrong that my life begins and ends at the office.

  I glance at my watch as I make my way down Bedford Avenue and stop to adjust the paper-covered frame under my arm. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about my work being auctioned off, open to the scrutiny of everyone at the event, but it’s for a good cause.

  I know what it’s like to be a kid from the rough part of the city, doubtful of my abilities and desperate for a way out of the cycle I grew up in. Even though my sports abilities are practically nonexistent, I can appreciate what the Baldwin twins are doing. They’re young successful athletes who chose to use their fame to give back to the community. When my old fine art professor reached out to ask if I was interested in donating a painting, I eagerly accepted. After a couple weeks of work, I came up with something that I hope will at least look good in some socialite’s living room. It’s abstract, but it plays with color, and it’s nice to know that my graphic design skills are still sharp.

  The event is already bustling with activity when I arrive. After signing in, I watch the spritely assistant carry my artwork over to a display case, where she proudly hangs it up. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me, and I hurry to the bar to soothe it, helping myself to a bourbon on the rocks and wandering around to look at the other paintings.

  After a few minutes, the brothers themselves come to stand at the front of the room, both looking in top form. “Thank you all for coming tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” says the hockey player. I think he’s River. “I never thought I’d host one of these things again, but I couldn’t be happier to be here.”

  “Go ahead and enjoy your drinks, have fun,” says the other brother, Hudson. “The silent auction will start in about one hour, so feel free to have a look around. And remember, all of the proceeds of this event will go directly towards sports scholarships for kids who grew up less fortunate than we did. Thank you.”

  There’s a round of brisk applause as the twins retreat to their girlfriends—a lithe blonde and a tall, dark-skinned woman—who are brimming with pride as they wait for their significant others at the front table.

  Still unsure what I’m supposed to be doing with myself as a donor, I make my way around the room in a slow circle, eyeing the other paintings, photographs, sculptures, and collectibles that are up for auction. There’s a pang of insecurity in my gut as I ogle what’s on offer. Just because I’ve put effort into honing my skills doesn’t make me feel any less self-conscious about having my work on display. I pause in front of my deconstruction poster design, which seems unassuming and provincial in comparison, slugging down the rest of my whiskey.

  “Aren’t the volunteers, like, not supposed to drink the booze?” comes an all-too-familiar voice from behind me.

  No fucking way.

  I turn to see Charlotte standing behind me, giving my work a scrutinizing look. If I didn’t know her already, I might do a double-take. She’s dressed to kill in a little black dress, the kind you might wear for a night out on the town, and her fiery hair is piled on top of her head, highlighting her long, slender neck. Three tiny gold earrings line her right ear, one on the left.

  For a moment I’m stunned into silence by both her looks and her sudden arrival, but I manage to get my composure long enough to ask, “Are you following me?”

  “What?” She laughs as if I’ve lost my mind, her cute button nose scrunching up. “Hell no, don’t flatter yourself. I just got done having dinner with Katharine. Figured I would come across the bridge to see what was happening.”

  “So, your idea of a fun Friday night is suddenly going to charity auctions?” I am not one bit convinced she’s not up to something.

  “Not exactly,” she shoots back. There’s a blanket of sadness over her eyes, worry weeping out of her pores. A part of me wants to probe, find out what’s bothering her, but I quickly dismiss the thought. Charlotte Sloan isn’t my business.

  “What brought you here then?”

  She flashes me a smile, her heart-shaped lips lifting at the corners and revealing straight, white teeth. “I’m here for the eye candy.”

  Figures. “I didn’t realize you were invited since it’s a private event.”

  “I wasn’t.” She pokes my side and winks. “I have connections.”

  For some strange reason, a part of me is glad she’s here.

  “Is this one yours?” she asks as she edges closer to inspect my poster.

  “Yep.” I make a give-it-to-me motion with my hands. “Go for it, I know I’m no Basquiat.”

  She grabs a glass of champagne from a passing server, then takes a sip of bubbly. I watch her red lips touch the rim of the glass, the way she swallows the drink down. My dick has the audacity to stir. To my relief, she moves a step forward while she examines the poster. “It’s actually…nice. I wouldn’t mind having it in my living room if I’m being honest. I like the digital collage elements and minimal style.”

  My heart thumps hard against my chest. The compliment is unexpected, and it throws me off a bit. “I used creative typography elements and geometric shapes mixed with real photography to create it.”

  And I’m officially the biggest nerd.

  “It’s very good.” She arches a brow at me. “Is this your hobby?”

  More like a dream, but no need to divulge that bit of information. “Something lik
e that.”

  She continues to watch me with a thoughtful frown. “You have more of these?”

  “I do.”

  “A man of few words, Mr. Crane?” she asks, owning my last name in a way no one has ever come close to. The corner of her mouth twitches upwards, and there’s a hint of something in her voice. I can’t tell if she’s teasing or flirting with me.

  I don’t have time to wonder, though, because a voice from behind us pulls our attention away from my work.

  “I’ll be damned. Is that Charlotte Sloan?”

  I turn to see River Baldwin approaching us, flanked by another guy who I can only imagine is also an athlete. River grins from ear to ear, extending a hand to Charlotte, who beams back at him. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think we’d see you or your dad here.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” she admits. “But I was in the neighborhood, and…well.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Consider me a stand-in for my dad, if that helps.”

  River laughs and turns to me. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m River Baldwin.”

  “Jagger Crane.” I shake his hand. “I’m one of the donors.”

  “Thank you for doing that—it’s appreciated,” he says, giving my artwork a cursory nod. He turns to the guy he’s with. “This is Garrett Zimmerman. He’s the Cobras’ goalie.”

  “Pleasure,” Garrett says, giving me a brisk handshake before turning back to Charlotte and introducing himself. His eyes are shining as they sweep up her form, and an inexplicable tension roots in my chest. “It’s fantastic to meet someone from the Sloan family,” he gushes. The meathead takes her hand in his. “I’ve heard a lot about you guys. Although I have to say, the rumors don’t do you justice.”

  Charlotte gives him a coquettish smile. I knew she was a flirt, but seeing her in action for the first time, I’m almost impressed.

  “Is that so?” she asks.

  “I’ve seen pictures of you. You’re much more beautiful in person,” Garrett tells her with a grin.