Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers

by Hayle, Olivia

  Look But Don't Touch

  Enemies to Lovers

  Olivia Hayle

  Contents

  1. Ada

  2. Grant

  3. Ada

  4. Grant

  5. Ada

  6. Grant

  7. Ada

  8. Grant

  9. Ada

  10. Grant

  11. Ada

  12. Grant

  13. Ada

  14. Grant

  15. Ada

  16. Grant

  17. Ada

  18. Grant

  19. Grant

  20. Ada

  21. Ada

  22. Grant

  23. Ada

  24. Ada

  25. Grant

  26. Ada

  27. Grant

  28. Ada

  Epilogue

  Let’s keep in touch

  About Olivia

  Authors note

  Copyright © 2019 Oliva Hayle

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be distributed or transmitted without the prior consent of the publisher, except in case of brief quotations used for review or promotion.

  1

  Ada

  It’s not that I always end up half-naked in a cab in the Bronx when I go out. It’s just that, well, I sometimes do. And twice is apparently two times too many, if my father is to be believed.

  "Ada, this has to stop." His hands were at his temples, flecked with grey. “Please.”

  "I know," I said.

  There was no point in excuses or justifications. We had been through too much for that, the both of us.

  Dad sat down opposite me on my blue velvet couch. His wedding band slid along his ring finger. He still hadn’t gained back the weight he lost after Max.

  “Ada. What do you want me to do? What can I do?”

  I forced a smile for his benefit. There was so much, and all of it too little, and far too late. “I’m fine, Dad. Truly. And I don’t want you to worry about me.”

  He stood abruptly and moved to the windows, the view one of a snowy Central Park. The bare branches were heavy with frost.

  "I can't lose you too." He spoke to the city, as if it were easier to face than me. "I just can't. Ada, you’re turning twenty-four next year. It's been a year since your graduation and nearly two years since Max."

  “Two and a half,” I corrected him. Two years, seven months and four days.

  "I don't care much for how you spend your days, but it's your nights that worry me. I won't lose you as well."

  “You won’t,” I said, playing with a thread in my sleeve. Somehow I need him to realize that the partying, surrounding myself with people - it’s a survival mechanism. It’s not personal.

  “I want you to accompany me to the Hathaway’s new years ball tonight.”

  “No, Dad, I can’t-“

  “And starting Monday next week, I will make sure you can start an internship at Hathaway’s.”

  “No, thank you. I’m not interested,” I ground out. He had the best intentions, of that I had no doubt, despite not knowing how to communicate with me. He’d never been too good at doing that with his children.

  “It’s not an offer. It’s an ultimatum. Addie, I’m making the access to your trust fund dependent on this.”

  “On this internship?”

  “You were to gain access at age twenty-five, but I’m adding a three-month internship at Hathaway’s first as an addendum. I’ve already been in contact with the lawyers. I want you dressed and ready at nine tonight for the event, and then at work at eight o’clock every morning.”

  I gave a vain tug at my silk bathrobe. He’d showed up, unannounced, and it was only two in the afternoon. So what if I was still in my PJs? Cheap shot.

  "Which division?"

  I knew better than to get vocal and angry with Dad. It'd never been the way to win an argument with him. Max had known how to make our case, methodically and empirically, but he was gone.

  “Executive,” Dad said. “I’m going to ask Grant to supervise your internship.”

  I flew up from my seat. “What? Grant? There is absolutely no way I will work in close contact with him.”

  Dad sighed and narrowed his eyes at me. He looked disappointed, but then again, I found it hard to remember him ever wearing any other expression.

  "He is the CEO and executive partner of the auction house. I trust him. There is absolutely no one else I would entrust to oversee your internship."

  I gave him a small pout and my very best, saddest eyes. It was a pathetic display, but then again, it’s Grant. The man had never smiled in his life. I couldn’t handle him being my overseer.

  We would tear each other apart.

  “You’re only proving my point, Ada. I can’t give you and your antics to just anyone. They’d either kill you or worship at your feet within a week.”

  “And you think Grant won’t?”

  Dad opened his briefcase, taking out a stack of documents and placing them on my granite countertop. “I know he won’t, try as you may.”

  Dad’s trust in Grant was like an owner’s belief in their well-mannered dog. Don’t worry, he won’t bite.

  I gave a sudden smile. Maybe I could push Grant just far enough for him to break his leash and snap.

  "I want you to read through this before Monday," Dad said. "It's an overview of all of the firm's divisions and background info of the main real estate, art and artifacts that have been sold in the past year. I suggest you read up on it."

  I knew he was waiting for me to say thank you, but for the life of me, I couldn’t force myself to say the words. There was so much I had wanted from him, for so long, but the past few years had made it painfully clear that I’d never get it. So I remained quiet.

  Dad coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well then, I suppose I’ll be off. I’ll see you tonight - I’ll be outside in the car at nine. And Ada?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t screw this up. You won’t get any more chances like this.”

  The door shut behind him, and my apartment was once again quiet, empty and lonely. I sighed and grabbed the stack of documents - and a bowl of cereal - before nestling down on the couch.

  Working with Grant. The man hated me, had never been able to stand that his perfect mentor had somehow produced two less than perfect children. Obsessed with his achievements and numbers, living for the business. I smiled, thinking about the many ways we'd sparred in the past. It had been a long time since we'd had one of our verbal duels.

  These months were likely going to be excruciating, nerve-racking, angering and one hundred percent sure to go wrong.

  And it might just be the most fun I’d had in years.

  2

  Grant

  It was four-thirty and I'd finished outlining the coming week with Linda when my former mentor knocked on the door. The next board meeting wasn't for another week. What was he doing in the city?

  “Arthur?”

  “Grant.” He gave me a wide smile. He’d always been kinder to me than I deserved. “I’m sorry to bother you unannounced like this. I know your days are busy.”

  He sat down in the sleek chair opposite my desk, crossing his legs.

  “I always have time for you.”

  The old man had been an inspiration to me for years - longer than I care to remember - and he means more to me than I think he knows. The past two years had been hard on him and his family, and the pain and stress show.

  He gave a deep sigh. "I hope you know that I respect what you've done with the company."

  “Thank you.”

  “And I don’t mean to intrude, or to int
erfere.”

  I tapped my fingers against the desk. “Tell me what you need, Arthur.”

  “It’s about Ada.”

  I tensed, immediately wary. I had interacted with his daughter only a few times at functions and charity events, had posed for a few photos for the company's sake with them all. The perfect family, the beautiful Hathaway's. I couldn't say we'd ever spoken for long, but I knew her well enough to say I didn't like her.

  Not in the least.

  Spoiled, beautiful and self-centered, she had never once let me forget that I had been her fathers lackey at first. Privilege oozed out of every pore - not the type her father had worked his entire life to acquire - but the one that came with the effortless achievement of having been born.

  Yeah. I did not like Ada Hathaway.

  “What about her?”

  "I want to find her a position in the company. No, wait, before you object," Arthur said with a raised hand. "I can see the look on your face. I mean as an intern. She graduated top of her class at Yale, and you know she's intelligent."

  I didn’t, exactly, but nodded as if that was a given. “Of course, but Arthur, she has very little experience in terms of auctioneering, not to mention business or marketing.”

  “She completed a summer internship for Architectural Digest during her senior year,” he argued. “Had nothing but glowing reviews.”

  I respectfully held off from mentioning the string of paparazzi photos or the mentions in the tabloids she'd racketed up since then, the many late nights when her father had been called to come and pick her up at one place or another by police or security.

  Her exploits had become as famous as she had. I could understand why Arthur was desperate.

  “I’m not sure Hathaway’s will be a good fit for her,” I said honestly.

  Seeing the despair in his eyes, I felt nothing but distaste for Ada. Didn't she realize she was breaking his heart with this juvenile behavior? He’d gone through enough.

  “Alright, Arthur. But if I agree, if-“ I raised a warning finger, “she needs to show up on time and show respect to the employees. I don’t read the tabloids, but I’m not blind.”

  Arthurs jaw worked, and I saw the frustration and temper in his eyes. Not at me, but at the spoiled creature he was related to.

  “Of course. And I would be a phone call away the entire time.”

  “Have you spoken to her about this? What does Ada say?”

  “She’s excited at the prospect.”

  I resisted the urge to snort. I didn’t believe that for a second, having seen her pay only a marginal interest in her father’s business over the years.

  “I’m sure there are areas we could find a place for her. Perhaps Greek Artifacts? Or the Oriental division down on Madison and 62nd?” I’d do anything to get her as far away as possible from the headquarters and out of my way.

  Arthur shook his head. “I would ideally want her here, next to you. An internship as your assistant perhaps?”

  It was a ludicrous suggestion. I would hate having to spend three months tethered to the hip of a socialite who owed everything to her last name. I only did that on occasion, and then only for one night - when we could both leave the next morning.

  But this time? I wouldn't even get sex out of the deal.

  "I have a secretary. Linda. She is very good at her job."

  “I know. She was once mine,” Arthur said with a small smile. “But I’m sure there are things she could hand over to Ada, and things you need done.”

  I shifted in my seat, intensely uncomfortable. There was no way Ada was going to be here, with me, for three months. It would not only hinder the effectiveness of my unit but make working here a damn sight more difficult.

  And I'd be damned if I gave the founder's daughter a cushy time, even for Arthur's sake.

  “I don’t-“

  “Please.” Arthur leaned forward. “At least consider it. I’m not asking you to give her special treatment. She needs to perform according to your specifications, of course. And you have the right to fire her if she misbehaves or steps out of line. Don’t go easy on her because she’s my daughter, alright? All I’m asking is that you give her a foot in the door.”

  It wasn't too much to ask, in lieu of everything Arthur had done for me. He'd once given me a foot in the door, and now I was the CEO of the company he had spent his life building. Guilt, acidic and annoying, rose up in me.

  I opened my mouth to offer up one final argument but he cut me off.

  "Before you say no, Grant, think on it for a day. Let Ada and I attend the company's New Years social tonight and decide for yourself. She's ready to begin on Monday if you agree."

  I pushed a silver pen back in place on my desk, avoiding the plea in his eyes. "Of course, Arthur. I'll see you both there tonight."

  “Yes. And thank you again for considering it, truly, Grant. It’s always a joy to see what you’ve done with the place. I know she’ll see that too.”

  I doubted that, but I gave him a short smile. We shook hands and he left with a cheery wave. I leaned back in my chair and heard him dimly make small talk with Linda outside my office. This day had gone from great to terrible in the span of five minutes. I felt as if he had put a great burden at my door, one there was no chance of escaping from.

  I had about seven hours to figure out a way.

  * * *

  "Mr. Wood. Having a good evening?"

  I nodded to the coat check and headed into the event hall Hathaway's usually rented for these company events. Small, but important in boosting morale - a common feature in the company's history.

  I tugged at the sleeve of my suit. I knew what my role was at events like this. Be seen, shake hands, make small talk with as many employees as possible. Listen patiently to breathless pitches and be asked to give my opinion.

  And then to leave, so the others could relax and the actual party could start. People wanted the CEO there until it was time to dance and flirt and drink.

  Although tonight, I’d have Ada Hathaway to contest with.

  Marc, the head of marketing, sidled up to me. “New year, new events.”

  I nodded and took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “Indeed.”

  "Did you have a nice New Years Eve?"

  “Yes. There’s really nothing special about it, is there?”

  Marc gave me a sideways grin. “Can’t say I agree. We partied in style.”

  "I can only imagine," I said with a snort. No doubt Marc and his partner had thrown one for the ages. I'd spent the evening at a hotel with skyline view, a hot tub and a date. 42-ounce steak and pepper sauce. It had been fine.

  “Oh, look! Arthur’s here, and he’s not alone.” Marc’s incredulity was clear. I followed his line of vision to the two people rapidly advancing.

  One, the grey-haired former CEO and still a significant shareholder, Arthur Hathaway.

  The other, his long-legged, blonde nightmare of a daughter, Ada. It had been a long time since I’d seen her last, nearly half a year, and she’s just as effortlessly sensual as always. Seeing her made my stomach clench, my muscles lock down - it’s a physical instinct. I can’t deny her beauty, like that of a deadly insect or a toxic flower. Warning me to stay away.

  She gave me an angelic smile as they stop before us.

  “Arthur! It’s great to see you here,” Marc said as the two of them shook hands.

  “Likewise. It’s been far too long.”

  The two began to talk and Ada turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Ada.”

  “Grant.” Her voice was sweet. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

  “Likewise.”

  “How about we leave the kids to it?” Arthur said and put a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “I want to hear all about the new apartment.”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Of course…” Their voices trailed off, and alone we were, eyeing one another.

  “Kids, huh?
” Ada said. “Must have been a long time someone called you that, Grant.”

  I forced my jaw to unclench. I couldn’t blame Arthur for slipping in his language, even if it was in front of my employees. “It was. I understand you get it daily?”

  Her eyes flashed, just slightly, enough to remind me why we usually avoid each other. Nothing good comes from our interactions.

  She ignored my comment. “Happy new year, Grant. I’m sure you had a great New Years’ Eve?”

  “I did.” I took a sip of my champagne and looked down at her. Eyes as blue as ice stared coolly back. The punchline was yet to come, I wagered.

  “I’m guessing you spent it going through Excel charts, checking off last years accomplishments and setting next years?”

  “Of course,” I said calmly. “How about you? Were you even conscious during the ball drop?”

  Ada laughed darkly and looked away. “Let us not quarrel.”

  "I thought that was what we did best?" And my hair would go grey if I'd have to deal with it daily for the coming three months. Arthur was desperate and delusional - there was no way I could have her on the executive wing.

  Ada moved in closer and a whiff of her perfume hit me. Expensive floral notes, mingled with her own scent. My body reacted instinctively and I cursed it for finding her so desirable. Off-limits, Grant.

  “It is. But can you imagine how fun we’ll have going at it for three months?”

  I took another fortifying sip of my champagne. “You’d have to live up to my expectations.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “My other employees manage. You’ll be like any other intern, Ada. No special treatment.”