Love/Hate: The Complete Enemies to Lovers Series

by Lilian Monroe

  “That was rough,” she says. I can see the pity in her eyes, and I take the wine with a nod.

  “I’m not even sure what just happened.”

  “As soon as we’re done cleaning up, me and the rest of the team are going to polish off all these open wine bottles. You want to join?”

  I glance behind her at the other staff. One blonde girl smiles at me tentatively.

  The girl beside me extends her hand. “I’m Red.” She flicks her braid in explanation, and I nod.

  “Thanks… yeah. That sounds pretty good, actually,” I snort. “I’m sorry, I’m just in shock. I’ll just go grab my purse.”

  Red smiles at me, and I nod before letting my feet take me back toward the auditorium. I don’t usually drink very much, and I haven’t had a real friend besides my sister since I married Randy.

  But right now, nothing makes sense. Polishing off a bunch of cheap wine sounds pretty good.

  4

  Liam

  My feet take me up the steps to the stage, and before I know it, I’m staring at bright lights and human silhouettes. I glance toward the table where the woman was sitting.

  With the stage lights shining toward me, all I see are amorphous human forms, waiting patiently for me to speak. I pull my eyes away from her, even though I can still sense her presence.

  I’ve been with lots of women. Recently, more than usual. Losing my ability to run made me want to fill the void with something else.

  But she was different. She wasn’t looking at me with that hungry, horny, greedy look that a lot of women have. There was something in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. Fire. Passion. Life.

  My cock is still rock hard and I am silently grateful for the podium in front of me.

  I clear my throat and flash a smile at the room. This is yet another speaking engagement that my PR-obsessed brother scheduled for me. Being the good brother that I am—and of course, with the ever-constant threat of my parents cutting off my funding—I agreed.

  So here I am, staring at a sea of people who have nothing to do with running, or heart defects, or mayoral campaigns.

  The best and the brightest of the construction industry are here—engineers and project managers and supervisors celebrating their successes.

  And then there’s me.

  “Good evening, and congratulations to all of you.” I smile, and the whole room applauds. God, this is going to be easy. “When my brother told me that he wanted me to speak at the Denver Construction Awards, I wasn’t sure if I would have the right footwear. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn steel-toed boots.”

  I pause for a laugh, and my eyes are pulled toward the woman’s table.

  Is she laughing?

  Maybe she actually enjoys these things.

  Or maybe, like me, she thinks ‘networking’ is a twenty-first century form of torture. I deliver my speech with all the typical jokes, clichés, and sayings that Adrian’s speech writer put together for me. The crowd eats that shit up. Or at least, it sounds like they do. Maybe they’ve just been conditioned to enjoy these types of things.

  Mercifully, my speech ends and I’m able to walk off the stage. My eyes immediately drift to the woman’s table, but all I see is an empty seat.

  Looks like she falls into the ‘networking=torture’ camp. I frown, a part of my ego bruised that she couldn’t even sit through my speech.

  I shake a couple hands and duck past a few more, making a bee line toward the exit. My duty is done, and it’s time for me to get the fuck out of here. I get to the exit at the back of the room and glance once more toward the woman’s table.

  She’s still not there, and a sliver of disappointment pierces my chest. I push open the door and step out—

  Thud.

  Straight into a warm body. She makes a noise, and we both tumble to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. I hear the crunch of plastic and feel something wet soaking into my chest. The woman groans under me, and I prop myself up on my elbows.

  It’s her.

  Our faces are inches apart on the ground. Her chest is pressed against mine, and my thigh is nestled between hers. Her golden hair is splayed out around her head like a halo. In about four milliseconds, she’s going to feel just how much I’m enjoying this position.

  Before that happens, I peel myself off her, and give her a hand up. She huffs, brushing her hair out of her face.

  “Thanks,” she sighs. Her eyes flick up to mine, and I see tears gathering on her lashes. “And sorry.”

  “My fault.” I’m still holding her hand, and she nods to my shirt.

  “No, I mean I’m sorry about your shirt.”

  I glance down at myself, and then at her. Both of us are covered in massive purple splotches—red wine. I see the shards of the crushed plastic glass on the floor at our feet, along with more droplets of wine.

  “Fuck,” I breathe. My $700 shirt is ruined, and a flash of annoyance passes through me. I was planning on going straight out to the club after this obligation was done, but it looks like I’m going to have to change first. Then, I glance up at her and see her biting those sexy, lush lips of hers as misty tears cling to her eyelashes.

  Annoyance is quickly replaced with lust. She’s even more gorgeous up close.

  I shrug, brushing my chest as if it’ll help the stain. “At least we saved the carpet.”

  Her lips twitch and she nods. “Yeah. Silver lining.”

  “Are you okay?” Damn, I want to fuck this woman.

  She squares her shoulders and adjusts her slim-fitting navy dress. “Yeah,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You look—”

  “Girl just got fired, bro,” a voice says behind her. I glance over the woman’s shoulder to see a red-haired waitress stacking dishes. She flicks her thick braid over her shoulder and looks at me with an arched eyebrow. “Give her a break. Or a new dress, or something. Damn.”

  I look back at the woman. “I, uh… sorry to hear that.”

  She laughs, shaking her head. Then she sighs, staring at the ceiling, and laughs some more.

  “It’s fine. It’s just a dress. The job—that one hurts a bit more.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m the Media Relations Manager—well, I was. PR, basically.” She smiles sadly, shaking her head.

  “I’m Liam.” I blurt.

  “Ashley.” Her eyes drop to my lips. Her tongue darts out to moisten her pink lips and my whole body vibrates.

  “You want to grab a drink?” I want to reach out and grab her hand, pull her in close to my body. She felt perfect, pinned underneath me. Hopefully, in an hour or two, we’ll be right back in that position. I’ll tangle my fingers in her long blonde hair and make her scream my name, over and over and over.

  Her eyes widen and her lips part. They’re so fucking kissable it hurts. She takes a deep breath and I watch her chest heave, and then she deflates like an old balloon.

  She shakes her head. “Thanks, but maybe another time. I’ve got plans.”

  “Plans? You’re not going to stay at this lame-ass event after you got fired, are you? What could be better than having a drink with me?”

  She smiles sadly. “I liked you better from a distance. Sorry about your shirt.”

  And then, Ashley brushes past me and walks straight back into the auditorium. The door closes behind her and I stand frozen until I hear someone laughing behind me.

  It’s the red-headed waitress. She shrugs at me. “Sorry, bro.”

  “I’m not your bro.”

  She scoffs, and I stalk out the door and into the street. The cool night air hits me and I fill my lungs, glancing back toward the building in annoyance.

  I can’t believe she actually turned me down! Plans? What plans could she possibly have? I’d already been imagining all the positions that I’d bend her into as soon as I was alone with her. I’d make up for her getting fired all fucking night long.

  But no. She had ‘plan
s’.

  I’m not used to getting rejected, and this time it stings more than usual. I’m not even sure why.

  I stomp out of the venue, angry at her and angry at myself for being angry at her. I’m a fucking mess, and I know it. I just need to go out and find some other hot blonde to get my dick wet.

  I jump in the back of the waiting black sedan and tell my driver to take me home. Once I’m changed, I’ll go to the club and forget I ever met her.

  5

  Ashley

  Becky frowns at me when I grab my purse.

  “What was all that about?”

  “The multi-story building demolition.”

  “What about it?”

  “Apparently there have been some serious noise complaints, and I’m the one who has to take the fall.”

  “What?” She hisses. The MC is on stage, droning on about something that has suddenly become unbearable to me. I never wanted to work in this industry. I used to work with artists, athletes, celebrities—not construction workers.

  Tears prickle at my eyes and I shake my head. “John fired me.”

  “He what?” Becky’s eyes widen and she leans toward me.

  Then, her name is called out over the speakers. A spotlight swings to her and the whole room starts applauding. The big screen flashes with Woman Engineer of the Year. Becky glances at the screen and back at me. Her mouth opens and closes.

  I squeeze her hand. “Congrats, Becky. Don’t barf on stage.”

  A laugh falls out of her and she stands up. “This conversation isn’t over.” Then, I watch her put on her best smile and stride toward the stage. All eyes are on her, and I take the opportunity to slip away.

  The conversation with her might not be over, but that doesn’t mean it has to happen tonight. Right now, I just need to get out of here.

  I slip out the door and breathe a sigh of relief. Red pokes her head out from another door across the lobby and nods to me.

  “Yo, Goldilocks!” She grins. “Through here.”

  I’m not quite sure exactly what I’m doing, but I let my feet carry me toward her. She swings the door open wider and I step through to a long hallway. Red walks beside me, pointing her chin toward a door at the other end.

  “Everyone is through there.”

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I breathe, trotting to keep up with her long, purposeful strides. “I feel like I need a drink.”

  “It’s tradition.” She glances at me, letting her eyes travel up and down me before turning forward again. It feels like she’s sizing me up, and I don’t know if I pass her test or not.

  “What’s tradition? Drinking cheap wine after getting wrongfully fired?”

  Red laughs and her eyes gleam. “That too,” she gins. “No, I meant drinking all the leftover wine after one of these events. You guys sure do know how to over-order. Either that, or the catering company knows how to overcharge.”

  We get to the door. Without breaking stride, Red kicks it open. It swings inward to reveal a group of waiters in various states of relaxation. One guy—I noticed him passing out canapés—has his feet up on a chair and is casually smoking a joint. He has an eyebrow ring and tattoos on his knuckles. Two girls have stripped off their work uniforms and are wearing regular clothes now. They’re all a bit younger than I am, but right now, I don’t mind. Being in the company of strangers is weirdly comforting.

  Red hands me a glass of wine and turns to the crowd.

  “This is the chick I was talking about. Motherfucker fired her on the spot for something she didn’t do!”

  “Fuck,” the two girls say in unison, shaking their heads.

  The joint-smoker glances my way with an appraising eye, and then holds the spliff toward me. I blush and shake my head.

  “No, thanks.”

  He shrugs and takes a drag. I feel out of place, and yet I still feel comfortable. Everything in my life is going wrong, but I’ve lost the energy to care about it. Last night, I decided that it was time for me to move on and become myself again—maybe this is just my first opportunity to do exactly that.

  Red drags me toward the group and introduces me to everyone in quick succession. I don’t remember anyone’s name, except one girl with straight blonde hair, Claire. She’s got multi-colored makeup on her eyelids, with a dramatic black eyeliner. She looks ethereal and gorgeous and completely out of place amidst off-duty waiters.

  “So, the catering company doesn’t mind you guys drinking the leftover wine?”

  “What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Red winks. She flops down onto a chair and puts her combat-booted feet up on a table.

  “Cheers to that,” Claire laughs. “What’d you get fired for?”

  “Noise complaints.”

  “Really?”

  I nod.

  “You should sue them,” Red says, shaking her head. She drains her glass and then points it at me. “For real. That’s wrongful termination.”

  “Probably,” I sigh. “If I could afford a lawyer, maybe I would.” Randy had life insurance, but after a year, it’s not going to last much longer. My sister is a lawyer, but I’ve been leaning on her far too much lately. I’ve only been at Hansen Constructions for three months—still in the probationary period. I’m pretty sure John can fire me without warning.

  And plus, I’m not even sure I want to pursue this. It just sounds… tiring.

  I stare at the wine in my glass, and then catch a glimpse of the stain on my dress. Claire sees me touch the stain and puts up a finger. She digs around in her purse and pulls out a top. It’s a dark blue top, almost the same color as my dress.

  “You could wear that over your dress,” she smiles. “Here.” She takes the shirt and pulls it over my head and then ties it at the side. She fluffs my hair up and then takes a step back, biting her lip. Reaching into her purse, she takes out a makeup compact and starts patting my face.

  “You got any mascara?” She asks. “I would share, but…” she makes a face. “You know, bacteria.”

  I chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to share mascara anyway. In my purse, in the side pocket.” She rummages through my purse and finds the mascara. Usually, I would feel uncomfortable with someone looking through my things, but not today.

  Maybe it’s the shock of losing my job, or maybe it’s being in the company of people who seem to have accepted me into their fold without so much as asking my name. Whatever it is, my shoulders start to relax and I take a deep breath.

  Claire finishes my makeup and smiles. “Good.” She motions to a mirror on the wall.

  My eyebrows shoot up. Somehow, in a matter of seconds, she’s transformed my face. My blue eyes are popping, and my cheekbones look razor-sharp.

  “How did you do that?”

  Red grins. “Claire’s a master.”

  Claire shrugs. “I watch a lot of YouTube tutorials.”

  Red snorts. “This girl has over three hundred thousand followers on Instagram. She gets paid fucking crazy money by sponsors to post random photos of herself wearing their makeup.”

  I laugh. “What? Really?! Why are you doing this?” I sweep my hand around the room.

  Claire smiles shyly. “I want to start my own makeup line. This pays the bills, and my sponsorship money goes toward the business.”

  “She’s a fucking genius,” Red grins, grabbing a bottle of wine. She tips it toward her glass and then stops to reconsider. She takes a slug straight out of the bottle instead.

  Claire shakes her head. “You’re the computer science nerd. I just get paid to look pretty.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, and a pang of guilt shoots through me. I misjudged her—all of them. By the sounds of it, everyone in this room is hustling to get what they want. When I first walked into the awards ceremony, I didn’t even give them a second look.

  I follow Red’s lead and grab another bottle of wine. There are at least two dozen opened bottles sitting on the table. I drain my glass and plop myself down on a chair.

  “Atta gir
l,” Red grins.

  The joint-smoker gets up off his chair and drags it toward me. He sits down beside me, leaning back in the chair and staring at me.

  He’s got dark, messy hair and hooded grey eyes. His face is angular, and I see hints of tattoos poking out from under his shirt. He’s good-looking. Even from my dark, celibate, post-Randy haze, I can see that he’s attractive.

  The way he’s looking at me makes something stir inside me—or maybe that’s the wine. I’m not used to men looking at me like that.

  For the second time tonight, it’s like something is waking up inside me. Desire. When I look at the guy beside me, I don’t feel that spark in the pit of my stomach that I had in the lobby with Liam. I don’t have that irresistible pull dragging me toward him, or that voice in my head screaming that it’s a bad idea.

  But this guy—he’s got bad boy written all over him. His ink, his attitude, his eyes… maybe I just need to finally get over Randy and sleep with someone.

  Why not him?

  “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing hanging out with a bunch of deadbeats like us?”

  “I wouldn’t call them deadbeats at all,” I say, nodding toward Red and Claire. They’re both staring at the guy with raised eyebrows. Red rolls her eyes.

  “Benji, give me a break. And also, give her a break. Girl just got fired, she doesn’t need your lame-ass pick-up lines.”

  I laugh and fill up my glass again. Benji flashes a smile at me, and the side of my lips twitch upward.

  Yes, I think it’s time I got over Randy. It’s time I let men back in my life.

  I’ve been broken, and I’ve picked myself back up. I’ve found a job, and then been fired over nothing. I won’t let that break me, either.

  Tonight is just a test, I decide. It’s the first bad thing to happen to me since the night that Randy died. It’s the first time that my strength is tested.

  Yes, I was fired, but I’ll survive.

  No, I’ll thrive.

  I glance at Benji again, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he takes a slug of beer. He doesn’t excite me the way that Liam Maguire did earlier, but he could definitely scratch an itch.