Nemesis (Enemies-to-lovers Standalone)

by Maya Rose

  Not really interested in my answer, he walks up to the main door of the mansion that faces us, and I have no choice but to let him be in the front.

  His assholery in pointing out the obvious aside, he’s right though. So he’s scorching hot and I’m not blind. So what? I need to give it a rest with this petty horndog crap. For now. Now’s not the time. But like a masochistic moron, I’m hoping there will be a time. I don’t like him but the thought of never again feeling that sensation he awakened with that kiss...it’s crushing. Once, just once, I want to know what it’s like when he loses himself bodily in a woman. When he screams out princess and empties his essence in me.

  The question blitzes through, paralyzing, and out of nowhere. Is this how it started for mom?

  Chapter 4

  Eli

  ◆◆◆

  >>Selena: And?

  My watch buzzes with that single word message from Selena. I get my phone out, quickening my pace, after surly old Edna lets us in and looks at us like we need a shower. She’s always done that. Because Jenna always looked at me like that. I can only imagine what she might think of Ariel, but no way has Warren told anyone who Ariel is.

  I hope those damn shoes I gave her make her feet bleed when she tries to keep up with me. I resist watching her take it all in. The opulence in every corner of this needlessly big mansion in Southampton, where Warren lives alone with house staff and nurses. Polished long hallways with gilt lined mirrors and floor to ceiling windows, marble floors, lifesize statues, endless array of rooms, a massive patio we pass on our side, huge chandeliers that should be donated to museums...Jenna’s tastes were exorbitant and garish and dated. And now it makes sense why Warren did not question a single expense. What with being on a lifelong quest to compensate for adultery. She could have just left him. But I guess staying to make him miserable, wasting his own money, was a much more fulfilling life choice. This is exactly why relationships are a fucking mistake. Bringing out the worst in people. Difficult to stay in, and impossible to get closure out of.

  >>Selena: ??

  My watch vibrates on my skin again. Oh for shit’s sake Selena. So damn impatient. Needs everything when she needs it. I know what she’s asking, but after the night I’ve had, I don’t want to go there right now. I stick to the crux of it when I text her back.

  >>Me: At Warren’s. She’s with me.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have told her. Warren has a daughter. But I had to tell someone. I have to make sure someone’s on my side depending on how this unfolds. Except I know I’m fooling myself. She’s probably as self serving as they come. The writing’s on the wall. I don’t have a side. Or I have one, it’s just empty.

  >>Selena: What’s she like? Dumb and ugly?

  I stifle a dry laugh at her vain angling. ‘She’...is walking at my side, and my eyes find hers like a homing beacon without thinking. Hoping that somehow, she might have miraculously transformed into Selena’s description. But nope. I’m still screwed. Her thumb is absently toying with her lips, her juicy mouth half puckered around it when our eyes meet. She uses that damn finger to curl her lower lip out before letting it go. That flash of moist pink. Fuck. Me. She keeps her face bland, but her eyes pack a punch. I can bet my life they don’t miss a thing.

  I rip my eyes away, thankful when the phone comes alive in my palm again. I’ve taken too long to respond in Selena-time.

  >> El???

  Irritation prickles me. My name is short enough without her having to half ass it. Goddamn women.

  I ignore it, returning the phone into my pocket. She’s going to have to wait. I make my way up the flight of stairs, without seeing if Ariel’s following. Warren’s room is the second one to the left. I pause only when I get to the door.

  But she’s right behind me. When I look at her, she faces me, like this--all of this--is no big deal. Like meeting the father who never accepted her as his own, is a regular Friday night for her. Tempting me to try and knock her off that damn high horse she’s on. But the memory of the car won’t let me. It’s imprinted in my brain. Her, skittish, trembling, holding me like I’m her salvation. Creeping under my skin with that look of terror on her otherwise roped off face. What is a man supposed to do with that? It choked me how suddenly brittle she seemed. Did my words cause her to get like that? What the fuck did I say?

  “Do you need a minute?” I clip out at her, smacking my head without actually smacking it. Why am I thinking of her feelings? This—this is why I gave her an out. Because she’s dumbing my brain down.

  She smiles in that falsely saccharine way. “How considerate—“

  “Goddammit Ariel! For one measly second, can you quit it and just give me a straight answer?! Do you need a fucking minute?”

  I’m seething on her face, taking out anger at myself on her, but she claims my eyes equally fiercely. There’s intensity, but no anger. I’m not even trying to unpack her looks anymore. “Are you going to be in there with me?”

  What the hell does me--holy fuck.

  She wants me to stay? It baffles me, but there’s no mistaking it. She wants me to stay or she doesn’t want to face Warren alone and I’m just around? Why do I care?

  “Warren wants to talk to both of us.” That’s why I’m staying. That, and I don’t want to roll the dice on her ability to manipulate him. Fathers and daughters and all that.

  “Are you waiting for him to telepathically figure out that we’re here?”

  And she’s back. Chin lifted in a huff, thumb absently rubbing the fabric of my jacket as she holds the edges close. I squash the mad urge to place my arm on her back or around her waist to help her nerves before that finger catches fire. You’re not her keeper, fucktard.

  Warren answers on the first knock. He’s expecting me. Us.

  “It’s open, Eli.”

  Here goes nothing.

  He’s sitting at the desk several feet adjacent to the four poster bed, and gets up when I walk in.

  I’m caught short at his appearance and movements. Has been such a long time since I saw him. Goddamn camera adding ten pounds. The man’s even thinner than the video calls led me to believe. Mentally, he’s still sharp as a tack. Remembers all long-term executives in each of his 3000 hotels across the world, knows every little day to day operational detail in running the chain, is abreast of and pushes for latest upgrades in the industry, and still works a fourteen hour work day. But physically, he’s a shell of the man he was before the diagnosis. Sunken cheeks, hollow frame, thinning hair, tired eyes. Eyes that are affixed on her, as I hold the door open with my body so she can get through.

  Into his damn bedroom. I’ve been here only once before. But he was adamant about not meeting at the office or in his study. Is he going to insist she live here with him? Do I want that?

  Their resemblance is striking. Even with his deteriorated health, and her...everything. She has Warren’s eye and hair color, his oval face, and they’re almost exactly the same height.

  For a while, neither of them say a word. Just wait. It’s an intimate moment. I would be an intruder, if not for the fact that they want me to stay. Both of them. That’s...what do I make of that?

  She’s the one to break the silence, asking him haltingly. “Cancer?”

  “Bone.” He replies.

  “Hurts?” She asks after the tiniest pause.

  “Exceedingly.”

  “Prognosis?”

  “Three or four months. Six or seven if I’m lucky.”

  She nods. Good God, it’s like they have their own language. How is their interaction not awkward in the slightest?

  “You’re wearing Eli’s suit jacket.” He muses suddenly, passing me a quick glance I know so well. Like he’s in on some joke you’re not privy to.

  “And you’re stalling.” Comes her rejoinder.

  “You hate me.” He states, like it’s a fact.

  I see the back of her shoulders lift and then fall. “Her. You. Alzheimers. Cancer. I guess both of you really didn’t want
me to stand a chance.”

  My lips curve before I realize it. At her dry acceptance of the cards that have been dealt to her, instead of sporting a woe-is-me act. But Warren gets this pained look on his face.

  “You deserve the truth, Ariel. I loved my wife. She was the love of my life.” He clutches his elbow as he talks, keeping his posture upright. “I made a mistake—I was young and impetuous and rash...with more money and power than I knew what to do with. And your mother...she was…” He exhales. “...just...there.” He pauses again. “I spent my life atoning for it. I thought if I never look her or your way again, I would get my family back. Their respect and love. But if it’s any consolation, Jenna never really took me back. And my father wouldn’t even meet me in his final hours.”

  She doesn’t react immediately. When she does, her voice is dull. “Consolation? Is your misery supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No, it’s a confession. It’s supposed to make me feel better. I’m being selfish again.”

  “So stop.”

  He gulps. The man who powered through dealing with his hotel floor collapsing and killing four people without so much as a nervous tick, actually gulps. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  Shifting her weight on one leg, she tiptoes the other foot towards it. “Which part? Cheating on your wife, impregnating another woman, or pretending like I don’t exist for nineteen years?”

  She goes right to the heart of it but now he doesn’t faze. “Any of it. But most of all, not being around for you. I’m sorry. Unequivocally.”

  He bows his back slightly, after several seconds of her staying silent, and it occurs to me that this is the longest I’ve seen him standing in a while. He’s always sitting down during our video calls. The way Dr Hershman described it, he’s in constant agony despite the meds. Now I’m worried he’s stretching himself. I open my mouth to say something but she beats me to it.

  “You should sit.”

  He starts to shake his head, and waves his hand. “I’m--”

  “Sit.” She repeats, sternly.

  Surprise etches his face. No one talks to Warren like that. Even Jenna never could. She was plenty passive aggressive, but never directly assertive. His father maybe, but I wasn’t around then. But then his face eases, and he complies, slowly turning and slinking into his wheelchair again.

  I’ve never seen him like this, forlorn and feeble. “I know I can’t ask for forgiveness.” He admits softly.

  “You can ask.” Her tone is dry, but without any acid.

  “But I can try to make things right.”

  “I’m listening.” She stiffens and straightens, like she’s preparing to catch what he might throw at her.

  “You can’t quit studies.” He says firmly.

  “Excuse me?” So that’s how she sounds when she’s surprised.

  Warren barely registers it. “I forbid it. You have an above average IQ, great grades from school--you have to finish college.”

  “Forbid? I’m sorry—did I give you the wrong impression somehow? You don’t get to tell me what to do, Mr Walton.” I’m not sure how she’s managing it, but she’s not spiteful. Just plain, matter of fact.

  Warren gets this decisive look in his eyes. He would have been a great father, I realize. I can’t fathom how he and dad were ever friends. Warren’s direct to the extreme, and dad lived to escape. “I’m the only one who can, Ariel. Even if you don’t like it.”

  “Why? Because you’re my father?” She asks, sharp as ever.

  But he’s Warren Walton. He doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Yes. Because I’m your father.”

  “Only biologically.” She sounds sulky, but not outright angry.

  “What other way counts?” He asks, then glances my way without waiting for a response. “Eli will help you with the readmission.”

  I will do what???

  She turns, I think, but I’m too busy giving Warren a stink eye.

  Then she talks again. “You can’t just--”

  But he’s not done steamrolling into her life. “They’ll move your mother to another nursing home tomorrow. Blooming Lotus. It’s a great facility. She’ll have her own private room, round the clock caretaking, and the best possible treatment.”

  Jesus, he’s thorough. When did he arrange all of this? What the hell does it mean for me?

  Her hands go on her hip. “How nice of you. Look Mr Walton, let’s bypass this sudden change of heart you’ve had. We both know you didn’t call me here to build a father-daughter bond.” She pauses. “So why don’t you tell me why I’m really here?”

  The room goes heavy with a sudden hush, the quiet protracting as seconds turn into a minute. He doesn’t dither his eyes. And hers are glued to him. As are mine. I don’t know if I’m more pissed or impressed that she’s asked him in minutes what I’ve been pondering over for a week now.

  Warren personifies calm, when he passes his gaze between the two of us. “Sit. Both of you.” He gestures to the two chairs at the other end of his desk.

  She eyes the seats suspiciously, and then me the same way. Oh for fuck’s sake. I move and pull a chair out for her, before seating myself in the other one. Reluctance seeps out of her pores as she eventually bunks her ass in the chair next to me.

  “Okay, what now?” She asks him briskly.

  He gives her a half-smile, and his eyes twinkle when he looks at me. “Do you two know what the ultimatum game is?”

  He’s looking at me. I went to Stanford. Of course I fucking know what it is. Now he’s expecting me to play teacher? I sigh and turn to explain it to her. “It’s--”

  She holds up a hand stopping me. “Save it, prep school.” Then she looks straight ahead at Warren. “Two people decide how to split a sum of money. One person makes a proposal. If the other rejects it, they both get nothing.” She finishes, crossing her arms. “What about it?”

  Fuck. I can’t...how does she...she’s...just...fuck. I hate the way he smiles proudly at her.

  “What if I ask you two to decide? Who gets Walton Hotels. Except there’s no splitting it. It stays whole. Exactly the way it is right now. If you both agree on who gets everything, we have a winner. If you don’t, I’ll let the board decide.” He waits, watching us. “Or I could always sell it. Or liquidate and give it all to charity.”

  What. The. Goddamn. Fuck. Is he joking? But he’s not laughing. I keep expecting him to erupt into laughter with a gotcha. But he’s not. Why is he not? Because he means it. The crazy ass man actually means it.

  I look at her just as she turns to collar my eyes. Hers are big and wide. Accusing and roiled and in utter disbelief.

  “Did you know he was going to do this?” She hisses at me.

  “Do I look like I know?” I mutter back. Then I confront Warren. “Warren, this is insane. You can’t possibly expect us to make this decision.”

  “Why not?” He asks, eyes gleaming, every bit the eccentric old billionaire.

  “Because we both want this. And because he’s too damn smart, and I’m not entirely stupid.” She responds for the both of us.

  I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, in his face. But that’s fairly...she thinks I’m smart? Seriously, that’s what you want to focus on right now?

  Warren gives a huff of laughter. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  “I’m sorry, is this amusing to you?” She rips into him. “Stringing him along because you can? Raising my hopes for your entertainment? Threatening us with a ten billion donation to Goodwill?”

  Her take-no-shit vibe is such a damn turn-on. And it’s more than my cock that is feeling the heat. Because from where I’m sitting, it sure looks like she’s not just fighting for her. She’s fighting for us. I peer at her side profile, all grim and riled up. Goddammit, what’s her play?

  “You’re right. I’m being a dick.” Warren sobers down, surprising me.

  “You think?” She retorts.

  “Okay, let’s get to it then.” He begins. “You can’t choo
se. I can’t either. Between the two of you. This place needs you, Eli. And you belong here, Ariel.” He’s always been poetic like that, I think, right before he pulls the train into the station. “So...I want both of you to have it.”

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  Chapter 5

  Ariel

  ◆◆◆

  I don’t understand him. My father. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sound of it. And I definitely don’t like that cat-ate-the-cream way he’s leading this conversation.

  He looks so frail. So different from that day in his office all those years ago. That man, I hated. This one, I can’t seem to. Because shit, he has planned for me. Nobody has ever planned for me. Mom sure never did. She just let me do whatever I wanted, never even giving me so much as a timeout. I was always a good girl, but I started mouthing off at teachers, hanging out with problem kids, flunked on purpose, stayed out late at parties, smoked once right in front of her, pushing, testing, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she simply ignored my tenuous bids for attention. So I stopped. Because I realized that she was never going to care. That if I fell, there was no safety net. And then she just started forgetting. So I bucked up. Became my own adult. Because somebody needed to be.

  I want so badly to call him dad. Just once. But I won’t. If his wife hadn’t died before him, none of this would be happening. He would have died never having even met me properly. I know that. I know it. And yet, there it is. My stupid heart contracting at his efforts to do right by me. I’m so out of my depth here.

  “What do you mean both of us?” I ask him cautiously.

  “How’s that supposed to work, Warren?” Eli adds, like I didn’t just ask the same damn question.

  But my father has obviously put some serious thought into this. “You both get equal stake.” He clarifies. “Equal say in everything. Any major decision requires approval from both of you. You’re equal partners.”

  My heart thuds. This day just keeps getting better. Equal? Partner?