Anything You Say: An Enemies to Lovers Standalone Romance

by Chloe Finch

  Grace herself was wearing a button-down shirt and pencil skirt from the office. The only attempt she made to make it look more appropriate for going out was unbuttoning an extra button on the shirt. She was worried she looked more like a librarian from a porno than a twentysomething at a nightclub.

  “I need a drink,” Jessica said. “You want anything?”

  Grace shook her head.

  “Great, another gin and tonic it is,” Jessica said. She patted Grace’s shoulder as she walked away.

  A half-drunk, watery gin and tonic was already in Grace’s hand, and there was no way either of them needed another one. In a way though, she appreciated Jessica’s peer pressure. It felt good to have a friend in this hellscape of a workplace.

  Her feet were killing her from wearing work heels for so long and she leaned against a support pole for relief. She stabbed the lime in her drink with the cocktail straw and tried to suck lime juice through it. She always did this with drink garnishes, and it never worked.

  Zach had replaced the bro dancing with June by the VIP area, holding a vodka bottle cribbed from one of their tables. His suit jacket was off and the sleeves were rolled up on his white dress shirt. His gold-brown hair, which was usually messy in a purposeful way, flopped inelegantly over one eye. He was drunk. Obliterated, more accurately, obvious even from across the room. All those shots must have finally caught up. He was somehow even better-looking all disheveled.

  He put an arm around June’s waist from behind and she leaned into his chest, almost like she was going to do a backbend. Even in the stilettos he had almost a foot on her. He held the vodka bottle high so it made a long stream like a waterfall straight into her mouth. Grace’s stomach flip-flopped at the sight. A few of the bros were cheering him on, and he grinned at them, reveling in the attention.

  Like before, Zach locked eyes with Grace like he knew she was there the whole time. He moved the bottle a few inches so it was pouring all over June’s chest, soaking her shirt. It was degrading. And yet inexplicably, confusingly hot. June immediately put her hands up and stood up. She turned and appeared to be telling Zach off. Good. It was seriously fucked up for him to treat her like that. In front of coworkers, no less.

  June stomped away, and Zach slapped her ass. What a dick. June turned around to flip him off, and he shrugged.

  Grace suddenly had the urge to get away from Zach and June and the bros and whatever weird feeling this was. She set off into the crowd, looking for Jessica or the door, whichever turned up first.

  * * *

  Zach

  Zach met June when they were in the same fellows class six years ago. He asked her out within the first two weeks of the program. She turned him down. Weeks later they ended up bonding at one of these happy hours, getting drunk and talking about their shitty childhoods.

  It was right before he quit smoking, and they had stood on the curb outside the club, passing a cigarette back and forth. June had kicked off her high heels and for the first time he noticed just how short she was. The top of her head was barely above his elbow. She told him she was gay. He made a comment about how that meant his track record was still technically intact. It was a comment he thought was going to get him hit, but she had actually laughed. She told him how tired she was of the other fellows hitting on her all the time and generally being gross. Zach proposed a solution.

  “What if I pretend to be your boyfriend?”

  “Fuck off. You’re just obsessed with being with me one way or another.” She blew smoke out the side of her mouth and handed him the cigarette.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “Look, I know it’s not feminist or whatever, but you know they’ll leave you alone if they think we’re dating.”

  “And how are we going to convince everyone we’re dating?”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” He took a drag off the cigarette and exhaled toward the sky, watching the smoke curl into the air until it disappeared.

  “Like this?” She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him down to her, kissing him slowly and theatrically. No tongue, just soft lips roaming over his mouth.

  She was trying to shock him, hoping he’d try to kiss her sincerely and make a jackass of himself. He didn’t take the bait. Instead, he laughed out loud.

  “Exactly like this.” He stuck the cigarette between his lips and dipped her like they were dancing, then grabbed her ass. She laughed and nodded as if this was an acceptable response.

  Everything else was history.

  It worked. It shouldn’t have to be that way for women, but once their coworkers thought they were dating, they stopped giving June grief. Besides, it was fun as hell to mess with everyone. They were both loudmouthed attention seekers, so they kept one-upping each other. She’d slap his ass at happy hour, he’d put his hand on her thigh in class.

  Once, at a particularly boozy happy hour, for reasons that were unclear in hindsight, June got down on her knees in the middle of the dance floor while Zach just stood there with his hands on his hips, refusing to stop her. He half expected her to suck his dick just so she wouldn’t have to be the first to back down. It was the year Brad was a fellow and he and a couple of the others had been watching the whole thing unfold, hitting each other on the shoulder and saying, “Bro, are you seeing this?” She had his belt undone and was working on the top button of his pants by the time security arrived and kicked them both out. They laughed like maniacs on their way out the door.

  The whole thing had made more than one of June’s girlfriends uncomfortable, even though Zach and June were completely platonic in every other way. June explained it by comparing it to her straight female friends in college who would make out with each other at parties for attention.

  “It’s a double standard that I can’t flirt with someone of the gender I’m not sexually attracted to when I’m drunk,” June argued.

  “For one thing, you also do this stone-cold sober, and for another, your ‘flirting’ analogy only works if he’s gay,” Her exasperated girlfriend had said. She was convinced June was secretly bisexual and cheating on her.

  It was a fair point, but she didn’t have anything to worry about. June really wasn’t interested in him. Zach was used to women making advances on him, but June’s moves always had a certain sterility to them that made him feel like he was at the doctor’s office. And Zach wasn’t about to make any real moves on June, too aware of the fact that she wasn’t attracted to him in the slightest. It was honestly a novel feeling. She, on the other hand, treated him like a human prop, assuming that, as a straight guy, he wouldn’t object to whatever weird thing she did to him. He never said anything because, for the most part, she was right.

  He was temporarily worried he may have taken it a step too far with the vodka move.

  “What the fuck was that?” June shouted. She wiped uselessly at her camisole.

  “Sorry, my hand slipped,” Zach said. His smirk gave him away, but he was too drunk to care.

  “You’re sick,” she said. “I’m sending you my dry cleaning bill.” Her top was drenched, and the thin fabric clung to her nipples, which were now clearly visible thanks to him.

  He slapped June’s ass as she walked away, practically an apology between the two of them. She flipped him off, which he took as a good sign. As long as she was still acknowledging him, he knew he was in the clear.

  He took a swig from the vodka bottle. Five hundred bucks for a bottle of Absolut. Ludicrous. It wasn’t the only bottle either—there were at least a couple others floating around their tables. He’d pick up the entire tab at the end of the night, which might reach five digits, without a second glance at the receipt.

  It still blew his mind to think about how much money he had. He was no billionaire, but he could buy the whole building he’d grown up in if he wanted to, even after the hipsters moved into Brooklyn. Once in elementary school, they had to write a paragraph about what they’d spend a hundred dollars on, and all he could come up with was pizza a
nd a pirate LEGO set this snotty kid in his class was always bragging about. It was a grand total of thirty-seven dollars. He couldn’t even think of anything else. A hundred dollars was more than his kid brain could handle.

  Now he was pouring five-hundred-dollar vodka down June’s shirt as a joke.

  He’d pay another five hundred dollars to see Grace make that face again. He’d do anything to keep her making that face all damn day. He could show her plenty that would shock her and turn her on. Someday, he was going to get nasty with her. Make her cry and beg and scream his name. Make her crawl across the floor and fuck her face and make her come a dozen times in one night. He was half-hard just thinking about it.

  Not tonight. Soon though, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait.

  Chapter Three

  Grace

  One day the following week, Grace was the last one to leave the office. The seemingly endless barrage of work from the program was exhausting her. Why was no one else staying as late as her? How were they getting it all done? Maybe they weren’t. Maybe it was like Jessica said, and they were all concentrating on networking at happy hour instead of doing the actual work they were assigned.

  Her heels clacked loudly down the corridor, echoing in the empty space. There was a man waiting by the elevators by reception, his back turned to her. He was tall and there was something vaguely familiar about his confident posture, feet planted wide and standing up straight.

  She hesitated. Would it be overdramatic to call security? Probably yes. There was no reason to suspect anything nefarious, it was just a guy waiting for the elevator. Deciding she was acting paranoid, she pushed the glass door open and forged ahead.

  At the sound of the door clicking open, he turned around. She froze.

  “Zach?”

  He had cut his hair since that afternoon and changed out of his suit. He looked deflated, thinner. As if he’d suddenly fallen ill. He was wearing a red Patagonia puffer jacket, zipped all the way up. It was filthy, and there were feathers sticking out on the shoulder.

  He grinned at her. A genuine, charming smile, no trace of the usual cruelty under the surface. That’s when she knew it wasn’t him.

  “I get that a lot,” he said.

  “Sorry, who are you?” She said. She had the uncanny impression she was in a dream.

  “An imposter.” He winked conspiratorially.

  She laughed, but only because he was expecting her to. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  “I’m his brother,” he said, when she didn’t respond. He was still smiling. “I thought it was obvious.”

  “You’re twins,” she said stupidly. How had Zach never mentioned he had an identical twin? She wracked her brain for something she missed. The mentors often killed time in training sessions telling personal stories. Sometimes they were tangentially relevant, at least having to do with a client, but just as often it was completely off topic. As far as she could remember, Zach had never brought it up.

  He was just as good looking as Zach. There were subtle differences if she looked closely. Zach had an asymmetrical smile, dimples on the left side only. His brother’s were on the right. There was something different about the eyes, too. The brother’s were more relaxed. Less predatory.

  He laughed good-naturedly. “Excellent work, Watson. We are in fact twins.”

  “Sorry,” she shook her head, trying to make sense of this new information. “It’s just, Zach never mentioned he had any siblings.”

  “That sounds just like that prick. We don’t speak.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know if he expected her to laugh or respond seriously. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “He’s the evil one.”

  She laughed for real at that. He was charming, Zach’s brother.

  “Oh come on, be honest. Is Zach nice to work with?”

  “No,” she admitted, surprised by her own honesty. “He’s a total asshole.” There was something disarming about Zach’s brother. He was like Zach with all the charm and none of the venom.

  He grimaced. “Sorry about that. He’s always been kind of a douche.”

  She laughed again.

  “I’m Derek, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

  “Grace.” She shook his hand. His fingernails were dirty. “If you’re looking for Zach, I’m afraid he’s already left for the day.”

  He didn’t look surprised by this information. “That’s okay. It’s actually better this way. If he saw me, he’d probably run the opposite direction. Or punch me in the face. But our mother is sick and I need to get a hold of him. I was actually going to write him a letter. Is there an employee directory or something that I could get his address from?”

  “Oh how awful,” she said. A letter sounded a little eccentric, but that didn’t mean he had bad intentions. And they did, in fact, have an employee directory. Because Sterling was, as Joe always said not a 40 hour a week gig, it included their personal contact information too. “Of course.”

  “Thank you so much,” he said, relieved.

  She would have to go back inside to log on to her laptop and check. She was suddenly unsure if she should let Derek into the secure area.

  He seemed to sense her hesitation. “I’ll wait out here,” he said gamely.

  “Okay, thanks,” she said, glad to have the problem solved for her. “They’re intense about security around here.”

  “No worries.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall with his head cocked to the side. It was eerily similar to how Zach stood when the other mentors were presenting.

  He didn’t hide the fact that he was checking out her ass as she walked away. She didn’t mind.

  She scanned her badge at the door and retraced her steps back to her desk. There was a substantial chance Zach would be pissed if he found out she gave out his address. More fuel for his torment. But what could she do? His mother was sick. Surely that would override whatever dumb sibling rivalry was going on. It was probably his fault in the first place. Derek was certainly less combative.

  Before she went back to the lobby, she looked up the address on Google Maps. It was a brownstone near Union Square. Fancy. Rent was probably more than her salary.

  She returned to the lobby with a sticky note bearing Zach’s home address and phone number in her neat handwriting.

  “Do me a favor, and don’t tell him I’m the one who gave this to you,” she said as she handed it over.

  “My lips are sealed.” He grinned.

  “Thanks. It’s just…He doesn’t really like me already. I don’t want to give him more of a reason not to.”

  “Of course,” Derek said, serious now. “For what it’s worth, I like you.”

  She blushed. Yeah, he was a definite improvement on Zach.

  * * *

  Zach

  Zach got home from the gym late. He had stayed longer than usual, getting a good hard workout in. Lifting was his meditation, and some days he needed to go all out and completely exhaust himself.

  The key always stuck in the front door of his building. It drove him crazy that the landlord wouldn’t fix it. For what he was paying in rent, there should have been a doorman. After he moved out of the apartment he had shared with Derek, he wanted something completely different. A fresh start. And the late 19th century brownstone was as far from their old industrial modern loft as he could get. The key finally caught and the door swung open.

  His apartment was on the second floor, and he trudged up the shared stairs, his legs wobbly with exhaustion.

  He was poised to put the key in the second lock when he heard a noise from inside. He froze, suddenly on high alert. Adrenaline ran through him and he felt sixteen again, in a bad place where trouble was about to go down.

  There was someone inside.

  The door swung open and a massive man was standing before him, taking up the whole doorway. He towered over Zach’s six-two frame and was twice as wide as him. He
had a mustache and wore a red baseball cap that made him look like giant Mario.

  Behind Giant Mario was a wiry, muscular man, examining a book on the coffee table Zach’s decorator had picked out.

  “I didn’t know I had company,” Zach said.

  “Come in,” Giant Mario said. He had a higher pitched voice than his size would have implied.

  Even if he hadn’t just wrecked himself at the gym, Zach wouldn’t have run. There was no point. This wasn’t a random home invasion. If someone was robbing you, they didn’t play it cool when you came home in the middle of it. These guys had been waiting for him.

  He came into his living room and Giant Mario locked the door behind him. Zach sighed. This wasn’t going to be fun.

  The man holding the book looked up. He had a patchy beard and a massive scar across his face, from one temple across his nose to the other cheek. He wasn’t nearly as big as the other guy, but he was big enough.

  “Are you here to assess my rare book collection?” Zach said. Against his better judgment, he continued. “Although you don’t look like you can read.” He knew he was just riling them up, but he didn’t care. They were going to kick the shit out of him either way. He set his gym bag on the couch.

  Zach had been in his share of fights. Especially when he was younger, he had a propensity for getting drunk and needling rich kids into fighting him outside bars. He had thought he was proving his superiority to them. When he got a little older and started racking up commissions like a lottery winner, the fighting lost its appeal. He realized the rich assholes didn’t rank superiority based on winning fistfights.

  This wouldn’t be a fight. He’d had run-ins with men like this before, though Derek had always been there with him before. These guys were hired to kick his ass, and they wouldn’t leave until their message from whoever was loud and clear. The only problem was, Zach had no idea who he’d pissed off.