Office Hate: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “And now they have to spend time in the losers’ room and use that same teamwork to make sure they survive the night.”

  “Please.” I waved my hands at him. “It won’t be that bad. We’ve only ever sent two employees to the hospital, and one had a pre-consisting condition.”

  Rick was silent for a few seconds, his smile confused. “His pre-existing condition, according to you was, breathes with his mouth, is that correct?”

  “Damn it, Dustin, I can still hear you from here!” I shouted as my cousin, the employee in question, took notes.

  “Sorry, Max, I mean sir, I mean cousin Max, sir…” he gulped. “Sorry.”

  God, I loved shitting with him. He needed tougher skin. Poor kid had been allergic to his own shadow when he first started working here, and now at least he flashed attitude every once in a while.

  Don’t worry, he was compensated well and had a company car; the kid wanted for nothing and would have died single if it not for me.

  “Dustin,” I said in a strong voice. “I like what you did with your hair today.”

  Dustin immediately touched his hair in awe as if I’d bestowed a halo on his golden locks. “Th-thank you, Max.”

  “I’m thirsty.” I sniffed.

  “Going.” He sprinted in the direction of the beer garden.

  “Ah!” I snapped my fingers. “What were we talking about? Oh yes, the losers’ room. Well, we took it upon ourselves to create an exact replica in the apartment; the next key will lead them into that room, locking all others. They’ll stay the night there then report the next day at noon for their third task before the finale.”

  Rick grinned. “How do you do it?”

  “Take over the world? Well…” I adjusted my cufflinks. “…it’s really quite easy, you see my secret…lots of sleep.”

  “Wow, really?”

  “No, you idiot. Do you think geniuses have time for sleep? The secret is being born Max Emory—that’s the secret. Now let’s tune in to the lovebirds as they discover just how cozy things are about to get later tonight.”

  “You dog.” Rick laughed.

  I glared at the camera. “Wait and see, at the end of this little taping, not only will they have the best jobs and placement in the world—but a very new and romantic love interest, nothing causes you to fall harder than being forced to do bonding assignments together. Trust me, I know these things, and the signs were already there. Wow, a job and a life partner.” I wanted to clap for myself.

  But Rick did it for me. “You’re too generous, Max!”

  “I know, I know.” I waved him off and stood then made my way back over to Olivia and Mark; both of them were standing next to the wine on tap.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting. I just have a simple question.” I cleared my throat.

  “Of course,” Olivia said in her usual peppy way.

  Mark, however, looked irritated that I’d just interrupted them.

  Interesting development indeed. I mentally rubbed my hands together. “So, I was just wondering, where would be your ideal location for work. Anywhere in the world.”

  “New York!” Olivia said just as Mark answered. “LA.”

  “All right, good to know your own minds. I’ll just leave you two to carry on with your evening and know that you need to be fully clothed at the downtown New York offices at noon tomorrow for your third challenge. Oh, and if you could start turning in your apartment grading, that would be helpful.”

  “Nice bathroom.” Mark smirked at me.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why does your smirk make me nervous, I wonder?”

  “No idea,” he said innocently while Olivia’s cheeks flamed bright red.

  “Uh-huh.” I looked between them. “Well, have fun in the losers’ room tonight, interns, and try not to kill one another. Don’t want another lawsuit on my hands.”

  “Wait up,” Olivia moved in front of me. “Two interns tried to kill each other?”

  I shoved my hands into the pockets of my joggers. “Actually, one threatened to kill the other, then the one threatened said not before I eat your face off and lunged for him. We had no idea she was a cannibal; then again, that’s not typically a question we put on our job applications.” I shuddered. “Terrifying day for all of us, especially Dustin.”

  “Wait, the girl was with Dustin?”

  “In the loser rooms. It was a fun wedding, though, lots of cake and whatnot.”

  “Wait, back up.” Mark’s turn to be confused. “The girl that threatened to eat her partner married him instead?”

  “Isn’t life a gas?” I burst out laughing and slapped each of them on the shoulder, knowing perfectly well the terror and confusion I was putting into their feeble minds. “All right, see you two later!”

  Mark stared after me in stunned silence; I heard him whisper under his breath. “Holy shit, she’s going to eat me.”

  And then Olivia snorting out, “You wish I’d have my mouth on you.”

  Fighting commenced.

  Welcome to the losers’ room, my friends. May the best man or woman win!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mark

  After our weird argument about why New York would always be better than the West Coast and why was I running away from something, to me calling her out for still wanting that perfect job in the perfect skyrise with her perfect stupid salad lunches and high heels, well…things got progressively worse when she said I’d end up on the beach living out of a rundown Jeep wondering where it all went wrong.

  And then I was like, why the hell are we even arguing?

  The ride in the SUV back to the apartments was tense and weird despite our tender moments during the games.

  And by the time we got to the penthouse floor, it was little to no shock to see another manila envelope with a key in it and a giant box on the floor labeled “blankets.”

  Mentioned nothing about pillows, though. Hmmm.

  “May as well get this over with.” I grabbed the envelope, letting the key drop into my hand as I moved down the series of doors, finally opening the last one and realizing it was a closet.

  Oh, hell no.

  Olivia followed up close behind, arms crossed. “Is that it?”

  “There’s barely enough space for the two of us, let alone all night.”

  “We’ll have to stay close.”

  I snorted in defiance when really my body was like, yes please, should I be the big spoon or the small? Ladies choice? “You sure you’re okay with being that close to me since I happen to like the warm weather and ocean?”

  Her nostrils flared in a terrifying way that reminded me of every lesson my dad ever taught me, which almost always ended in, even when she’s wrong, she’s right! “Or is it just women in bikinis flaunting their boobs?”

  I smirked and then shot her one of my best mocking winks even though it was one hundred percent true. “Hey, the only boobs I want to see are yours.” I reached out only to have her smack my hand away. “What? They’re nice.” I cleared my throat, the facade er, fading. “You’re nice.”

  “Well, you—” She looked flustered and ready to stomp a foot or just kick me in the dick. “I’ll just go get some pillows to go with that stack of blankets.

  She marched across the hall like a sergeant and made it to the master room door and, in a herculean effort, attempted to push the door open.

  Nothing budged.

  Not even a slight creak or movement.

  The hell? We had our shit in there! And champagne! A fireplace. I’d built that damn bed frame!

  “Do you still have the key?” I asked, telling myself to remain calm lest she punch me in all my sensitive places and then blame me for the locked door.

  She gave me a sheepish look. “I kind of just left it on the counter. It was gone when I came back in to see you.”

  Wait, so was this my fault?

  Hmmmm, how to tread.

  Carefully, yes, my brain reminded me very carefully, while every other part of my body wa
s like, wait one hot minute, no master, no sexy clothes, no fancy bathroom sex, no dryer? Bummer of all bummers.

  I sighed and sent a mental, sorry troops, not tonight.

  Okay, focus!

  “Right, okay.” I raked a hand through my longish hair. “So we just improvise and bring in the pillows from the couch; we’ll still be comfortable. And hey, we could, just kidding, can’t stay on the couch somehow they’ll know we didn’t spend time in the room of losers or shame as I’d like to call it. Are they actually watching us?”

  “Even the throw pillows are huge,” she pointed out.

  “So grab just one,” I said, irritated.

  With a scowl, she snatched up one of the black ones and tossed it, then scrambled across the room and picked up a chair.

  So the first of us had cracked.

  Good to know it wasn’t me!

  “Look!” She pointed up to a blinking light behind one of the potted plants set next to the flat screen. I’d honestly seen the plant dozens of times and kept thinking, how great, the greenery looked against the wall and stupidly commenting on it in my God awful notebook that may as well been drawings of Mark plus Olivia equals love. I was starting to really hate this job and myself for being so weak and wanting her so much and actually looking forward to a fucking closet and cuddling and, aghhhhhh!

  “You okay?” Olivia whispered.

  “Yeah, why?” I kicked the ground with my invisible shoe since I had a sock on and looked like an idiot.

  “You yelled.” She reached out to me like I was some scared animal in need of love. Wait, would that work in my favor? Could I moan a bit, fall to the ground, tell her about my sprained ankle and soon to be broken heart because I wanted her and she was going to stay in New York, and my dream had always been the opposite side of the country, breathing the ocean air, seeing the sky, I mean how could she not want that?

  And yet I felt my heart go, how could she not want me? Weakass bitch heart of mine needed to sit the hell down and take a time out. No, I changed my mind; he’s out of the game.

  No. More.

  “I think it’s a camera.” She ignored my meltdown and pointed again. “They’ve been watching us. No chance in hell we can sleep on the couch and—”

  The knock on the door had both of us jumping.

  “Should have called that,” I grumbled, already on my way to the door. As I opened it, I did a slow clap for whatever idiot had to scurry away while we solved our mystery and flipped everyone off behind their backs or, I guess, very much in front of their backs now.

  I mean, what the hell?

  How much had they seen?

  Did the cameras ever turn off?

  Had I signed something about no sexual contact with Olivia?

  I was already sweating when I was back in the living room, door closed, envelope tossed onto the table.

  Olivia stared me down, then wisely picked it up and pulled out a handwritten note, which she showed me then read aloud. “It’s the loser room or no room at all, no living quarters, food, or internship. You’ll be fired, quickly, seamlessly, as if you never existed, oh and using the pillows? Horrible idea, the security cameras, also a great thing to rate the penthouse on, will be turned off in three, two, one.”

  We both looked up, and the red lights were off on the only camera we could see.

  I exhaled a sigh of relief, only to inhale a sigh of real fear when I realized it was just us again.

  Alone.

  In near darkness.

  And soon to be alone in a small room, spooning, touching, licking— Wait a second, no, no Mark.

  She’s leaving. No matter what I do.

  She’s leaving.

  I let that sink in, then sadly realized I had suddenly thought this was real, that she’d somehow stay, that what we shared was something other than this hatred turned to lust based on this insane competition that was spurring us on toward our end goal.

  To be apart.

  So why did it make my chest hurt? I rubbed the stupid spot where my heart was pumping hard like, hey, wait, I have an opinion here.

  Nope. Only the brain.

  Logic wins.

  So I cleared my throat, schooled my features, and said, “Hey, we should probably get to bed. It’s late, and we have to report at noon tomorrow, remember?”

  “How could I forget? He was so clear and concise about why…” She groaned. “All right, well, all my things are,” It was like it just occurred to her she’d either have to sleep in spartan clothes or naked. “In…there.”

  “Same.” I groaned. “I’m tired, though. I’m actually tired. Can I just— Are you okay with…” I held up my finger. “We have the hall bathroom. What if we wash our clothes in the sink using bar soap that we know we have in there? Might I add we’re testing an emergency strategy?”

  “Hmm…” She actually smiled.

  Damn it, stop being so pretty! Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

  “Um…” I regained my control. “We wrap ourselves in dry towels, let our clothes dry, don’t touch each other, use the humidity of the room to somehow help us not mold and wake up, and pray we can get back into the laundry room?”

  “Sounds like torture.”

  “Well, not to beat a dead horse, but it is the loser room, so…” I shrugged. “Got any better ideas?”

  She flinched, even though I didn’t blame her. “N-no, not really. But you should go first.”

  I snorted. “Right because you haven’t seen me naked, you little prude ass—”

  She kicked me in the shin then marched toward the bathroom, peeling her bra off in the process.

  Note. To. Self. Does well with aggression.

  I smirked despite my heart telling me to shut it down and started to do the same, turning on the shower and very quickly soaping myself down only to find her stepping in like a challenge. “Turn around.”

  “What?” She balked.

  I shrugged. “I’ll get your back; you have some mud there. Just turn.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and then she did, turn that was, and I washed her back, down her legs, washed her off, and then handed her the soap.

  She repeated the same motions for me, and while it was torture having her nipples join in on the rubbing, I kept it together, I mean, I was hard as stone, but I wasn’t going to give in.

  Once we were both washed, I shut off the water and turned around, much to her shocked expression, as if I was a sex addict. Then I wrapped her in a towel. I waited until she was covered, then picked up one for myself, completely dried off, and grabbed new ones for her and myself, and did the same.

  By the time we had our clothes washed and hanging, it was getting late, so late I was yawning each time I tried to ask if she was okay, and she was yawning back.

  We made our way into the small room, aka closet, and without thinking, I lay down trying to make space for her. She lay down next to me, closing the door and only leaving a crack so we could have fresh air.

  Our breathing was our music.

  Our bodies our heat.

  And just when I thought I was going to go to sleep, she turned and pulled me into her arms, officially making me the mother fucking small spoon.

  And I would take it to my grave, lie to the government, grandkids, whoever—but I smiled and fell right the hell to sleep. Feeling. Safe.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Olivia

  I fell asleep holding him against me. At first, it was supposed to be a joke, and then the next thing I knew—I was dying of heatstroke.

  And it was morning.

  “Why,” Mark groaned as he moved away from me, “are we wet?”

  It was one of those moments where you’re so grossed out you don’t even want to move but also moving might prove who the culprit of wherever all the wetness came from, making you want to disappear into a puddle of shame.

  “I’m…” I started. “I’m actually not sure. I mean…it happens to lots of people, but, like, did you ever have an issue peeing the bed?”

&n
bsp; “Yes. And as an adult, I’ve still been unable to control my urges when I’m lying next to a hot girl!” he roared.

  “I am hot, like physically scorched.” I sniffed. “And seriously?”

  “No, not seriously.” He used his foot to open the door.

  I assumed, probably just like he did that fresh air would be like a mountains breeze kiss upon our faces.

  Instead, it was just as warm in the apartment.

  “Heating and cooling, zero stars,” Mark muttered as he crawled out of the little hole we were sleeping in.

  “Do not recommend,” I grumbled. “So the good news, you didn’t pee the bed.”

  “Good news neither did you.” He held up his hand for a high five.

  I groaned and hit it, my hand slippery from sweat. “I’ve never felt more disgusting in my life, and I used to work at a funeral home after hours as a janitor; nobody needs to see that much embalming fluid, nobody.”

  Mark started to gag.

  I hit him on the back. “You okay?”

  “Sorry, it’s one of my things.”

  “Things?”

  “Every time I hear the word embalm, I’m brought back to my senior year of high school and the smell of the fluid as we dissected cats. One time, some of the…” he gagged again. “Skin got caught, and my mouth was open, and the fluid just flicked right onto my tongue.”

  I stared at his face, all scrunched in an agonized grimace. “You know I’m never kissing you again, right?”

  “Damn it, it was years ago!”

  “Four and a half. My bet, it’s still in your system…” I leaned in and whispered. “Lingering…”

  “Why must I tell you every life story that makes you want to run in the opposite direction?”

  I grinned. “It’s kinda sexy.”

  “Really?”

  “No, embalming fluid in your mouth and you telling me about it will never be sexy, but you looked ready to cry, so I thought I’d make you feel better.”

  “I’m not crying; my body’s crying from lack of air conditioning. Come on, we need to find out what’s going on.” He marched down the hall and discovered the wall thermometer; it was one of those high-tech ones that probably synced with an iPhone.