The Office Rival: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Kat T. Masen

  Maybe I’m telling a little white lie. Yes, there is no doubt my anxiety is stemming from the fact I feel I have no sense of order in my life, but for the most part, I find the gym surprisingly entertaining.

  I have absolutely no life right now, and I’m one step away from joining a pottery class.

  The treadmill has become my newfound friend. The running becomes mundane at times, which is why I zone out and pretend to run a marathon or watch others around me in amusement.

  Take last week, for example—a man fell off the treadmill as a ridiculously made-up gym bunny walked past.

  In my first week, I learned a few things—some treat the gym like a sport, dressed head to toe in spandex, often a little too tight around the groin, and the wannabe Arnies huddle in the weights area, grunting and throwing around the barbells as if they were inflatable balloons. You can smell the steroids and testosterone a mile away.

  There are some cute men in the Zumba class, but I suspect those men are eyeing the cute Zumba teacher and his perfectly sculpted ass. Boy, does he know how to shake his bonbon.

  Today’s entertainment consists of two ladies attempting to do yoga on the mats in front of me. I grab my towel and wipe myself down before I sit on the floor beside them. One of the women, Trina, works at a marketing firm on level ten. We run into each other often and got to talking one day. She’s a nice enough girl, a little naïve, which is expected since she’s in her early twenties.

  “Be honest, I’m hot, right?” Trina asks, looking at the woman beside us. “Oh, Presley, this is Sarah, she works on six.”

  I smile at Sarah, and she smiles in return. We then look at each other awkwardly, questioning if we should answer Trina. Perhaps it’s a rhetorical question.

  Sarah screws her face into a grimace, yet indulges Trina with a response. “Look, Trina, of course you’re hot. Get over him. Sounds like a douche to me.”

  “But… but we had a connection,” she confesses innocently.

  Sarah snorts. “The only connection you had was when he stuck his pecker in your bird hole. A dime a dozen, Trina. Let it go.”

  In my uncomfortable pose, I try my hardest not to laugh at Sarah’s comment, but I do and attempt to cover it up by leaning forward and stretching my legs to the point they scream in agony.

  “It isn’t just about sex, we flirted for weeks. He even mentioned something about visiting his mom.”

  “Oh, the mom card. That’s pretty serious,” I admit.

  Trina nods in agreement, looking heartbroken.

  With a hint of sarcasm, Sarah asks, “Uh-huh and remind me again what happened?”

  “He left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye and has avoided me ever since,” Trina mumbles.

  “Okay, so put your big-girl panties on and forget about him!”

  This time, I agree with Sarah. Only a loser would do that, and the worst part is, this is what I had to look forward to being single.

  “I have to agree with Sarah. He doesn’t seem worth it. You’re young, beautiful, and surely can find better fish in the sea.”

  “But he’s the prime catch,” she pouts.

  Sarah butts in, “And tell Presley who paid for dinner that night, the taxi ride back to the hotel, and the hotel room?”

  Trina appears to be agitated at Sarah’s blast of information.

  “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Right, as was the accidental text he sent to you instead of another woman about how he was going to screw her brains out the night after he left you?”

  Ouch.

  “Trina, do yourself a favor and seriously grab another fishing rod because he’s so not worth your time.” With my water bottle and towel in hand, I stand to head on out. “Listen, ladies, I have to get to work. Sarah, don’t let her go anywhere near this douchebag.”

  Sarah salutes me. “Once a douche, always a douche.”

  After showering at the gym, I dress in my new designer white blouse for the very first time. It took me forever to save up for it. In fact, I have several bank accounts I coordinate with my paycheck, and finally, my ‘special’ account had enough money to purchase this gorgeous blouse. It taunted me for weeks in that boutique window. I am so in love with it that I spend minutes staring at the mirror, eyeing myself from every angle. To complete the outfit, I’m wearing my vintage gray pleated skirt which kind of looks like those skirts we used to wear in school, but it’s my absolute favorite piece.

  With my black pumps on, I shove my gym gear into my bag and quickly apply some makeup. If I’m on the market, I need to take better care of myself. Then it dawns on me how unfamiliar it is to be alone, and the thought of finding someone new fills me with fear. Thank the Lord I’m not Trina, though, and being thirty-two should make me wise enough to avoid the douchebags who lurk in the city.

  My hair is always quick to misbehave, so I run some product through it and let it out. I may control and plan everything in my life, but my hair will forever be untamed. Bouncing curls may be ideal to some, but I call it a walking disaster.

  It’s just before nine when I make my way into the office. Honestly, there is nothing more enjoyable than sitting in a quiet office before all the mayhem begins.

  I have been working at Lantern Publishing for almost ten years, starting as a junior and working my way toward my goal of Editor-in-Chief. It’s not as big as other publishing houses, but we retain good staff, and together, we work well.

  At times, my job is repetitive, reading manuscript after manuscript with no end in sight. Occasionally, that golden egg hatches, and there is nothing more exciting than holding the next bestseller in your hands.

  After working long hours last week, I feel confident pitching a new manuscript to my co-editors in a few hours. My presentation is ready to go, and I have prepared myself for the usual questions or negative comments that might arise.

  My steaming hot tea sits on my coaster beside my computer monitor. Allowing it to cool down, I arrange my pens in order from shortest to longest and place my Post-it notepad in exact alignment with the pens. I glance over at the clock, and the second it flicks to nine, I turn my computer on and start scouring through my emails.

  The noise starts to invade the office floor as colleagues drag themselves in, fleeing to their cubicles as they talk above the partitions. I try my best to avoid the distraction, but office gossip is difficult to ignore, especially when the office tramp, Dee, starts talking about her Saturday night. Talk about loose lips, and I don’t mean the ones on her face.

  I reach for my mug and throw the tea bag into the trash, pulling the mug toward my lips. I allow the steam to linger when all of a sudden, my seat jerks forward, and part of my tea lands on my keyboard and blouse.

  “What the f—”

  “Office 101, no cussing in the workplace,” he interrupts.

  The hot liquid scalds my skin, and I turn to see who knocked into me so carelessly.

  I grit my teeth to control my temper. My vision is all red with his face as a target.

  The fucking asshole.

  Haden Cooper—my office rival.

  Do not encourage childish behavior. I’m not giving him anything to work with.

  Grabbing some tissues, I attempt to wipe my blouse. The brown stain seeps through the loose white fabric. Just great. Months of saving for the ridiculously expensive blouse only for it to be ruined with a tea stain.

  His hands land firmly on my seat, and he swivels me around until we are facing each other. I am ready to blow and give it to him but am distracted as he grabs some tissues and attempts to wipe down my blouse.

  “Um, excuse me? Get your filthy hands off me.” I push his hands away, his widening smirk indicating how much he’s enjoying this.

  “Sorry about that, you’re a little wet and stained.”

  “Well, no shit. The next time you want to play dodgem cars with your office chair, have some respect for your colleagues around you,” I huff.

  “Aww, what’s wrong, Miss M
alone? Sounds to me like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

  I stop wiping my blouse, abruptly moving my head until my eyes meet his. Never having paid this much attention to him before, I stare directly into the hazel eyes that sit behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses. Tiny freckles are scattered across his nose, and his annoying smirk is accentuated as his lips purse together. For some reason, my focus turns to his eyebrows, perfectly sculpted on his freshly tanned face. Such a metrosexual. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hit the tanning salon along with a hot wax afterward.

  The nerve of this fucking asshole to do this today, a Monday morning for Christ’s sake, when I have a presentation to do in one hour. And my poor, poor blouse. I had high hopes that it would keep me smiling throughout the whole presentation ordeal.

  I no longer care what comes out of my mouth.

  Haden Cooper needs a lesson in manners, and I am just about to give it to him when he pulls my chair closer to him, catching me off guard with a devilish grin.

  “You know, if you woke up with me, you’d always be on the right side of the bed.”

  These young guys are their cheesy lines. It’s almost laughable.

  “Haden, thanks for nothing. Now get out of my way.”

  I spend close to an hour in the bathroom cleaning my blouse while standing in my bra, trying to dry off under the hand dryer. My heels tap impatiently against the floor tiles. Argh! The nerve of him. And to make it worse, what kind of a line was that?

  I replay the words in my head, ignoring the lingering sound of his voice. So what if he sounded sexy? He’s just playing his usual games. Lately, he’s been really getting on my nerves with the extra unwanted attention he gives me.

  Thankfully, I borrow a blazer from a fellow employee and button it to cover the stains. Providing the room stays at the same temperature, I can manage.

  The boardroom is filling with colleagues, and I prepare my materials, ready to stand at the front of the table. Having done this a dozen times, it has become second nature. Halfway through my presentation, the air becomes stifling hot, and my armpits start to stick to the blazer. Did someone turn up the heat in here. It’ll be all right as long as I don’t sweat where anyone else can see.

  As I look at others seated around the table, some are peeling their jackets off while others use a piece of paper to fan their face. My eyes scan the table for the remote to the air conditioning unit but can’t spot it for the life of me.

  There are a million questions asked, and normally I enjoy answering, but today I am a bitch in heat and ready to tear that smug look off Haden’s face. It’s clear this presentation won’t end as quickly as I want it to, so I take the jacket off and watch as everyone stares at my stained blouse with curiosity.

  “Enough with the staring, a moron spilled tea all over me this morning.”

  “Sounds to me like you need to pay more attention to those around you.” Haden snickers.

  I shoot him a death stare, ready to tear into him again. No one dares to question me further, so I carry on and wrap up as quickly as possible.

  Making my way back to my desk, I slam my notebook and pen down, nearly missing the showdown that’s happening beside me.

  “I know you don’t want me to come up here, but you’ve been avoiding me.”

  As the familiar voice continues, I lean my head slightly to see Trina at Haden’s desk.

  Why am I not at all surprised that the douche is none other than Haden. Of course, he would do something like this. Young, irresponsible—thinks with his dick and not his head.

  The voices become muffled until Trina storms off, visibly in tears. I give it a few moments before standing to confront him. He is leaning casually over Dee’s partition, and from what I can see, she is flashing some major leg. You’ve got to be kidding me. Even though it’s none of my business, I head over to where he’s standing.

  “Wow, it’s like you have no moral conscience whatsoever.”

  “What’s your problem now, Malone?”

  “You just don’t care about anyone but yourself. I mean look at me, you don’t care that you’ve ruined a brand-new blouse that cost me a hell of a lot of money. Then you embarrass me in front of everyone in that presentation. And to top that off, you treat Trina like last night’s takeout box.”

  Dee is shocked at my outburst and carefully pulls her skirt down to cover herself up. Haden is livid, and I swear if you look closely, you can see steam coming out of his ears. His eyes have narrowed behind his glasses, and to control himself, he runs his hands through his dirty-blond hair.

  “Some mouth on you, Malone. You better watch your back. Human Resources would deem that as harassment.”

  “Harassment? I’m the victim here. Not you!” I storm off, having spent enough time and energy on him that I forgot all about my best friend, Vicky. She is sitting on my desk when I return, all smiles and giggles, having returned from Paris only yesterday.

  “Ah… Mademoiselle Malone,” she says in a thick, but fake, French accent.

  Defeated, I slump in my chair. “Tell me about Paris in your normal voice, please?”

  She sits on the corner of my desk, crossing her legs appropriately. Vicky and I met a couple of years back through mutual friends. At the time, she was having an affair with the biggest loser to walk this earth—a married man with three kids. It ended badly, so from that day on, Vicky vowed to never get into a serious relationship again and is happy to play the field.

  “The shopping was fantastic, totally maxed my credit card. The sightseeing was awesome and the men… Pres, like seriously, the French men know how to make you scream so loud, I swear the people at the top of the Eiffel Tower could hear us.”

  “A one-time type of thing?”

  “You know me, Pres. I like my men foreign. Keeps the fantasy alive.”

  “But aren’t you worried about what could happen after?”

  “Like what? I’m always protected, you’ve got to make sure both of you understand it’s a no-strings-attached kinda night. Anyway, I met this guy, Jean-Phillipe, and he’s been texting me all day.”

  Distracted by her phone, she types something ridiculously fast into it, then places it on the table.

  “So, are you going to finally tell me what happened with Jason?”

  “We broke it off. I’m fine, really,” I lie, convincingly.

  “We so need to get you drunk and in someone’s bed, pronto.”

  “Wait, Vicky, that’s awful. I’m not like that. Plus, I’d never do that to Jason.”

  “How do you know he hasn’t done it already? Where did he stay last night?” she is quick to interrogate.

  “At a friend’s house. And besides, Jason isn’t like that.”

  The thought of Jason being with another woman pulls on the jealous strings I thought laid dormant. I am not that type of girl, and I strongly believe Jason wouldn’t so heartlessly jump into the next bed that came along. He is a better man than that.

  “Pres, look… I’m not trying to be insensitive. Jason is a guy. Just don’t be surprised if he has moved on,” she says, this time in a softer tone.

  I’m not a big crier, and the thought of crying at work is embarrassing. I can control my emotions, even if Vicky is staring at me like I’m an orphaned child with no shoes on my feet.

  “We only broke up last week. His stuff is still in our apartment,” I croak.

  “Yeah, well, trust me, they only need a minute of being released from the ball and chain.”

  “I’m not a ball and chain.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly a spontaneous let’s-push-everything-off-the-table-and-fuck-like-wild- animals kinda gal either now, are you?”

  She has a point, and I can’t imagine anything worse. What a mess that would make. And my pens? No, don’t go there.

  I move my mouse to start up my computer when I notice some excess tea on my desk. Letting out a huff, I grab another tissue to wipe it down. This day needs to be over so I can crawl into bed an
d forget the world exists. Vicky raises her eyebrow at me, and I unbutton the blazer that I had placed back on, revealing the stained blouse.

  Unable to control herself, she laughs out loud, resting her hand on my shoulder with a sympathetic look.

  “On the bus ride over here?”

  “Nope, just an asshole who’s now trying to get into Dee’s pants.”

  “Haden? How can someone so hot be such a royal pain in the ass?”

  “Hot? I can’t see past the arrogance and petulant behavior. He’s like a goddam box of mixed chocolates… you don’t know what you’re going to get next.”

  “Dee told me he wanted a threesome on Saturday night. Tried to get with her and her sister.”

  “Are you joking? How inappropriate.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but Dee sure looks happy today.”

  Just when I thought my opinion of him couldn’t get any lower, I am proven wrong.

  Vicky’s phone vibrates on my desk, and immediately she picks it up with an amused smile and shoves it in my face.

  “What am I looking at?”

  She points to the message from Jean-Phillipe—it’s hot, heavy, and wow, can this man talk dirty!

  “What’s with all the hashtags?” I ask.

  “Oh, it’s this thing we do. You know, rather than typing sentences together, we just hashtag a word or a string of words which kind of means the same thing.”

  Right, I am so out of the loop. Is this how you communicate today with potential lovers? All in hashtags? What happened to old-fashioned flirting? You know, some playful face-to-face banter and a hey-how-about-a-nightcap-at-my-apartment type of wink at the end?

  “So, tell me, Vicky, what would you type to describe how much of an asshole Haden is?”

  She places her index finger on the corner of her mouth, then as if a light bulb goes off in her head, she says, “Worst day ever #RuinedBlouse #Jerk.”

  I smile instantly. “You summed it up perfectly.”

  Three