The Office Rival: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Kat T. Masen

  “I don’t constantly mention him,” I answer defensively.

  “Right.” He laughs. “It’s obvious you’re not over him.”

  “Of course, I’m not. I was with him for five years. I’m not that heartless. I’d like to think I’ll always love him, just not in a way that would end happily ever after as soul mates.”

  “You read too much trash.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “You don’t believe in love? You’re engaged. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “Yes… I am.”

  He doesn’t reveal anything else, and I’m dying to ask how a man who is pushing twenty-six—thank you, Vicky, for the Facebook stalking—pops the question to a girl he has known less than four months.

  Maybe she is knocked-up! Oh, this could be even worse than I thought.

  “We should get back to work,” I huff.

  “So, chapter five. Crystal is a single mother with a five-year-old son forced to work as an escort to put food on the table. I’m worried that those feminist groups are going to bully the author. We don’t need bad publicity.”

  “I agree. Perhaps the author needs to reword a few lines just to give a little more background as to how she was forced to become an escort.”

  We talk more and jot down notes, ready for our meeting with the author tomorrow. For the majority of our meeting, we don’t argue. But of course, all good things must come to an end.

  “I have to admit, this single-mom stuff is tough on this character. Glad I ain’t a woman.”

  I swallow the massive lump restricting my ability to breathe and fumble with the button on my blouse. This is your opening—go ahead, do it! Yet, I continue sitting in silence, chickening out once again. I am such a coward.

  “Life hands you lemons, you gotta make lemonade somehow.”

  “If life hands you lemons, you grab some tequila and have a party.” He smirks.

  “See, that’s the difference between you and me. Tequila and partying are a thing of the past. When you grow up one day, you’ll realize it isn’t worth all the hangovers.”

  He leans in, too close for my comfort. “Funny, Malone, you seemed to enjoy tequila and partying that night at the bar.”

  “And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t drink. You always regret your actions the next day,” I say, staring at him.

  He appears offended, pulling back immediately. Straightening his tie and adjusting his glasses, he clears his throat. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, Malone.”

  “Just like you are a jerk… all the time.”

  Shutting down his laptop, he storms out of the room without a word while I breathe a sigh of relief.

  This is too hard.

  It isn’t worth forming a friendship when he will soon hate me and wish I never existed.

  Ten

  Avoiding Marcus is harder than I anticipated. The rational part of my brain knows it is best that I tell Haden before Marcus. It seems like the right thing to do, but Marcus is desperate, horny, and not afraid of letting me know that. I can’t pull the period card out because he gives me alternatives, and seriously what is it with young guys and their desire for anal activities? Nevertheless, I manage to avoid any physical activity with Marcus knowing it’s for the best.

  My clothing has started to feel restrictive, and I am fairly certain I can see a small bump, still small enough to pass it off as bloating. I can’t button my pants, so I stick to wearing skirts and loose-fitting blouses. On top of the stress of telling Haden and Marcus, I have my parents to deal with.

  To soften the blow, telling my sister, Gemma, gives me a taste of what is about to come. She is over the moon and wants all the juicy tidbits about baby daddy. Then came a whole speech about how much she was going to spoil her niece or nephew. We talked about the right way to tell Mom and Dad, and agree it is best over the phone followed by a visit.

  My nerves are shot to hell about making that phone call, but I can’t hide it forever. Plus, I really need my mom and her parental advice right now.

  As predicted, my parents were deeply disappointed, especially because they loved Jason so much and spent an hour telling me that I should have fallen pregnant with him. It isn’t a rewind-and-let’s-try-again situation. The damage is done. Mom, of course, is extra disappointed Haden is younger than me as it is frowned upon in her generation for a woman to marry a younger man. That lecture took another hour. By the end of the phone call, I am emotionally spent. As soon as we hang up, my mom calls me right back and starts panicking.

  “Are you taking your prenatal vitamins?”

  “Make sure you don’t eat blue cheese and cold meats.”

  “Don’t sleep on your stomach. You might squash the baby.”

  I could have listened all day to her. There is nothing more comforting at that moment than some motherly advice. I told her I will clear my schedule next month and fly to Virginia to spend a few days with them before I get too big. She seems more at ease by the end and even gloats about being a grandmother and knitting booties.

  With that now ticked off my list, I know I have no choice but to tell Haden.

  The perfect opportunity presents itself on Friday night, a week later. I suggested we work on finalizing some details on Fallen Baby and asked Haden to come to my apartment. Hoping he doesn’t get the wrong idea, I ordered a ton of takeout remembering the old the-way-to-a-man’s-heart-is-through-his-stomach saying. Not that I want to get to his heart, I just want to remain alive by the end of the conversation.

  He turns up at seven on the dot, dressed in light jeans and a white tee. The Chucks on his feet make me think he will not be going out clubbing, especially since he is also wearing a baseball cap. I blame the hormones again for noticing how delicious he looks. I don’t bother to dress up. I’m wearing a loose-fitting tank top and drawstring shorts. It’s pretty much the only thing that fits right now, plus it is scorching hot outside. Being pregnant in the summer has not made me a happy camper.

  Walking barefoot back to my sofa, I ask him to take a seat before offering him a drink.

  “Nice place you got here. You moving?” he asks, spotting the bare walls and stacked boxes.

  “Yeah, soon. This was ours, but we decided to sell. Had a few offers, and I think we’re closing soon.”

  “Ours?”

  “Jason’s and mine. We bought it two years ago.”

  “Right. Have you found a place?”

  “I’ve been to inspect a few. Not much in my price range. I wish I could afford to buy this place, but a part of me thinks it’ll be good to move on.”

  That seems to be the extent of our forced conversation, so I grab my laptop and go through my bullet points, all the while finding the courage to start the inevitable. Throughout the conversation, my head is repeating what I’m about to say over and over again until the point when he waits for me to respond, and I have no idea what he’s just asked.

  “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “You seem distracted. I asked if the author plans a sequel.”

  “Uh… not at this stage.”

  “All right,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’ll bite. Why are you acting weird?”

  “Weird? Okay…” I take a long breath. “This… is very… I need to ask you a question.”

  He sits back into the sofa. With a composed yet undermining stare, he waits patiently if not eagerly for me to speak. I’ve become a little distracted, imagining myself sitting on top of him, riding his beautiful pierced dick, and then, fuck these damn hormones! Focus!

  “That night in the alley—”

  “You said we weren’t to talk about that,” he is quick to remind me.

  “I know I said that, but I have to ask you something, and I don’t want you reading more into it.”

  “What are you going on about, Malone?”

  Here goes, my eggs all in one basket—literally.

  “Did you…” God, how do I ask this? “Did you… you know, finish?”

&nb
sp; “Finish?”

  “Finish… do the deed. Shoot your load.”

  There is a wicked grin on his face and rubbing his barely-existent beard in an annoying yet smoldering manner, he has me stumbling on my thoughts.

  “Let me get this straight, Malone. You’re asking me if I came?”

  Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I feel so juvenile, nodding to suppress the sheer embarrassment.

  “I’m curious as to why you’re only asking me this now?”

  “Because I just need to know.”

  With his arm draped along the back of the sofa, he inches closer, intimidating me with a persistent stare. He doesn’t realize I’m in the prime of the pregnancy, loaded with hormones, ready to pounce and beg him to fuck me because I am so damn horny I can’t even think straight.

  “It’s a personal question, and you’re demanding an answer without explaining why you need to know.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Jerk. We passed personal when you decided to screw me in the alley.”

  “You cut the bullshit, Malone. Why do you wanna know?”

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out without thinking, without any emotion.

  There.

  Done.

  Phew.

  I release a breath, finally able to breathe a little.

  It’s not just one ball of tumbleweed, but a whole colony that rolls past as the silence falls over the room. I don’t dare look at him, his heavy breathing enough of an indication that he’s about to have a stroke.

  “Why weren’t you on the fucking pill, Malone?” he demands, raising his voice and catching me off guard while jumping off the sofa.

  “I was on the pill! Why would you come inside me and assume that?”

  He is pacing the floor, his hat thrown onto the table as he runs his fingers through his hair in utter despair. His eyes are wild with panic, and he looks ready to smash the first thing in sight.

  I’m right.

  He does it moments later, and the porcelain lucky elephant that Gemma gave me is splattered on the floor.

  Okay, don’t go ape-shit on him. The elephant is replaceable. Have some compassion for the Jerk, you’ve just delivered the most lifechanging news. He needs to process.

  “I put a fucking condom on! You pulled it off. Then we used another one.”

  “What do you want me to say? Scientifically, we beat the odds, and I don’t know what the hell happened or how,” I yell back in frustration.

  “How could this happen, then? And how can you assume it’s mine? Who knows who you were doing? Marcus… it’s got to belong to Marcus.”

  He didn’t just go there. Yep, he did.

  Unleash the hounds.

  Quick to my feet, I’m eye to eye with him, matching his stance. Even though he towers over me while I’m barefoot, he doesn’t intimidate me one bit. My arms are straight, hands locked into fists, ready to tear into him.

  “I’m not that person. Blood tests and ultrasounds confirmed how far along I am. I can’t even… you know what?” I say, barely able to control my anger. “You can walk away now. Forget I told you this. You’re young, got your whole life ahead of you. I can raise this baby. I don’t need someone in my life thinking I’m a whore.”

  “I didn’t… look, I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  “Too late for apologies, Jerk.”

  Silence, again.

  This time, he sits back on the sofa and bends over with his face between his legs. His arms are resting on his knees, but they appear to be shaking. Neither of us saying a word, the silence continues as the clock ticks over.

  “I’m engaged,” he mumbles, his words barely audible. “To Eloise.”

  “Yes, you are. I don’t want anything from you.”

  Still, without knowing what the hell happened in London, the name and sentiment strike a nerve with me, almost like a how-dare-I-ruin-things-for-him attitude. It dawns on me that he doesn’t even take a moment to ask me how I’m doing, whether I’ve had morning sickness, or anything about the baby. It’s all about him, and why did I expect anything different from Haden Cooper?

  I should have just kept this a secret and moved away, and life could continue for him. Except you want the best for your unborn child, and having a father around who is a positive male role model is supposed to be a good thing. I wouldn’t go as far as saying the Jerk could be a positive role model, though.

  Again, I shouldn’t have breathed a word.

  “Marcus. Does he know?”

  “No… I thought you needed to know first. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

  “I want to be there when you tell him,” he responds, threatening me as he struggles to compose his anger.

  “Wha… why? I don’t want to deal with your ego bullshit,” I inform him. “I’ll just tell him, and it’s over.”

  I want him to leave.

  I want to climb under my covers and cry myself to sleep.

  I’m scared, frightened, and unsure of how I am going to raise this baby alone.

  Somewhere deep down inside, I wish he would have stepped up and taken responsibility for his actions. But true to form, he grabs his phone and wallet from the table and without making eye contact he says, “I have to go.”

  There are no more words, and the second he is gone, I begin to cry myself to sleep.

  Eleven

  One thing that doesn’t surprise me about Marcus’ kitchen is that it is a complete and utter mess. It’s midday Saturday, and the place looks like a tornado just blew through. My OCD is having a heart attack, desperate to grab some disinfectant and scrub the place clean, but this isn’t the purpose of my visit. Although I am wondering if it would be highly inappropriate to offer to clean his apartment after I tell him I’m pregnant with his cousin’s baby.

  A late-night drunken call from Marcus alerted me to the welcome-back party being held for the Jerk and what’s her face. Okay, that’s mean. She’s got a face, a pretty one at that, so no need to get on that jealous horse, Presley.

  According to Marcus, Haden never showed. Eloise was worried but somehow got over it and partied hard with the rest of them. Of course, I know why he didn’t turn up. He was probably smashing up the city, picturing my face on every pole.

  So here I am, sitting in front of the countertop as Marcus sits beside me looking like death. Dark circles surround his dull green eyes, and his skin looks pale and sickly. Even though we are indoors, he is wearing his hoodie with the hood covering his head. The sun filtering through the small window appears to irritate him, and he squints his eyes involuntarily, curling his body like a nocturnal animal.

  The giant curveball to this mad situation—I didn’t expect the Jerk to be here as well.

  He turned up only moments ago and sent Eloise on a mission to get everyone coffee from the café a couple of blocks away. She doesn’t appear as wasted as the rest of them and still looks stunning after a night of partying. A mini-argument erupts after she blatantly refuses to be his coffee monkey, but he manages to convince her somehow.

  Haden stands against the sink, and just as I predicted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. I probably should ask if he is okay, but that would mean I care, which I don’t.

  He is purposefully avoiding eye contact with me and is clearly still very pissed off, insinuating that this is all my fault. Well, it takes two to tango, buddy, and one selfish dick to blow his load.

  Earlier, I asked for a glass of water, but after witnessing how dirty the kitchen is, I leave my untouched glass sitting on the countertop. I am parched but can’t be bothered to rinse the glass out. Marcus interrupts my thoughts, questioning why the three of us are standing in the kitchen.

  So, I start with the beginning—what happened that night in the alley. Throughout my recollection of the events, I honestly have to pinch myself. Here I am standing with a guy I was fooling around with and a guy who is be my child’s father.

  The reality of the situation is that I barely know them, have no clue when their birthdays are, le
t alone their favorite colors. Okay, favorite color is lame, but I cannot feel any more like a stranger in this confined room. I have a better relationship with the man who owns the local laundromat, and that’s saying a lot.

  “You’re pregnant with Haden’s baby?” Marcus laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Honestly, what a sick joke you guys came up with.”

  “It’s true. Why would I lie about this? But we aren’t together. It’s not like we were seeing each other,” I tell him in my defense.

  “You’re not together. You’re with me,” he responds bitterly, spitting out his words in haste.

  Clearly, I am stupid to think that being pregnant with his cousin’s baby is not an automatic breakup. Not being accustomed to this possessive side of him, I choose my words carefully, not wanting to rub salt into his very open wound.

  “Marcus. We had our fun, but the reality is, I’m going to be a mother. My priority is raising this baby.”

  Haden crosses his arms in silence, waiting for a reaction. I look in his direction, goading some sort of help from him to save me from this uncomfortable situation. Nothing, of course, even when Marcus reaches for the bottle of bourbon from the cupboard and drinks it straight from the bottle.

  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why the fuck did you both tell me nothing went on?”

  I glance aside, avoiding Haden. “Because it was nothing. A drunken mistake.”

  “Well, it’s not nothing since you’re having a baby together!” He slams his fist against the countertop. Ouch! It looks painful, but nothing in Marcus’ expression, aside from pure hatred, makes me think he feels a single thing.

  Looking much like death himself, the Jerk is dressed in all black. If one didn’t know his life was turned upside down less than twenty-four hours ago, you would think he’s attending a funeral. Maybe it is a funeral, a farewell to his carefree life of no responsibilities and only having to worry about himself.

  Finally, he steps in. “Back off, Marcus. This is hard on all of us.”

  Marcus jumps to his feet and stumbles to where Haden is standing. Head on, Marcus sways the bottle, taking another swig and throwing it into the sink behind him. The sound of the glass smashing startles me, and I know shit is about to get real.