The Office Rival: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Kat T. Masen

  “We need to talk,” I grit, barely able to contain my anger.

  “I’m busy.”

  “You’re drinking a can of Coke and playing solitaire.”

  “Exactly. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Fine, I’ll do it here,” I bellow, crossing my arms in frustration. “Thanks for not showing up at the ultrasound. I had to fucking reschedule. Would it have hurt you to pick up the phone? Or even send a text? Since clearly, you have no balls whatsoever.”

  The king lines up to his final card, and the screen shows his victory win. He shuts the page down, then turns to face me. He looks ghastly with deep, dark circles shadowing his dull eyes, not to mention his beard that has truly taken on a life of its own. He was obviously stoned and drunk all weekend.

  Looking uninterested, he takes a drink, then throws the can into the trash. “Are you done now?”

  I exhale at his insensitivity. “No, I’m not done. This is exactly why I don’t want you in my child’s life. Once again, you’ve proven you have no desire to be a father, and I’m really sorry that your name sits inside that envelope.”

  His face falls, and he quickly opens it to read the answer he is undoubtedly hoping isn’t true. His expression turns to pity, fear, and most noticeably, regret. The quick stabbing pains in my heart make me wish he had reacted differently, that may be in some universe filled with rainbows and unicorns, he would have jumped for joy.

  But he didn’t.

  And sometimes, one look can say a thousand words.

  What did I seriously expect? He is twenty-six. He rides a motorcycle and gets stoned on the weekends. I couldn’t have picked a less desirable sperm donor if I had plucked one from a hat.

  Whatever part of me still clings to some sort of pathetic miracle should have read all the signs by now. I only rile myself up the more I dwell on it.

  Where did smart, level-headed Presley run off to? Well, it is time for her to come back. Guns blazing.

  “So, you have your proof now, but it doesn’t matter,” I tell him, trying to remain strong. “On top of all this, I don’t know why you hid the fact that Mr. Sadler is your stepfather. And, you know what?” My heated words and my irritable behavior should forewarn him of the storm that’s about to hit. “I don’t know you at all, Haden. Your mood swings are worse than a fifteen-year-old girl’s. I know you’re hiding something, but who knows what? And I have no clue why you’re getting married to someone you barely know. I’m really over all your immature games. I’ve got a child to raise, and frankly, I don’t care whether you’re a part of it or not.”

  I storm off not waiting for an answer. This day’s just gone from bad to complete and utter hell. To add to it, I am pissed at myself for even mentioning the marriage thing. Yeah, in hindsight, what does it matter? What he does with his life is his business. Why do I want some an answer or insight into why he is marrying a woman he has known for such a short time?

  Back at my desk, I struggle to get any tasks done. Everything in my life feels like a giant mess. When these moods appear, there is only one solution—clean. I grab some disinfectant and wipe my entire desk down including my keyboard, removing the keys one by one, wiping, replacing. I file away the two papers sitting on my desk and sharpen all my pencils to the same height. Then I reorganize my filing cabinet and archive some old paperwork.

  That was too easy.

  So, I sneak into the main kitchen and start cleaning out the fridge. I was wrong about the Jerk’s cup and the new species growing inside it because there is something ten times worse in this fridge. Someone has left a moldy apple, a rotten banana, and some cheese in a plastic container. It’s now green, furry, and I swear on my unborn child’s life, I see movement in the box. I shiver and pinch the sides of the container, throwing it in the trash.

  Breathing a sigh of relief when I can practically see my reflection in the countertops, I head back to my desk, much calmer now. Sitting in my chair with a fresh cup of tea, I take in the peace and quiet for just a moment. It is short-lived as my phone starts to dance across my desk. I recognize the number and pick it up. The receptionist at the ultrasound place had a last-minute cancellation this afternoon, and I’m quick to accept her timeslot. This morning was bad enough, showing up and waiting like an idiot. I’ve learned my lesson and have no desire to tell him about this second appointment.

  “Guess what?” Vicky is sitting on my freshly-disinfected desk with her God-knows-where-it’s- been ass.

  Frowning, I eventually indulge her. “Let me guess, the Jerk came and saw you and is trying to worm his way back as Mr. Nice Guy?”

  She stops mid-smile and grimaces. “Are you in love with him?”

  “Wh… why would you say that?” I stutter, wanting to slap myself in the face for making her think I am. Because I’m not.

  “Just asking… so, anyway, Patrick called me,” she says excitedly.

  Welcoming the switch of topic and avoiding the awkward conversation about love, I am shocked and surprised to learn the weasel is contacting Vicky again. Here’s the thing about Patrick—he’s the ultimate jerk. The amount of pain and humiliation he’s caused Vicky is downright inexcusable. There is no logical reason for him to call Vicky apart from wanting to screw her one more time, then send her off on a shame parade down the highway to hell.

  “Patrick? Your ex? The man who was married with kids and fucked you till all hell broke loose? That Patrick?”

  She grins, and automatically I worry she will if she hasn’t already jumped on the boat to Brokenheartsville. Again.

  “Vicky, don’t go there again. You were a mess last time,” I gently warn her.

  “But this time I’m over him. I’m just curious to find out what he wants.” She tries to reassure me.

  This isn’t good. I have half a mind to call him up and tell him to fuck off, or I’ll chop his balls up and feed it to the snappy dog that lives next door. But, of course, I try to be the mature and ever-so-caring friend. I was there through it all, from the snotty sobs to plotting the ultimate revenge. What I didn’t expect was to be back here two years later and for Vicky to so eagerly jump back in.

  “What else would he want but to get you into bed?”

  “Closure,” she replies.

  “Guys don’t want closure. They just go find some new jackrabbit to fuck… or something along those lines,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Vicky continues to justify her reasons for responding to him, and I continue to play the friend who tries to stop her from making another wrong decision. But it’s her decision to make, and no amount of persuasion from me will change her mind.

  Mental note—stock up on ice cream because it’s all downhill from here.

  “I’m guessing we’ll continue this conversation tonight. Listen, I love you, but if he hurts you in the slightest way, I’ll go all psycho on his ass.”

  “I know you got my back,” she simpers, leaning in to kiss my forehead as reassurance. “Are you going somewhere now?”

  “The Jerk stood me up this morning, so I missed my appointment. The ultrasound place has another opening this afternoon, so once I finish this report I’m working on, I’m heading out.”

  “Uh-oh… I need the whole story.” She glances at her watch. “But I’ve got a meeting I need to get to. I’ll call you tonight, okay?” She raises her eyes, then quickly says goodbye and disappears.

  I make it to the appointment with only a minute to spare. The sonographer, Sandra, invites me into the room, and just as I’m about to close the door behind me, there is chaos in the waiting room.

  “Am I late?”

  Panting and out of breath, the Jerk bends, resting his body against the door and trying to redeem himself. His hair is a wild mess, and sweat is visibly dripping down his forehead.

  “Why are you here? I didn’t tell you…”

  Damn Vicky! That conniving little witch!

  “I’m here, okay? Quit giving me gr
ief.”

  Secretly, I am glad he is here. Whatever the reason he felt the need to see our baby, I don’t care. It’s the first moment throughout the pregnancy where I feel normal, and when I say normal, I mean with a partner right beside me. Sure, it’s all fantasy, but just for this short time, I can pretend it’s real.

  But, of course, I wouldn’t think of telling him that, and instead, I poke fun at him.

  “Geez, Jerk, wouldn’t hurt you to hit the gym once in a while.”

  “I ran ten blocks,” he responds, exasperated. “In an Armani suit.”

  I roll my eyes at his melodrama and walk into the room. My cheeks start to flush as I think of having to change into the gown. Thankfully, Sandra senses my embarrassment and leads me to the bathroom inside the room where I quickly change into my gown. Walking back into the area, my bare body lays beneath the thin material and feels extremely exposed.

  I cross to the other side of the bed as Sandra assists me with getting comfortable. The sheets are placed strategically over my private parts, and Haden takes a seat beside me as the warm gel is spread all over my belly.

  “That’s a lot of lube,” he snickers under his breath.

  “So mature, Jerk.”

  The volume is turned up on the machine, and Sandra moves around my uterus until the baby’s heartbeat echoes throughout the room. It’s like music to my ears, and my eyes move toward the screen as I watch the images of what looks like a happy little baby cooped up inside.

  “So, the baby is measuring correctly,” she tells us, typing in the measurements as she speaks.

  Haden is staring at the screen, fixated on the baby. “Can you tell us what the sex is?”

  “I sure can.” She smiles.

  “Don’t tell him. I don’t want to know.” I shake my head.

  “You can’t decide that for me.”

  “Seriously, what the hell is your problem? You think I’m hormonal, what about you? You’re such an ass.”

  Sandra pauses and looks at both of us. “So yes… no?”

  “No,” I say at the same time he says, “Yes.”

  I speak up again. “Absolutely not. If you want to know, then I’ll leave the room.”

  “Not yet, Miss Malone. I just wanted to talk about the position. The baby is breech. However, there’s still time to turn.”

  In a blind panic, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to help the baby turn?”

  “Your obstetrician may be able to assist, but the best thing you can do is relax and enjoy the rest of the pregnancy.”

  Any previous concerns about the sex of the baby don’t seem to be an issue anymore. She spends longer checking the baby and its progress, and I forget Haden is even in the room. I only remember he is here when he clears his throat. Something about the way he is amorously staring at the screen consumes me. He’s lost in a moment where his soul becomes an open book, and I see a man who is capable of loving this unborn child more than himself. It moves me, yet I break away from these thoughts. This line of thinking is dangerous because deep inside, my walls are breaking down, and he is the giant wrecking ball ready to do enormous damage.

  It takes every part of me to turn away from this beautiful sight and move off the bed.

  Haden reaches out his hand to help me, but stubborn old me refuses to touch him, and I almost fall off the bed.

  “Jesus, can you seriously stop being so stubborn and allow me to help you?”

  I hold onto my stomach as a small cramp hits.

  “I told you. I don’t want anything from you. My goddamn mailman is more reliable than you,” I snap, unsure of where it’s coming from after such a special moment.

  In his typical signature move, he runs his hands through his hair, disheartened. I am tired of arguing with him, and something tells me this is only the beginning. The two of us just can’t get along, it’s that plain and simple.

  “I didn’t tell you that David, or as you call him, Mr. Sadler, is my stepdad because I don’t like anyone knowing.”

  Thrown off by the change of subject, I attempt to listen rather than open my big fat mouth for once. Sandra gives us some time alone to gather our things and leaves the room to attend to another appointment.

  “Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death.” He falls into a digestive silence, eyes staring at the screen where the picture of the baby remains frozen.

  I’m never sure what to say in these circumstances, never having experienced the death of anyone close to me besides my grandparents. This is why Hallmark runs a successful business—they sell a card for every occasion when you have nothing appropriate to say.

  I need a Hallmark quote right now.

  “I’m sorry, Haden,” I apologize quietly.

  His eyes focus on my stomach, then move toward my face. He’s like a little lost boy, the vulnerability and sadness weighing heavily in that one glance. I want to reach out to him, but I know it’s inappropriate. Instead, I keep my distance and try to offer some support by listening.

  “He died when I was fifteen. A car accident,” he tells me in a low voice. “Presley, I run away from this because I’m scared I’ll never be the dad he was to me.”

  I have no choice but to be nice now because I’m not a cold-hearted bitch. I hate the way my feelings toward him shift. I knew there was a reason why he acted like a jerk all the time. I just never expected it to be this.

  “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” I offer.

  “I have to attend this dinner with Eloise.”

  I don’t say anything, and he quickly adds, “But I can cancel. Can we go back to your place?”

  “Sure.”

  Eloise doesn’t take the cancellation well. The argument in the taxi ride home echoes through the speaker.

  Some mouth she has on her.

  His patience is wearing thin, and the grinding from his teeth is audible, not to mention his repetitive tapping of the door handle, which is driving me insane. When he directs the driver to stop at the corner pizza place, I welcome the interruption.

  When we walk through the door of the apartment, the exhaustion of the day hits me like a ton of bricks, and I fall onto the sofa effortlessly.

  The one thing I love about Kate’s apartment is how cozy and warm it feels. There is something about this place that makes you feel like you are home. It could be the one-of-a-kind vintage pieces or the comfortable natural-colored sofa that practically begs your body to sink into it. Either way, I’m happy to be here.

  “Nice place. Who did you say owns it?” He takes a slice of pizza, practically inhaling it in one bite.

  “My roommate, Kate, but actually her best friend, Charlie Edwards, owns the place.”

  “Name sounds familiar,” he casually responds.

  “Maybe you know her husband, Lex Edwards? He was the one who told me about Mr. Sadler being your stepdad.”

  Haden lets out a long whistle. “I remember her. How could I forget?” He chuckles at what appears to be his own private joke. “She was at this event, some business thing. I believe I tried to, um… anyway, Lex was quick to set me straight.”

  I have to laugh at this. I can only imagine how possessive Lex could be. He and his wife are stunning—at least from Kate’s photographs they are. From what Kate told me, no one, and I mean no one, gets near Lex’s wife.

  “Always the player, aren’t you?” I tease, grabbing another slice of pepperoni pizza that I am certain is calling my name.

  “Was,” he corrects me. “What am I now? I don’t even know who I am.”

  Taking slow bites, I drink some soda and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “You’re the same person to me. A big fat jerk. Well, not the fat part because actually, you’re quite muscular and lean, but you …” I trail off as he stares at me in bewilderment.

  “What? Sauce on my face?” I ask, paranoid.

  “No… it’s nothing.”

  I let it go for now, finishing off the last bite and holding in the burp that wants to escape.

  �
�It’s nice to just pig out on pizza,” he says out of the blue.

  “It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures. You don’t pig out on pizza? I thought guys were all about pizza.”

  “I used to be. Eloise doesn’t like it.”

  I laugh on cue. “If I were with someone who didn’t like pizza, there would be no future for us.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the difference between you and her,” he boldly states.

  “I’m sorry, Haden. Please just once and for all tell me… why are you marrying her?”

  He shuffles uncomfortably. “I told you. I love her. It’s all about timing, right?”

  “I know you said that,” I hate to admit. “But you just met her. How does a guy who’s used to jumping into random panties suddenly tie himself down?”

  I watch him wringing the napkin between his hands. Staring at the floor, he lets out a long breath, then opens his mouth to speak. “She happened to be there at a time when I needed someone. I can’t forget that. Despite what you might think, she’s a really good person.”

  I quickly defend his allegation against me. “I never said she wasn’t. I simply don’t understand why you’re rushing into marriage.”

  “Well, I just told you. She’s great. My mom loves her, and so it makes sense.”

  I don’t pry further because, truth be told, he sounds completely unsure of himself. So, after that revelation, we continue to sit in silence.

  “Why did you stop talking to me that morning you woke up?” he questions, this time holding my gaze.

  It’s the second time he’s asked me that, and this time I call defeat. Honesty is something I base all of my relationships on whether they be partners or friends.

  “The truth? And don’t get a big head. And when I say head, I mean down below because, no chance, buddy.” Looking puzzled, he waits for my explanation. “I had a dream about you. About us.”