Enemies With Benefits: Loveless Brothers, Book 1

by Noir, Roxie

  I hear the subtext, loud and clear. I play it back, make sure I got it right. I examine it for pitfalls.

  “Just the two of us for a weekend,” he says. “Come on.”

  My heart sputters, kicks, restarts, hammers away.

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere,” he says. “Please?”

  I hold my breath for a moment, nervous despite everything, nervous even though I know I shouldn’t be.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you last weekend,” I say, getting the words out before I can stop myself.

  His eyebrows hitch upward.

  “You kissed me plenty,” he says.

  “In front of everyone, I mean,” I say.

  My chest feels like balloon about to burst, just waiting for him to say oh, I was only kidding about that or I was just drunk or another of a hundred phrases that would pop me like a needle.

  “I wish I had,” I whisper.

  Eli takes my hand in his, winding our fingers together.

  “How about instead of that, I take you to dinner Tuesday after you win?” he says.

  “Don’t —”

  “Jinx it, I know, can I take you to dinner or what? Here. In town.”

  My heart feels like a bellows.

  “What if I don’t win because you jinxed it?” I ask.

  “Then I’ll take you out to get your mind off it,” he says.

  “What if Martin wins?”

  Eli makes a face.

  “If Martin wins I say we get sloppy drunk and make out at the bar until they have to call someone to come pick us up,” he says, and I laugh.

  “Okay,” I finally say. “Dinner if someone good wins, shots if Martin wins.”

  “Exactly.”

  My hand is still in his, and he absentmindedly taps my knuckles with his fingers in that restless way he always has, and I watch him. I already can’t remember what I was so nervous about, but that’s the way it always goes.

  “Eli,” I say.

  He stops tapping for a second, his eyes flicking to mine.

  “Violet.

  “I like you,” I say.

  There’s more to it than that. There’s desire and lust, obviously, and there’s everything that’s between us. But there’s also these quiet moments. There’s also him showing me the constellations on his roof or holding me in the car while I told him about my mom. There’s making pancakes for breakfast and bringing pies to his family dinner.

  “I like you, too,” he whispers back, his eyes crinkling with a smile as he brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “A lot.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Violet

  Tuesday morning, I wake up at five a.m., like I’m a kid on Christmas. After thirty minutes of trying to go back to sleep I give up, get out of my bed quietly, toss on my robe, head into my kitchen, and make some coffee.

  Two hours later, Eli wanders in, pillow lines on his face, hair mussed and wild, in nothing but his boxers.

  It’s a very good morning sight.

  He gives me a suspicious look, then shakes his head and pours himself some coffee.

  “You’re that excited for this meeting?” he says, sleep still weighing down his voice.

  “I just couldn’t sleep,” I say, pushing aside the book I was reading.

  “You do know there are other employees at Bramblebush who do good work,” he teases. “Like me, for example. I did okay this summer.”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t sleep because I think I’m going to win,” I say, truthfully. “I just said I couldn’t sleep.”

  If I really thought I were going to win I’d have slept like a baby. I hate to admit it, but it’s the thought of not winning that’s kept me up.

  I don’t like losing. I really, really don’t like it.

  “Mhm,” he says, lifting the coffee to his lips. “I’m sure that hasn’t crossed your mind at all.”

  I just roll my eyes.

  “Just remember us little guys when you win,” he says. “Name some of us in your acceptance speech.”

  He leans against my counter, sipping. I take a minute to ogle, because I can.

  “Are you suggesting I name you?” I ask. “And to Eli Loveless, thanks for keeping my bed warm?”

  “I did better than that,” he teases, grinning. “A heating pad could keep your bed warm. Besides, I do have professional accomplishments. Several, in fact.”

  “You gonna thank me in your speech?”

  “Does the winner really have to give a speech?”

  “I didn’t last year or the year before,” I admit. “It would be weird.”

  “Good,” he says. “I hate giving speeches.”

  “You’d love doing it if you won,” I say. “Don’t lie, Eli, I know you too well for that.”

  He laughs.

  “Maybe,” he admits. “Mostly, I’d want to revel for as long as I could in the fact that I beat you at something.”

  I lean my head against my hand.

  “Still, Eli?” I say lightly. “Even now?”

  He drinks the last of his coffee, puts the mug in my sink, and crosses the kitchen toward me.

  “Especially now,” he says, and kisses me on top of the head. “I’m gonna take a shower. Leave without me if you want, I’ve got my key.”

  * * *

  I don’t see Eli again until the all-staff meeting starts, and then it’s from across the room. I stand around, having my fourth cup of coffee, trying to make idle chatter with Lydia and Kevin when he walks in.

  He saunters straight over to us. My heart flutters and I brace myself, all at once, remembering our conversation from last night. We’re real now. I’m fully prepared to admit to the world that Eli Loveless is my boyfriend.

  But I don’t think I can kiss him in front of my coworkers. That’s just weird, right? Weird and wildly unprofessional? And against several workplace guidelines?

  Eli just nods at me, like he can read my mind. Maybe he can by now, who knows.

  “How’s your head?” he asks Kevin.

  “It’s been better,” my poor intern says. “Montgomery did chew us out pretty good.”

  Lydia makes a face.

  “I heard,” Eli says dryly. “Zane and Brandon have had their tails between their legs all week.”

  “He said the only reason he didn’t fire us is this is our last week, so there was no point,” Kevin admits. “So that’s… something.”

  A hush falls over the assembled staff, and Lydia’s eyes snap to the front.

  I turn, heart already thumping.

  Montgomery is standing in front of everyone, looking as self-important and well-dressed as ever in a white linen suit and an ascot.

  An ascot. How is this man real and not a cartoon character?

  “Good morning, everyone, and thank you so much for coming to this meeting,” he says, as if it’s not mandatory. “First off, I’d like to thank you all for a wonderful, outstanding wedding season.”

  Polite applause.

  “Before I get down to things, I’d just like to share a few statistics about the past three months,” he says, unfolding a piece of paper. “Did you all know that this is the busiest wedding seasons Bramblebush has ever had?”

  Murmurs from the assembled employees.

  “That’s right, folks,” he goes on. “Between Memorial Day and today, we have hosted seventeen weddings, including four on Fridays, plus one community block party!”

  Polite laughter. I feel like something’s clawing at the inside of my chest, so I take another sip of coffee, trying to play it off.

  “That’s nearly seventy-seven hundred guests at Bramblebush,” Montgomery says. “With the largest wedding being…”

  He keeps talking numbers, the noise becoming a dull roar in my ears. I can’t stand this. I feel like Montgomery is doing this to hurt me, personally, because every moment that I don’t find out whether I beat Eli is another moment that I feel like I’m suffocating on my own anxiety.

  Eli’s standing nex
t to me. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I swear, I feel like he’s just rubbed porcupines on me.

  I can’t help it.

  I really want to beat him.

  I know I shouldn’t feel like this about it. I know that he’s also worked his ass off this summer. I know that I should be preparing myself to be a gracious loser, that competition isn’t everything, that the true prize is real friendship or some Sesame Street bullshit like that.

  Yeah, no. I’ve spent my entire life wanting to beat Eli Loveless at everything and despite everything, today’s no different.

  “Isn’t that fascinating?” Montgomery asks the clearly un-fascinated crowd. “I thought that was really something. Thanks to Rosa Garcia for those facts.”

  A smattering of applause.

  “All right, I’ve kept you waiting for long enough,” Montgomery says, folding his hands together. “I know you’re all really here to learn who’s won the Most Valuable Employee prize this summer.”

  A buzz zips through the crowd. I clench my coffee mug a little tighter.

  It doesn’t matter, I lie to myself. Be happy for whoever wins, and if you’re not, fake it.

  “Well, this year’s winner is someone who really earned it,” Montgomery says. “An employee who embodied the spirit of a team player, but who went above and beyond when called upon to do so.”

  I’m going to die waiting for this announcement.

  “And that employee is…”

  My hands are shaking.

  “Elijah Loveless!”

  Oh.

  Everything stops for a split second. I hold my breath, hands still clenched around my coffee cup, and I wait.

  I wait for the announcement to feel like a punch in the stomach. I wait for it to feel like all my efforts are futile, like I’m not good enough and I’ll never be good enough.

  But there’s no punch. There’s no overwhelming feeling of failure.

  I look at up at Eli. He looks down at me, grinning, and I’m surprised to realize that I’m smiling, too.

  “Good job,” I say softly. “You deserve it.”

  Holy shit, I meant that.

  “Thanks,” he says, and then everyone is applauding, people turning around to congratulate him, people patting him on the back and cracking jokes about what he should do with the money.

  I swallow, tuck my coffee mug under my arm, and applaud along with them.

  I’m disappointed. I’m bummed. I’m sad I didn’t win, and yeah, there’s a part of me that’s annoyed that Eli did. But there’s a bigger part that knows he deserves it, and that part’s actually happy for him.

  What is happening?

  “Congratulations, Elijah!” Montgomery says. “Here’s to your first wedding season of many.”

  Eli holds up his coffee mug, like he’s toasting Montgomery.

  “Thank you,” he calls, looking a little lost for words.

  I keep my hands on my own coffee mug, even though he looks over at me again. I have the urge to put my hand on his arm, lean in, kiss him, but we’re at work in an all-staff meeting, so I keep my hands to myself.

  Eli just smiles at me again, and then Montgomery keeps talking.

  “Now that that’s over, we have just a few more things to discuss…” he says, still standing in the front.

  “Dinner’s on me tonight,” Eli says into my ear, leaning down.

  * * *

  I head back to my office in a slight daze. I lost something — to Eli, no less — and I don’t actually mind that much. Don’t get me wrong. I still wish I’d won. I’d still love to be twenty grand richer right now.

  But I am, at best, fairly disappointed, and that’s all. Eli deserves it. He folded cranes. He saved a cake. He made good food for impossible people, and he did it all without making a big of it.

  When I wake my computer up, the lake cottage’s listing is still up on my browser.

  That gets a twist in the stomach. A twinge of regret, a brief lump in my throat, a brief bout of intense desire. I hate my trailer. I hate it. I hate that it’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, I hate that it’s where my mom died, I hate that it keeps costing me money even though it’s barely worth anything.

  More than anything I hate that it’s a trailer in a trailer park and that, despite everything, I haven’t managed to get out of there.

  I close the window and take a deep breath. I’ll get there. I’ve been steadily saving for ages now. I’m close to a down payment, even without the prize money. If this house goes off the market there will be other houses, and life goes on.

  Just as I fire up Excel, my phone rings.

  “Violet,” Montgomery’s voice says. “Could I see you in my office?”

  “Of course,” I say, my heart skipping a beat. Maybe there’s some sort of secondary prize. Maybe I’m getting a pay bump or a promotion.

  “Sit,” he says when I knock on the door, his face grave.

  I do. My stomach suddenly clenches. My lips feel cold.

  This is not a good office visit.

  Montgomery sits. He clicks something with his mouse, not making eye contact.

  Then without a word, he turns the monitor to face me.

  I’m on it.

  I’m sitting on the floor, against a couch, my skin totally washed out by the flash. I’m laughing, leaning back.

  I’m naked. Visible from the waist up, my nipples hard and brownish pink.

  I’m clearly in the wedding barn.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  Montgomery calmly turns the monitor back around. I have both my hands over my mouth. I’m shaking, shivering, suddenly cold and hot at the same time.

  “I got that from an anonymous email account Saturday night,” he says, folding his hands on the desk. “And I don’t mind admitting that until I did, I considered you and Elijah neck-and-neck for the award. I even gave serious thought to giving you each ten thousand dollars.”

  I just shake my head, hands still clamped over my mouth. He saw me naked. Montgomery, my boss, saw me topless.

  I close my eyes. I can’t look at him.

  “Violet, I want you to understand that the only reason I’m not firing you for blatant impropriety on Bramblebush grounds is that you’ve got a long history of excellent work here,” he drones on.

  I force myself to nod. There’s bile rising in my throat. I feel like someone put whiskey in my veins, every pump of my heart burning worse than the one before it.

  “I won’t tolerate something like this again,” he says. “And frankly, Violet, I’m shocked at you. I half-expect idiots like Zane or Kevin to do this, but you?”

  I don’t answer him. I just breathe because that’s all I can manage.

  “Violet?” Montgomery asks.

  I swallow hard, grit my teeth, try to pull myself together. I sit up straight, though I keep my eyes closed because I absolutely cannot look into the face of my boss who just saw me naked.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I —”

  My stomach heaves, tightens.

  I run. I run out of his office and to the bathroom, where I throw open a stall door and barely make it in time. I throw up until I’m dry heaving. I flush the toilet again and again, tears streaming down my face, and when I’m sure I’m done I sit on the toilet, still clothed, and lean my head against the side of the stall.

  My whole body is shaking. I sit there for a long time. People come and go into the other stalls, and I don’t leave.

  It feels like I’ve been stabbed in the heart.

  I should never have let him take that picture.

  I should have known that people don’t change. I should have seen, somehow, that instead of mellowing out Eli’s only gotten colder, more ruthless, more willing to fuck people over to get what he wants. I should have learned my lesson when we were kids, but I didn’t.

  Instead I slept with him and for fuck’s sake, I let myself like him and here I am, now, crying in a bathroom stall while there’s a
picture of my tits on my boss’s hard drive.

  I throw up again.

  Chapter Forty

  Eli

  Twenty thousand dollars.

  It might be the most money I’ve ever seen at one time. It’s definitely the most money I’ve ever had at my disposal, right here in my hands in the form of a check from Bramblebush.

  And I have no idea what to do with it. I didn’t think I’d win. I thought Violet would, and despite everything, I was strangely okay with it.

  I still wanted to win. Wanting to beat Violet at something is baked into my DNA at this point, but in truth, I was ready to be happy for her.

  But now I get to be happy for me.

  “Congratulations,” Montgomery says, patting me on the shoulder one more time. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  Then he turns and leaves the kitchen. I realize that everyone’s looking at me, and I quickly slide the check into my pocket.

  “You’re at least gonna take us for drinks, right?” Naomi says. “Try to remember the little people after you’ve hit the big time.”

  “Fancy drinks,” Brandon adds in. “At that new cocktail bar downtown.”

  “Are you even old enough to drink?” I ask.

  “Bet twenty grand could buy a decent fake ID,” Naomi adds in.

  “Drinks are a maybe,” I tell them, faux-sternly. “I’m not buying anyone a fake ID. Get back to work.”

  “Whatever you say, Uncle Moneybags,” Naomi teases, pulling out some huge mixing bowls.

  I stare around the kitchen, trying to remember what’s happening. I think we’re preparing for some corporate event that’s tomorrow night — a textbook manufacturer who wants an old-world Italian feast — though, for the first time since I started here, there’s no Saturday wedding.

  Take Violet somewhere she’s never been. Forget a bed and breakfast in the mountains. Go to Paris.

  Put a down payment on a house of your own so you can move out of your mom’s house.

  Buy a new car, for the love of God.

  What does Italian food need? Probably tomato sauce. Maybe I should just make several gallons of tomato sauce and then figure out what else later.