The Anti-Crush: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance

by Harper West

  “Can I do anything to help?” I ask, even as I’m moving toward the couch.

  “Not a thing,” calls Margot from the kitchen area.

  “Drink?” Stirling asks from the bar in the corner that I hadn’t noticed. “We’ll have wine with dinner—there’s a nice Riesling chilling in the fridge under the wine bar over there—but I’m going to kick off your arrival with something a little stronger.”

  “That sounds good to me,” I say. “Martini for me, dry, two olives if you’ve got them.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I sink into the couch and it feels like heaven to relax and settle in. Except that the nagging feeling that assailed me when I first walked into the house still lingers. It’s as if I know something about this place, even though I’ve never seen it before in my life.

  I stare around the room, and I’m only half listening as Cammie regales me with updates on her life while she sets the table. Something about school and riding lessons and the unreasonable length of her summer reading list. Stirling hands me a drink and crosses over to the kitchen with his own to help Margot, who has already poured her first glass of the Riesling.

  As I take a sip of my drink, my eyes travel over the night scene in the back yard through the windows. Twinkling string lights hang from the frames of the trellis and are reflected in the breeze-rippled pool. I could stare into it for hours, but Cammie says something, and I turn my attention to her.

  “Hmm?”

  “I should put a wine glass for you, right Aunt Amanda?”

  “Yes please, thanks sweetie.”

  “You grown-ups sure are drinking a lot tonight,” she laughs.

  I laugh too, and start to reply that it’s a holiday weekend, and that she’ll appreciate holidays and alcoholic drinks more when she’s an adult, when my eye catches the painting on the dining room wall. I turn to look at it more fully and realize that’s it. The strange feeling I’ve been having is from the artwork in this house.

  I get up and walk with my drink to the hallway where a series of three vertical rectangular abstract paintings hang. The colors are warm, inviting for the most part. But there’s a smattering of disturbing strokes of black and red. It’s almost as if they don’t belong for a moment, but then they blend with the movement of the other shapes. An edge, a warning, perhaps, that even in warmth there is danger.

  Do I know this artist?

  I lean in closer to look for a signature—there is none.

  I dart back into the main room. Stirling is adjusting the flame in the gas fireplace, and Cammie is drizzling something over a platter of food, while Margot pulls a large pan of something undoubtedly delicious out of the oven. The aroma floods my nostrils and it ought to be enough to make me go over to the kitchen and steal a bit of whatever it is, like I’m sure I’ll do tomorrow with the turkey.

  But it’s not enough to draw me away from the painting in the dining room. It’s an abstract of pale greys with splashes of rose and blue. It’s a bit more cubist in nature, with some angles formed in thin, black lines. But it’s the bold lightning bolt of deep purple-blue that cuts diagonally across the painting that almost stops my heart. Again, the disruption of calm, the jagged edge of emotion that disturbs the peace of the composition. And still no signature.

  Then another insistent, pounding energy from behind impels me to pivot and I’m nearly brought to my knees at the sight of the massive painting on the living room wall. I don’t know how I missed it before, or why it wasn’t the first thing I saw when I first sat down on the couch. I guess the magic of the backyard night lights distracted me. Or maybe hunger and travel fatigue. But I see it now.

  A rendition of pure pain, the gigantic black metal frame holds a white canvas almost entirely covered with an amoeba shape in crimson red that can only be representative of a heart. I know this in my core without understanding why.

  A giant perfectly-round dot of black is painted at the center of it, and jagged silver lines, like the edges of a serrated knife, score the shapes in different directions. A few black lines of the same type appear closer to the edges of the painting. I don’t have to look too closely to know that there’s no signature. It takes my breath away.

  “It’s really something, isn’t it?” asks Margot, reading my mind.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, and turn my back on the painting. As if that’s going to do any good. “It’s powerful.”

  “So are the other pieces in the house. You should see the one in the master bedroom,” says Stirling. I definitely do not want to see that. “The owner has great taste in art and design.”

  I just nod and walk over to the table.

  “Why don’t you sit here?” Stirling indicates the chair between the one at the head of the table, which I assume is his, and the one next to it, which is where my sister will probably sit. No doubt Cassie will take the seat across from mine, to Stirling’s left. “I’ll take that, I can always make you a fresh one later.” He takes my half-finished martini, and I sit down.

  Dinner is a beautiful spread, so much so, that I wonder how much more grand tomorrow’s barbecue will be. Cammie had been pouring citrus vinaigrette as it turns out, over the platter which is full of fresh cut fruit, another salad of supergreens, macadamia nuts, and dried figs, a braided loaf of homemade bread, and warm minted pearl couscous. As Margot spoons a pile on each plate, she passes it to Stirling, who lays a generous portion of miso and teriyaki glazed salmon over it that Margot had broiled in the oven. Stirling hands me the first plate, and I add some of each of the salads. Just as Margot is handing him the second plate, the doorbell rings.

  “Who in the world could that be at this time of night?” says Margot.

  “I’ll get it—” But before Stirling can get up, she’s already down the hall.

  Cammie peers over my shoulder and Stirling looks toward the front door with a concerned expression too. Frankly, I’m too tired to care who it is. I’ll let my sister deal with it. Without standing on ceremony, I stab a piece of salmon on my fork and eat it. I close my eyes but my reveling in how delicious it is, is interrupted by Margot’s voice. I can’t make out everything she’s saying, but she sounds distressed.

  “What…I can’t believe…why are you here?”

  First Stirling pushes his chair back from the table and charges down the hall, then Cammie scampers behind him. I sigh and take a huge gulp of wine before I follow them. This is clearly someone they know, and the least I can do is go to the door and offer whatever social niceties I can.

  I make my way down the hall, and as I step into the foyer, the reason for my anxiety—the immaculate design of the house, the stunning artwork—it all crystallizes for me in one horrible instant. Cammie and Stirling move aside as I step up behind my sister to face the man standing in the doorway.

  “Damon,” I breathe.

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  Sneak Peak - Boardroom Bully

  Boardroom Bully

  (Savage Revenge Book One)

  When you grow up, bullies are supposed to be a thing of the past.

  A part of your childhood that you never fully recover from as you escape into the 'so called' real world.

  And after college graduation, I thought I’d escaped them.

  But I was wrong.

  Because the company I've committed to, the company that can ignite my career and change my life, belongs to him.

  Joseph Ryker

  The bully from high school who punished me for my older sister’s sins.

  Because at one point, he loved her. Adored her. Worshipped her. And when she got bored, she didn’t just break his heart.

  No. She broke him.

  Humiliated him.

  Made him swear off love.

  And now, after all this time, he has his chance to get even again.

  But he doesn’t just want to destroy me anymore.

  No.

  Now, he wants to own me.

  And part of me wants to let
him….

  Boardroom Bully is the first book in the Savage Revenge Series from author Harper West. This series features a sexy anti-hero, dominance and plenty of panty melting heat. This series is planned for 3 books.

  ***Potential Cliffhanger Warning: Be aware, this book one in a three book series. The series will end in an HEA, but each book.***

  Attention Reader

  This is a dark, domination romance, filled with pain, revenge, and redemption. If you don’t want to take this dark erotic journey, now is the time to stop reading….

  1

  Rebecca

  After spilling coffee on my brand-new discount shoes, lint-rolling my sale-rack outfit, and donning my most upscale costume jewelry, I found myself standing before a glass wall trying my best to perfect my makeup.

  I’d made a sticky mess in the front lobby of my new workplace and had effectively scared everyone off the elevator with my combination of angry lint-rolling while verbally chastising myself. Oh, and I had also tripped over my own two feet while asking the receptionist for directions to my new boss’s office.

  I was not starting this job off on the right foot. Today was onboarding day, and he wanted to meet with me before I began signing paperwork. At some point, I’d managed to smudge my matte red lipstick to parts where it shouldn’t be. If this was Halloween and I was going for a ‘joker/crazy lady’ look, it would have been perfect. However, this was probably the worst first impression I could make.

  So before I destroyed my initial reputation any further, I used the glass wall to make sure I appeared presentable again and no longer a disheveled mess. Finished, I pursed my lips together before capping off my lipstick and digging around for my hand sanitizer. I squeezed some out into my palm and rubbed my hands together.

  My eyes focused beyond my own reflection in the glass wall only to find the one person in the world that still scared me to my core.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered.

  I blinked a few times as the man leaning back in his chair locked eyes with me. For as long as I lived, I’d never forget those steel gray eyes. Ice cold, without a soul to guide them. I watched his eye twitch as he leaned forward, folding his hands together before placing them on top of his desk.

  And as a nauseating shock rolled throughout my body, I cleared my throat.

  “Miss?” I asked.

  The receptionist caught my stare in the glass wall. “Yes, ma’am?”

  I drew in a shaking breath. “The man in this office. Is he…?”

  She giggled. “Yep! That’s the bossman, Mr. Joseph Ryker.”

  It was the man who tortured me all throughout high school for something I didn’t even do.

  For a split second, I thought about running. I thought about slipping straight out of my heels, booking it for the stairs, and never looking back. But I’d spent the last dime I had on this new outfit and some fresh jewelry to look like I had my life together and my fridge wouldn’t let me go two more months without a job.

  “I can’t run out,” I murmured to myself.

  “Miss? You can go in whenever you’re ready,” the receptionist said.

  Or maybe she was a secretary?

  I whipped around in panic. “Where’s the restroom?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Mr. Ryker doesn’t like it when people are late.”

  I strode up to her desk. “It’s kind of a feminine emergency.”

  Her lips pursed. “Around the corner, last door on the left. I’ll let Mr. Ryker know you’ll only be a few minutes.”

  I put my hands together and gave her a little prayer sign while mouthing “thank you” from the bottom of my soul. Then, after taking one last peek in through the glass window, I rushed off to the bathroom. No, not rushed. I fucking sprinted. I ran as quickly as my heels would allow, feeling my purse and its contents sloshing against my side. They threatened to spill out onto the floor as I charged into the women’s bathroom, and I locked the door behind me so I could have some damn privacy.

  Then, I turned and looked at myself in the mirror.

  “You are so fucked,” I said breathlessly.

  This can’t be real. There’s no way I didn’t know this beforehand.

  Maybe my boss simply looked like him. Maybe my boss simply had JoJo’s gray eyes and his bombastic scowl and his broad shoulders and his impeccable, shining black hair. Maybe my boss had his features, but it wasn’t really him.

  However, the tears that crested my eyes told me differently.

  “My God, it’s actually him,” I murmured.

  Maybe he’s here to see someone. Maybe he isn’t actually the boss.

  It seemed unlikely, though. Who the hell visits an office only to take a seat at someone else’s desk? I racked my brain for any explanation as to how I missed this. I searched my brain for anything that could have tipped me off to the drastic mistake I had just made. But, as I filtered through the three rounds of interviews as well as the building tour I’d had last week, there had been nothing signaling me.

  There had been nothing warning me about this.

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  I planted my hands onto the bathroom counter and hung my head. I drew in a few deep breaths, trying to piece myself together as much as possible. I couldn’t screw this up. I had to stick it out, at least for a couple of paychecks. Accounting jobs weren’t easy to come by, and while I wasn’t elated at the idea of putting my Finance degree to work like this, I was ready for the peaceful existence. High school had been wild, growing up with my older sister had been wilder, and all I wanted was to just… be.

  All I wanted was to exist within the confines of my quiet world where no one could bother me or cause me any more pain.

  And now, my high school bully was my fucking boss.

  “Maggie! Wait up!”

  I rushed after my sister as she walked off with her friends. I had always envied her, and I still did. She had the petite body all of the guys chased after while she wore those little skirts that flounced around every time she took a step. She didn’t have to wear glasses like me, she got her eyesight from Dad. In fact, she got all of Dad’s wonderful features: his slick, straight hair and his sparkling blue eyes. His slender frame and his long legs.

  And me? Well, I got all of my mother’s features. My fuzzy hair that wasn’t quite curly but not quite straight. Her boring brown eyes. Her chubby cheeks and oversized frame.

  “Maggie!” I called out.

  But all she did was peer over her shoulder and wink at me.

  “Surprised you don’t hate her,” JoJo said.

  I froze at the sound of his voice. I felt his heat radiating against my back as he stepped out of the shadows and into the light. I didn’t dare turn around and look at him, though. Provoking him in such a way could get me thrown into the dumpster out back again.

  But I couldn’t help myself as I slowly turned to take him in.

  “Hey there, JoJo,” I said with a shaky voice.

  He slammed his hand into the locker beside my head. “What the hell did I tell you about calling me that?”

  My lower lip quivered, even though I clenched my jaw in determination. “It’s just a nickname. Why don’t you like it?”

  And before I could bat an eye, he fisted my shirt and started tugging me toward the men’s bathroom.

  I pulled myself from the memory and dug through my purse. I quickly Googled the company and clicked on the main link that popped up at the top of the page. Maybe JoJo wasn’t a prominent figure in the company. Maybe he was just a fill-in while someone else was gone, or a temporary hire of some sort.

  But, when the homepage loaded, I noticed that they had changed the cover art. Instead of the front of the building like it had been when I first did my research, the picture had been replaced with that fucker’s smug face.

  And the caption, “CEO Joseph Ryker wins Business accolade at latest West Coast tech conference” sat beneath it.

  Holy shit, JoJo didn’t just work for the company.
<
br />   He fucking ran it.

  I have to quit.

  I turned off my phone and tossed it back into my purse. This job was everything, and it could give me everything if I played my cards right. The position of accountant wasn’t for a singular person, it was for the entire company, and with it came a salary I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. The benefits alone were worth salivating over, and the idea that this stupid little boy from high school was about to take all of that from me made my knees weak.

  Not in a good way, either.

  I can’t let him do this to me. Not anymore.

  My phone dinged in my purse and I quickly pulled it back out. Maybe JoJo had recognized me, and he was firing me himself. That would be better in the long run, to be honest. I tapped on my email icon and searched for an email from the company, TechGiants, Inc., but instead I found an electronic eviction notice from my landlord.

  For failure to pay rent for the past two months.

  “Fuck!” I exclaimed.

  I gripped my cell phone and steeled my gut. I needed this job. Even if I only kept it for a few weeks to get ahead on my bills, I needed it. So what if the job wasn’t a long-term job? As long as I didn’t lose my measly, rundown apartment, did it really matter?

  “Maybe he’s forgotten all about it,” I whispered to myself.

  Or, maybe he hired me the second he saw my name just so he could continue torturing me as an adult.

  I really hate my fucking sister and her bullshit antics sometimes.

  2

  Jospeh

  As I sat in my leather office chair with my hands folded on top of my desk, I stared at the space where she had once been standing.

  I glared at the imprint on the glass her foggy breath had made as she tried effortlessly to perfect her tainted makeup and I wanted to strangle whoever the fuck in H.R. had hired her.