🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.40.

My return to work was uneventful, which meant I had plenty of time to focus on the next round of creative deliverables. Unfortunately, my mind kept wandering to more tantalizing subjects. Like what Gray's tattooed chest looked like when he was totally naked.  

I also couldn't help but dwell on what a mess I'd made of my life lately. 

I'd ended one long-term relationship while inadvertently sparking an even stronger attraction to my ex's best friend. 

Plus, Gray and I were working together on the biggest campaign I'd ever sold to a major Fortune Five Hundred client. 

And to make things extra messy, I was technically homeless.

Everything I owned was still at Elijah's. 

Most of it I could replace, but not my books. My tattered collection of books is where I stored my old birthday cards and the family photos I couldn't look at. They were slotted into the chapters like hidden pages of my own sad story. 

"Alright, I'm thinking you should wear that three-quarter-length jersey skirt of mine," Rebecca mused as we strolled away from a particularly grueling meeting with the agency's team of interns. "And we need a top that's going to show off your boobies and that teeny, little waist."

"NSFW," I hissed in her direction, scanning the floor for Braxton's lecherous ears. "And you're using the royal we, I assume?"

"No more fighting me on this, chica!" Rebecca scolded from behind me. "You have to wear something special for Gray's party, and I mean under your clothes too."

"Can we talk about this after lunch?" I complained. "It's almost two and my stomach is starting to eat itself."

"We can talk about this on the way," Rebecca insisted, clicking her tongue disdainfully. "Personally, I think you need to wear that lacey blush demi-cup bra, the one you can see your nipples through. Ow! Hey!"

Rebecca had run smack into the back of me because I was frozen in place. 

None other than the agency's executive perv himself, Braxton, was leaning against the cushions of our office loveseat, listening intently.

A libidinous smile curled the edges of his thin lips, tugging at his scruffy jaw to create wrinkles where there were usually none. His lean frame was clad in a European cut shirt and tight pants that echoed Gray's style.

"No, please, don't stop on my account," Braxton waggled his salt and pepper brows suggestively, making my stomach flip. "What else do you think Isla should wear?"

"What do you want, Braxton?" I called out, pushing past Rebecca to connect my computer to its port on my desk.

"We need to talk about casting," he sniffed, screwing up his face as if someone farted. "I think we need to contact an agency and get some kid models who know how to be on camera."

"The point of this campaign is to make a difference in the lives of real people," I reminded him, flattening my voice. "Real people, Braxton, not models or actors."

"Yeah, but real people don't know how to talk good," he laughed like I was incapable of grasping the point he was trying to make. "Or look good, am I right?"

'Get out,' Rebecca mouthed behind him, shaking her head.

"I don't think we have the budget, Braxton," I told him, trying to use reason in the face of his absurdity. "Plus, the client was bought in on the reality aspect of the campaign. I think we should stick to the original idea."