Page 13 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

JASON

B reathing in air that smelled fresh instead of reeking of exhaust was an unusual experience.

My feet hit the ground in an easy rhythm as I rounded the corner back to the house.

Normally, my runs included dodging pedestrians and garbage trucks, but here, my feet kicked up dust and each breath puffed out into a cloud in the still air.

My email pinged and I nearly threw my phone into the adjacent field. Mitchell would not get off my ass. The man worked every Sunday like clockwork, and normally, I did too. But I just needed one blessed hour of peace.

Because I was a workaholic, I pulled my phone out and scanned the message, my brows pulling together as I read.

To: Elliott, Jason

From: Chen, Mitchell

Subject: call me

Of course, he would write me an email instead of just calling me. I slowed to a walk and dialed. Maybe he won’t pick up. And I could go back to semi-enjoying my Saturday .

He picked up before the phone could ring a second time. Classic Mitchell.

“Hey, Jason. How are you?” he asked, over the sound of conversation in the background.

Why did partners ask that when calling on a Saturday?

The answer would always be, “better if we weren’t speaking.

” But I couldn’t say that, so I settled for the usual response: “Fine. Just getting some stuff off my plate.” It signaled I would rather not be talking, but that I was, of course, always working.

“Great, great.” He sounded distracted. “Hold on a second.” He covered the receiver but I still heard, “Yeah, I want the turbo S in blue. No, not the cabriolet.”

Was he buying a car? Another one? He already had five, ranging from Ferrari to Porsche. Partner earnings must have been good this year. I shook my head. Mitchell knew how to spend it. That would never be me. I hoarded my money like a dragon hoarded gold, and I doubted I would ever change.

“Sorry about that,” he said, not sounding sorry. “I just had a call from Mr. Harris and Gene.” Gene was the CFO for our client and my primary contact. He was balding, usually dressed like a movie mobster, and quick to anger.

“They’re really freaked out about TJR representing the buyer. They called to ensure that we were going to crush them . And those are exactly the words they used.” He sounded annoyed, and I didn’t blame him. That was a stupid directive from an inexperienced client.

“What did they expect?” I asked. “Argan is a national chain. Of course, they’re using legitimate counsel.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but they aren’t experienced with this type of work. You really need to show them you mean business tomorrow. They want an asshole. Give them an asshole.”

That shouldn’t be hard for you , he didn’t need to add.

I made a point of crushing the opposition on every deal.

I never showed weakness, and I came to every negotiation prepared to be ruthless and rude if needed.

Each deal was one step closer to my goals.

And the partners rewarded me for it. I was the guy you called when you had a difficult client, or an opposing counsel that needed to be taught a lesson.

“Not an issue,” I responded coolly.

“Great, great,” he replied. “The Argan lawyers are good, so expect Gene to be up your ass and theirs. Gene’s a tough one.

And he’s just volatile enough to fire us.

” His voice was sharp. Getting fired meant no money, no freedom.

Not fucking happening . If H Brands needed theatrics to feel like they were getting their money’s worth, then I’d give it to them.

While we typically opted for cool professionalism, I could flip the switch to combative in a heartbeat.

I neared the house as Mitchell gave me a few more directives on things he wanted to see in the purchase agreement.

The dusky twilight had deepened, and the air was getting colder.

Winter in the country was bleak. The grass around the house was frosty and crunchy in the early mornings, and the wind had a bite to it.

I still ran without a shirt on cold days, because I liked the nip of the wind and the way the sweat cooled immediately on my skin.

“I’m counting on you, Jason. This won’t be an easy one, but you’re looking at a huge amount in origination credit if you play this right,” he said.

“Thanks, Mitchell.” I rolled my eyes. Mitchell wanted the money nearly as much as I did.

We hung up, and I moved to the stately wooden porch to stretch.

There were wicker chairs with deep cushions scattered about.

Not a bad place to watch the sunset and have a drink, if it were warm.

I didn’t hate this house, even if I hated the country.

But I still didn’t know what to do with the other occupant of it.

She moved past the double glass doors, and each glimpse was a sucker punch.

I drank her in, finally, knowing she couldn’t see me.

Her red curls were a true, fiery copper, glinting in the lights of the living room.

Her hair was the first thing that had drawn me in on a long-ago video call.

Her lips had caused me to linger, to fantasize about her.

Full, lush, perfectly pink. I’d ached to draw that plush bottom lip into my mouth, to bite at it until it was even more swollen.

Until I had. The taste of her had been everything I’d imagined .

I pushed open the sliding door to the sight of her shimmying in the kitchen.

Headphones in, clad in a cropped shirt that looked more like a bra, and low-slung cargo pants.

They hugged her ass and exposed her stomach.

My mouth went dry. She was oblivious to my presence, and I leaned against the wall to watch.

She opened the fridge, circled her hips, pulled out the sharp cheddar I’d purchased, swayed again.

My eyes arrowed to her ass. High, full, round.

My palms twitched at the memory of sinking my fingers into it while I’d pulled her back against me.

They itched to smack it, just over the fullest part, where the pain would melt quickly into pleasure.

She selected some crackers from the cabinet and turned with a little pirouette.

“Those are my crackers,” I said, loudly. Her head jerked up, and she fumbled to get her headphones out.

“What was that?” she asked, reddening. She was struggling for bravado, but she knew I’d seen her dancing. I rolled my lips to keep from smiling.

“Those are my crackers. And my cheese, if we’re counting,” I said mildly.

She quirked a brow. “Are we? Counting?”

“It depends.” I cocked my head. “Are you going to keep eating my groceries?” I stalked toward her and her eyes went wide. Dangerous, Jason.

“I thought we were roommates . Sharing. Besides, you’re taking up the whole fridge with your stuff. I can’t even find my cheese.” She drew herself up as I neared.

“My house,” I growled. “I’ll do whatever I want.” I stopped a mere foot away from her, breathing in her clean, warm scent, keeping my eyes on her face, instead of dipping down to where her shallow breaths pushed her breasts up.

“Your house,” she said. “Do you want to pee on the walls to mark your territory?”

Damn, she’s funny. This was a side of her I hadn’t seen before. “Maybe I will,” I shot back .

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. “It’s my house too. So keep the territory marking to half of it.”

“Deal.” I crossed my arms and her eyes flicked to my chest. They lingered for a beat too long, and my skin prickled. Oh, she does want me. I flexed a little. I’d been needling her earlier, but it turned out I’d been right. I smothered a grin.

“So, ready for tomorrow?” I asked, as I moved to the cabinet and pulled out a protein bar.

“So ready.” Her voice was hard. “Though, on-site due diligence isn’t my idea of fun.”

“I’m not thrilled about being trapped in this town either. I’m surprised we’re even doing this, frankly.” I leaned back against the counter and frowned at her. She was settled in a chair with her snack and a glass of wine.

“Yeah, well, if your team had been a little more forthcoming, Gerald wouldn’t have pushed for this.” She arched a brow.

“ That’s why we’re here?” I didn’t add that Gene and team weren’t exactly forthcoming with us either. Something weird was going on there.

“Yep,” she said with a pop. “And now I’m trying to manage this and keep fucking Brett from stealing my deals.” She sounded murderous.

“Who is fucking Brett? Should I expect to bail you out of jail for murder?”

She grinned and took a savage bite of her cheese.

“Like you wouldn’t just leave me there.” She scrunched her nose up at me.

“And I wish. Killing him would be so much easier. He’s the new counsel at my firm.

He totally has it out for me. He left his last firm on bad terms, and this is his last chance. ”

I nodded. I knew the type. Firm attorneys had an expiration date. You made partner, or you left. It made for fierce competition, even among your peers at the firm.

“So now, I have to be on guard for him stealing my deals while I’m here and generally trying to make me look bad.” She bared her teeth. So fierce, this one. But isn’t that your plan? Make her look bad, drive her crazy, then crush her? I shoved the regret down before it could blossom.

“At least you don’t have any happy hours to go to while you’re here,” I said lightly.

She blushed and looked down. Fuck. I couldn’t stop thinking about our night together, and the evidence of her enjoyment was written on her face.

“Did you, uh, mean what you said on Thursday? About thinking you won’t make partner?” she asked, cheeks still pink, her tone a little strained.

A breath loosed from my chest. “Yeah, I meant it.”

“I’m surprised,” she said frankly. “You’re really competitive. I always assumed you were gunning for partner.” She considered me while she sipped her wine.

“I might be competitive, but I’m not enough,” I said shortly.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Maybe at one point, I wanted that, but you know how Covingly is. Those white shoe firms are all the same. I might look the part, but they know I grew up with nothing. They can smell the poverty on me. I’ll never be a part of their world, not really.

I can win as many deals as I want, but it won’t be enough.

Being partner is all about schmoozing. I can’t compete with the guy down the hall who spends his weekends golfing in the Hamptons and his lunch hour at the Harvard Club, who grew up doing those things.

” And my past is the real stain . “And you know you need to get close to the partners to be elevated. That’s not me.

I’m not…a sharer,” I said carefully. I didn’t get close enough to anyone for them to learn about my past.

Cynthia nodded. “I know that feeling.” She gave a small smile. “I spend most of my time trying to become the perfect firm scion. I’m playing catch-up now. I never really connected with the partners at my firm. I never wanted to stay at a firm this long. I always wanted to help people.”

“Ah, you’re one of those,” I scoffed.

Her face hardened, and she stood. “Fuck off.” She grabbed her glass and my gut twisted .

“Cynthia. I was kidding.”

Her movements were jerky as she dumped her empty plate in the dishwasher, brushing by me in a whirl of soft curves and fiery curls.

“You can make fun of me, but don’t make fun of my dreams,” she said shortly.

Regret was a stone in my stomach. “I didn’t mean that. I was joking.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not funny.” Her eyes flashed, and she whirled to climb the stairs.

My breaths were ragged in my chest, and I grabbed onto the counter.

She darted one more glance at me, clamped her mouth, shut and fled from the kitchen.

I squeezed the granite edge until I thought it would crumble under my grip.

She would be my undoing. Getting close to her was a mistake. Caring what she thought was a mistake.

A mistake to sleep with her, a mistake to keep thinking about her, a mistake to room with her. Fuck .