Falling for the Enemy

Althea  "Eat your feelings" was the philosophy I embraced wholeheartedly, with "Work hard and be a smart woman" running a distant second, and "Keep beautiful men at arms length" trailing far behind. Today, that third principle was being put to the test. I stood before the Consent pastry case like a warrior selecting her armor. A croissant? Soothing, yet insufficiently indulgent. A lemon curd Danish? Appealing, but far too upbeat. My eyes landed on the double chocolate chip cookie. Decadent, unapologetic, and precisely as massive as my despair. It seemed to recognize that I was teetering on the brink of emotional collapse. Exactly what I needed. When I'd arrived at Consent this morning, my intention was simple: grab a coffee and leave. I'd been riding high—genuinely elated, actually. The weather was magnificent, and I was preparing for tomorrow's interview. This was the company of my dreams, more prestigious than anything I'd previously pursued, and I was genuinely qualified. Then my phone buzzed. Answering it proved to be a catastrophic error. Who even picks up calls anymore? Certainly not me, since the only calls I received were from my parents, invariably delivering devastating, dreadful, absolutely awful news. The queue advanced, and I moved with it, inching toward that magnificent display case and the enormous cookie that practically had my name emblazoned on it. "Hey!" Anna, my best friend and one of the baristas, called out when she spotted me waiting in line. "It's been a few days since I've seen you." I was typically a regular at Consent. I loved settling into the table tucked away in the back corner to study or read. While Manhattan overflowed with coffee shops, this place had an atmosphere that simply couldn't be replicated. Anna stepped closer, balancing a plastic bin of dirty dishes on her hip. "You look like someone took away your favorite stuffed animal. Did something bad happen?" "I got a call—Eros is back in the city. My parents called to tell me right away." "Seriously? They couldn't wait until after you got your coffee?" "I know, right?" I exhaled deeply. I should have known better than to let myself hope for closure. A brief flutter of emotion followed by a sharp sting washed through me. It always happened whenever I heard that name. Eros. It was impossible not to think of him whenever his name surfaced, but like I always managed to do—like I'd become so skilled at doing—I buried that surge of feeling deep down. "I'm here to drown my sorrows in plenty of indulgent treats." "Fair enough." She shifted the plastic bin to her other side. "I should get back behind the counter to help out, but I want you to know something—twelve years is way too long to hold onto old hurt. It's time to let things go and have an honest conversation." "That's really kind of you. Thanks, hon," I said, forcing a smile as she headed away. The smile vanished the moment she turned around. Twelve years had passed since I'd seen him, talked to him, or let myself dwell on him for more than a passing second. And I'd never, ever searched for him online. Not a single time. That was my rule with him—no reopening closed chapters. Leave the past where it belongs; don't disturb it. It would be so much easier if I could just hate him. Clean, simple hatred. But the truth is messier, more complicated. A tall figure pushed ahead in line, cutting right in front of me and shattering my brooding thoughts. Because absolutely not. I could accept that Eros still held a piece of my heart, but I was absolutely prepared to battle this line-cutter with every ounce of ferocity I possessed. "Seriously?" I demanded, injecting as much venom into my voice as possible. "How did you possibly overlook the fact that there's a line of ten people waiting?" But this arrogant guy—glued to his phone, either frantically texting or composing some scathing message—seemed completely oblivious to anything beyond his screen. "Too important to wait like the rest of us ordinary people?" Silence. I fixed my gaze on the back of his dark head, my eyes traveling down to examine the expensive tailoring of his suit, which likely exceeded my entire six-month salary. Men dressed in suits like that probably believed they controlled everything—yet I knew for certain this shop belonged to Richard, a charming eighty-year-old chess enthusiast. This Armani-clad jerk had zero business acting superior in here. "Hey, I'm addressing you, Mr. Expensive-Suit!" He released a low, annoyed sound but refused to even glance back or look up from his phone! I couldn't imagine being whoever was on the receiving end of that call. Irritation pounded behind my eyes, and I reached forward to jab him forcefully in the shoulder. He recoiled but still wouldn't turn around as his phone began to ring. "Excuse me, King of Queue-Jumping, do you genuinely believe the entire world revolves around your personal VIP experience?" "No, we're not rescheduling!" he snarled into the phone, his voice dripping with menace. "If they can't make tomorrow's interview happen, they're finished." Did he seriously just blow past me? "Um, hello?" Silence. Not even a sideways glance. "So harassing random people is your hobby, or are you just naturally draining?" he shot back, wedging the phone against his ear. What on earth? "Hey, pal, I'm not the one who just bulldozed through this entire line." I caught murmurs of support rippling through the crowd behind me. But the arrogant jerk just made a dismissive grunt. Did he seriously scoff at me? Absolutely not happening! "Maybe if you'd actually lower that phone for one second and show some basic respect—" "Is this where you crank up the volume and pretend it makes you matter?" This guy's unbelievable! "Look," I said, my voice climbing, "I get that your assistant couldn't fetch your latte today, but even little kids understand how lines function. So maybe try wrapping your head around that instead of whatever nonsense is coming through that phone?" A handful of people queued behind me started laughing. Their amusement gave me a boost, though my moment of satisfaction evaporated instantly when Mr. Pretentious spun around, snorting like an enraged beast. My stomach dropped. Every muscle in my body locked up as the truth hit me like a sledgehammer. You have to be joking. I recognized that dark hair instantly. I knew those broad shoulders. I knew that annoyingly perfect face with its dimple and chiseled jaw. His steel grey eyes locked onto mine, and I watched recognition flash across his features too. Eros freaking Valenti. Out of every coffee shop in this entire city, my brother's devastatingly handsome best friend and my absolute nemesis had to walk in here? Today was shaping up to be absolutely spectacular. And by spectacular, I meant catastrophically terrible.