Falling for the Enemy

Ch.7

Althea’s Pov

"There you are?" Eva materializes from around the hallway corner, her dark red hair swinging as she cuts off my path to my office." I've been waiting for you to get in. How was your coffee date?"

"It wasn't a date, " I correct her, brushing past to continue down the hallway, She's trying to make me laugh, but I'm not in the mood." It was a business meeting."

In my office, I drop my leather bag onto the mahogany desk. The surface is meticulously organized - color -coded files, not a speck of dust, a small pathos whose leaves hang off the corner of the desk. Ordering in my physical space has always helped me maintain control when other aspects of my life spin out of control.

Like now.

"So?" Eva has followed me into the office, and her eager expression reminds me of a kid waiting to hear gossip at recess."What happened? What was it about?"

I begin arranging the arranged items on my desk, a nervous habit."Well, we came to an understanding."

"An understanding?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arch."Okay, I'm listening."

"We agreed to focus on what's best for the company. He promised to respect my creative vision for the company."

"And you believe him?" She takes a seat in the chair across from my desk, crossing one long leg over the other.

The question gives me pause. Do I believe Eros? Twelve years ago, I would've trusted him with my life. Now. I'm not even sure I will trust him with a coffee order.

"I don't know," I admit."But what choice do I have?"I can either work with him or watch from the sidelines."

"Hmm," Eva studies me with an intensity that makes me squirm."What about those smoldering looks he keeps sending your way? Did you bring those up?"

''Smoldering?" I snort, though a flush creeps up my neck.

"Oh please," she rolls her eyes dramatically. I saw the way you two were circling each other yesterday. There's enough tension there to power the entire building."

"Any tension you perceived was pure professional antagonism," I insist, booting up my computer to signal the end of the discussion.

Eva taps her finger on her chin."You know what I think?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"I think you've got a thing for him," she says " And that's going to make working together....... complicated."

My head snaps up from the email I'd been pretending to read."I do not have a-"

The words die in my throat as I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Eros standing in the doorway, hand poised as if about to knock on the open door, his expression unreadable.

How long has he been standing there? How much did he hear?

"I....." I try to say something to him, but the words don't come.

He takes a step into my office, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. "Mind if I come in?"

Eva gives me a terse nod."I'll see you later."

With that Eva leaves. The moment stretches, taut with possibility, before I break it by gesturing to the chair across from me."Be my guest. It's your company, after all."

"Valenti corporation has a wedding emergency." he says, voice dangerously quiet."The Asante wedding is next Saturday. The venue was flooded overnight. The bride is having a meltdown. Groom's threatening to sue."

"The Asante guest list includes tech executives, politicians, and international dignitaries," Eros continues. "Half of them are already en route to Accra. We have people landing at KIA in six hours."

My stomach drops. This isn't just a venue change—it's a communications nightmare that could destroy reputations and cost millions.

We work in silence for a while. Despite everything, there's a comfortable familiarity to the routine. It reminds me of the late nights in college, hunched over business plans cramped in my apartment, dreaming of changing the world together. Back then, we were fueled by ambition and cheap coffee, our friendship strengthening with each challenge we overcame.

I steal glances at him when he isn't looking, noting how kind the years have been to him. The college boy has filled out, grown more confident, more powerful. But beneath the designer clothes and carefully cultivated image, I catch a glimpse of the person I once knew- the way he absentmindedly taps his pen when concentrating the slight twist of his lips when something doesn't add up.

"Status report," he says, breaking the silence.

"Justa is booked, Lillyville is booked, Kings is booked," I announce. "I've got three maybes and five definite nos."

"Catering is the bigger problem," he adds. "The menu was specifically designed for the Numbers Club's kitchen. We need a venue with comparable facilities and staff willing to handle a five-course dinner for five hundred guests."

"Guest communication is a disaster." he added grimly."We've got confirmed attendees arriving from The Garden City, Oxygen City and and Cape Coast. Some are already in the air. We need the new venue information sent out immediately,"

"Transportation service is handled," he calls out."I've got a luxury car service on standby and a hotel pickup schedule ready for whatever venue we secure."

I dive in, fingers flying across the keyboard. Coffee would help sharpen my focus, but there's no time for cafe runs.

"What about the Merchant's House?" I call out after thirty minutes of intensive research.

"Booked for a corporate event," Eros replies without looking up.

“Not the main ballroom. They have a private event space on the top floor. Art deco styling, full catering kitchen, capacity for four hundred seated or five hundred cocktail style." I pull up the venue's website and turn the screen toward him. "Similar architectural bones to the Numbers Club, but we'd need to completely redesign the floral arrangements. The ceiling height is different, and the wall configurations won't work with our current setup."

Eros replies. "I've never heard of that space."

"Because it's not publicly advertised. They only rent it for ultra-exclusive events. The venue manager mentioned they keep it off the books for privacy reasons."

Eros steps closer, studying the screen over my shoulder. The heat of his body makes it hard to concentrate, but I force myself to focus.

“Can you get us a meeting?" he asks. " I already called. They can see us at ten." I look up at him, acutely aware of how close his face is to mine. He's watching me intently, waiting.

"But it's going to cost us. A lot."

“How much?"

“Fifty thousand for the space rental alone. Plus catering minimums, service fees, and a privacy premium because we're asking for exclusive booking with one week's notice."

The room goes silent. Fifty thousand is more than most people make in a year, and we're talking about spending it on room rental for a single event. Eros doesn't even blink.

“Book it."

“What about guest notifications?" I ask."We need new invitations printed and delivered by Thursday. International guests need forty-eight hours' minimum notice."

“Emergency communication protocol," he says, pulling out the corporate card—matte black African Express with no spending limit for client emergencies. "We'll send immediate digital updates to all confirmed guests with the new venue information, plus express courier delivery of formal invitation updates to domestic addresses. International guests get priority digital communication and backup phone calls."

“That's going to cost a fortune in courier fees," I warn.

“Less than the lawsuit we'll face if Senator Asante’s daughter's wedding is a disaster," Eros replies grimly.

."Done," I say, Eros watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. I lean back in my chair, exhaustion hitting me like a wave. We have a plan.

"Crisis averted," I say, slumping back in my chair.

"For now," Eros checks his watch."We should call it a day."

The office gradually empties as staff members leave. By 6PM, it's just Eros and me in my office."The event is manageable now," Eros says, loosening his tie. "Good work today."

I nod and start gathering my things, but when I stand, my heel catches on the chair leg. I stumble, and Eros's hand shoots out to steady me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.

The contact sends electricity up my arm. We're standing closer than we should be, his hand still on my wrist, both of us breathing a little too hard from the day's adrenaline.

"Careful," he says, his voice rougher than usual.

“Sorry. Long day." His eyes search my face, and for a moment I think he's going to say something important. Something that will complicate everything. Instead, he steps back, releasing my wrist.

As we gather our things and head for the elevator, I catch him looking at me with that unreadable expression again.

“What?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just... good work today."

I just nod and leave the room.

Only when I'm safely enclosed in the elevator, doors sliding shut on the image of him, do I let out the breath I've been holding in.

My reflection in the mirrored wall looks back at me accusingly — flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a woman clearly affected by the man she just left.

“It's nothing," I tell my reflection as the elevator descends.

“Just… residual feelings. Old history resurfacing. It doesn't mean anything." But as I walk out into the cool Accra Central evening, Eros still very much fills my mind’s eye.

This is absurd. I've spent years building a life without him. Years of convincing myself that I’m better off without him, that it’s good that he showed his true colors early on. Years of telling myself that I'm immune to his influence. One week in his presence and I'm coming undone.

I start the car engine, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible. Distance is the only thing that will clear my head. Distance and time… and maybe a very large glass of wine. Because I absolutely, positively do not have a thing for Eros.

I can’t. I won’t.