Enemies with Benefit

I woke up to my skull being used as a damn drum set. A groan slipped out before I could stop it, my head throbbing like I’d spent the night headbutting concrete. The sunlight slicing through the blinds didn’t help. I turned over with a sigh— And nearly died when I saw him. Mason. Mason Carter. A director of Inkwell & Co. My boss. In my bed. Well, it might be his bed. But that’s an unimportant detail. I looked around. And it looked like a hotel! “What the actual hell?” I croaked, jerking upright so fast the room spun. My brain scrambled for answers, but all I got were flashes—cocktails, drinks after drinks. Me getting wasted, his stupid smug grin, us arguing, his hand on my waist, his mouth on mine. Oh, God. “No, no, no—” I half-fell, half-rolled out of bed, grabbing for my dress like it was a lifeline. My hands shook as I yanked it on. What the hell did I do? Behind me, a deep, lazy voice rumbled. “Morning.” I spun around, gaping at him. “Morning? That’s all you have to say?” Mason, the absolute menace, just stretched—stretched—like he belonged there, like this was normal. “Well, I could ask if you slept well, but considering the existential crisis you’re having, I’ll take that as a no.” He smirked, slow and knowing, and I wanted to throw something at his face. I yanked on my shoes, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “I don’t do this,” I snapped, pointing at the bed like it had betrayed me. “This was a mistake. A huge mistake.” He didn’t even look remotely apologetic. “Didn’t seem like a mistake last night.” My brain short-circuited. Oh my God. Flashes hit—his lips on my pulse, his breath against my skin, something about me being full of surprises. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. “Stop talking,” I snapped, shoving my arms into my coat like I could physically outrun this disaster. Mason had the audacity to grin. “You sure you don’t want coffee first?” I pointed at him, at the bed, at the entire situation. “I want out.” I grabbed my bag and stormed for the door, but he called after me, softer this time. “Isabella, wait—” Nope. Not happening. I was already gone, stabbing the elevator button like it personally offended me. Mason Carter. Of all the men in the world. The guy who made my job a living hell with his impossible standards, his infuriating calm, his everything. The man I’d been arguing with just yesterday. How the hell did I go from arguing with him to… this? God, save me. It had all been fine. Just fine. I had my life together—mostly. Work was hell, but a manageable kind of hell. Mason was an insufferable presence, but a distant one. Everything had its place, its order. And then he had to show up at that damn club. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could erase the memory, as if I could undo the last few hours, the last few weeks. My stomach twisted. What did I do? This wasn’t me. I wasn’t reckless. I didn’t just—sleep with people, especially not him. The one man I swore I couldn’t stand. But that was the worst part, wasn’t it? That little voice in my head whispering what I refused to admit. I wanted it. Maybe not consciously. Maybe not in the way that made sense. But something had pulled me toward him, something sharp and heated and impossible to ignore. And now? Now, I had to live with it. Maybe it won’t be that bad? Working with him in the same office? He barely is in the office as it is. If that continues than I’m good. Right? Wrong! Because just two months later, I was glaring at Mason through the screen of my laptop, as he was hell bent on making my life harder than it was. And he was working extra this time. Revenge for leaving him in bed like that? Possible. But I doubt a guy like him who has someone new in his bed every night would even remember the night he spent with me. “I’ve already promised the clients the launch date!” I said. Mason leaned back in his chair, those stupid gray eyes glinting with a hint of amusement—and that unbearable arrogance I wanted to knock right off his face. “If you were truly concerned about those clients, Isabella,” he said, voice infuriatingly calm, “perhaps you’d have created something that didn’t invite this level of legal risk.” I could actually feel my soul try to leave my body. My fists clenched under the table, nails digging into my palms. Big talk, Isabella, for someone who was tangled in his sheets forty-eight hours ago. Heat crawled up my neck at the thought, but I shoved it down, burying it under my seething rage. God, I wanted to slap that smug expression right off his face. Instead, I bit down hard on my tongue, slammed my laptop shut, and forced myself to not destroy my career in one breath. One wrong word, and he’d use it against me—I couldn’t give him that satisfaction. So, instead, I stormed across the hall, nearly knocking over a potted plant, and shoved Elise’s office door open so hard it crashed against the wall. “If I see him in person, I swear to God, I will break his face.” I threw my bag onto the couch, practically vibrating with rage. “Who the hell does he think he is?” Elise barely looked up from her iced coffee, unimpressed. “That’s the hundredth time you’ve said that, Isabella. But please, go on. I know you really mean it this time.” “Oh, I do.” My heels clicked furiously as I paced, heart hammering like a war drum. “I’d happily take the consequences of assault if it meant never having to deal with Mason Carter’s smug face again.” Which is rich, considering I was kissing that same smug face two nights ago. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Nope, it was sitting right there, screaming in my face, mocking me with every step I took. I wanted to break his nose and crawl into a hole to die at the same time.