Enemies with Benefit

Chapter 3

Standing by the edge of my bed, I stared at the clothes scattered across the room. The steady hum of city traffic outside my window hinted at another busy day in New York, but my mind was elsewhere, already bracing for the confrontation waiting for me at work.

“Isabella, parcel for you!” Pearl’s voice rang from the kitchen just as I got dressed. My roommate and closest friend since I landed in the U.S. seven years ago, Pearl has been my anchor in this foreign country.

I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the room. Our apartment, though small, was the closest thing to home. The chipped wooden table by the window was already set with breakfast. Pearl, sipping her coffee, looked up as I hurried in.

“I’m serious, how haven’t they fired you yet? You’re always late!” she teased, glancing pointedly at the clock on the wall, reminding me that I should’ve been out the door ten minutes ago.

Rolling my eyes, I took the box from her. “Please, I’m always on time… in spirit,” I said, tearing into the packaging. But my excitement vanished when I pulled out the contents—a lacy set of black lingerie. Definitely not what I ordered.

“What the hell?” I muttered, holding up the skimpy material like it was toxic. “I ordered a damn blouse, not this!”

Pearl burst out laughing. “It’s cute! Maybe they’re trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah, that I’m about to burn this company to the ground.” I shoved the lingerie back into the box and tossed it in my bag. “Someone’s getting an earful today.”

“Are you going to be back tonight, or should I expect a call to bail you out?” she smirked. Of course, she knew Mason Carter would be in the office today. I may or may not have spent the entire week ranting about how I wanted to obliterate him.

“Relax, I didn’t kill him last time I saw him,” I shot back.

If only she knew.

“That’s because he wasn’t in the office last time.”

A groan escaped me. Mason Carter. Just thinking about him made my teeth grind. “I never said I’d kill him. Just… maybe break his nose. Accidentally. With my fist”

Pearl shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dating a guy who wears a bow tie to bed,” I quipped.

Pearl shook her head, sighing. “Touché. Have fun at work, psycho.”

Grabbing a piece of toast on my way out, I called over my shoulder, “I’ll bring back pizza!”

“You better!” she yelled after me.

The walk to work was as familiar as the back of my hand: the scent of coffee, the occasional tune from street musicians, the towering buildings that never lost their luster. Even after seven years, New York’s energy still amazed me. Everything moved so fast, yet there was beauty in the rush.

It was hard not to think of how far I’d come—from Belgium, running from a past I’d rather forget, to now working full-time at Inkwell & Co. a design and printing company. Sure, it wasn’t my dream job. Let’s be real, job is no one’s dream but it was something steady, something that helped me build a life away from my complicated family history. And I had started liking working there.

By the time I reached the office, I was a solid thirty minutes late. I crept in, praying no one noticed. Thankfully, my boss was out, and everyone else was knee-deep in their morning routines. Just as I sat at my desk, my phone rang, shattering any hope of a quiet start. I braced myself as Celia, a nightmare of a client, started in on me.

“How do I know you won’t screw up the design again? I swear to God, I’ll sue if you mess this up!”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I rubbed my temples. “Ms. Devour, I assure you, the design will be exactly as we discussed. You’re welcome to oversee production if that helps ease your concerns.”

“Ease my concerns? You already messed up once!”

I held back a groan. “We’ve addressed the issue, and I sent you the final design mock-ups. If you have any questions, please let us know before production.”

Celia’s complaints went on for another ten minutes before I finally hung up. With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair. And, disturbingly enough, she was the least of my worries today.

Just as I was about to dive into my work, Elise’s head popped into my office. “Hey, look who’s back,” she said, amusement lighting her eyes.

My heart sank as I followed her gaze. Mason Carter had strolled in, greeting everyone with that annoyingly charismatic smile of his. His caramel complexion seemed to glow under the office lights, and his dark hair, perfectly styled, framed those stupidly striking gray eyes. And with rolled up his sleeves to reveal toned forearms, he looked like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover.

Of course, he had to look like that. Of course.

And of course my damn head played the memory of his lips on mine. Somebody kill me. Please.