Enemies with Benefit

Chapter 4

My jaw clenched. “Great. Just what I needed today.”

Elise nudged me. “You think he got bigger? Those arms are definitely bigger.”

I shot her a look. “Why are you checking him out?”

She shrugged. “Hey, I’m just saying—the man’s eye candy.”

“He’s an arrogant pain in the ass.”

“And?”

I shook my head, flipping through my files, doing my best to ignore his presence. But the universe clearly had other plans.

“Good morning, Isabella,” Mason’s voice drawled into the office.

I forced the most strained smile I could muster. “Morning,” I replied flatly.

He leaned against the doorframe, his biceps flexing against the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll be joining your meeting with acquisitions later. I heard you needed someone with legal insight on the team.”

“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.

With a grin that was all smugness and no humility, he replied, “See you in the conference room.” Then he walked off.

Elise said. “You didn’t punch him. I’m impressed.”

“I thought about it,” I admitted. “But broad daylight isn’t the right time.”

“Right. But did you see those biceps? Uff!” Elise bit her lip, and though I wasn’t checking him out—obviously—it was hard not to notice the change.

Not that I cared. I was just being vigilant. You know, keeping an eye on the enemy.

Mason might have half the office wrapped around his finger with those dimples and charm, but I wasn’t falling for it. He could strut around all he wanted—I was here to work. Between annoying clients, piles of paperwork, and Mason’s insufferable presence, I had enough on my plate to get through the week.

But surviving Mason Carter? That was practically a skill I’d mastered by now.

Rose poked her head into my office looking a bit annoyed. “Wane’s looking for you.”

I groaned, already feeling the headache forming. “Of course, he is,” I muttered.

Standing up I turned to Elise, who was scrolling through something on her phone, I gestured toward my screen. “Can you finish this email for me?”

She gave me a mock salute. “You got it, boss.”

The meeting was already dragging. The client’s tirade about the hoodie’s “atrocious” color felt like an hour-long monologue, and my brain had officially checked out somewhere between lackluster hues and misaligned brand image.

I tried to focus, but the heat of Mason’s presence across the table kept tugging at my attention. He didn’t even need to be here—legally, this wasn’t his territory. Yet there he sat, leaning back in his chair with that maddening smirk and eyes that screamed I live to make your life harder.

It was the way he’d watch me, like he was already five steps ahead in a game I didn’t know I was playing. It made my skin itch, but not in a way I wanted to admit.

Finally, mercifully, the meeting wrapped. I stood to gather my notes, relieved this was over. And I was heading out as the room emptied.

“Hey, Isabella,” Mason called out. “I think you dropped something.”

I frowned, turning to him. He held up a flimsy, black piece of lace. My stomach dropped. No.

No, no, no.

“That wouldn’t happen to be yours, would it?” he asked, tilting his head, the picture of fake innocence.

My bag must’ve tipped over during the meeting, and somehow that had to fall out. But of all people, did it really have to be Mason who found it? And did he really shove it on my face like that!

Heat flooded my face as I grabbed the bra from his hand, probably faster than was humanly dignified. “Thanks,” I muttered, shoving it back into my bag and avoiding eye contact with him.

Mason, of course, wasn’t done. “Interesting choice,” he mused, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Black lace? Bold, Isabella.”

I gritted my teeth, cursing myself for giving him this ammunition. “Shut up, Mr. Carter,” I hissed.

But instead of laughing or making another jab, his smirk softened as he leaned in slightly, “Relax. I’m just saying... you’ve got good taste.”

Before I could recover enough to say something, He turned to leave. But not before throwing over his shoulder, “You should be more careful. Things like that can end up in the wrong hands.”

I stared after him, torn between wanting to scream and wanting the ground to swallow me whole. But something made me sigh in relief as well. Maybe he really doesn’t remember anything of that night. Or it was just too insignificant for him to remember. Maybe I was just too insignificant for him. Just another girl he had picked up from a club, who just happened to work under him.

If he was going to behave he doesn’t care or remember, than it just makes things easier for me. I would push down that feeling, those memories as well.

And exactly what I did.