Page 234 of The Friend Situation

As I continue to watch the sunrise, golden light spills into my office.

My door opens, and I turn to see my best friend and business partner, Harper.

“Good morning!” she singsongs.

She gives off orange-cat energy, while I hold the temperament of a black cat. The two of us are complete opposites, but we’ve been best friends since we played New York Fashion week with our Barbie dolls.

“You’re in a good mood,” I comment, raising an eyebrow as she makes herself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“I had the best sex this morning. He’s a bartender. Young but gorgeous. Huuuuung,” she explains as she delicately applies a layer of lip gloss.

I glance up at the clock on the wall. Its ticking reminds me that our first meeting of the morning will start in less than fifteen minutes.

“You should try getting laid. It helps with anxiety.”

I glare at her. “I don’t have time for that. Last thing I need to do is fall in love.”

“What about a situationship?”

I type my password into my computer and open my email. “This is my focus. I don’t need any distractions.”

She leans back in the chair, watching me. “Are you worried?”

I study her as my mind spins. “Not yet. We have passion, and that’s the most important ingredient for success. I’ll keep surviving, even if it’s out of spite.”

“I’m in this as long as you are,” she says, determined. “I’m concerned though.”

If we don’t pivot, Bellamore won’t survive through the end of the year. Everyone thinks we’re doing so well. It’s an illusion, leftovers from a prior launch’s success. Last quarter’s earnings fell short of our projections by nearly half. Confirmation that more challenges lie ahead. Competing with fast fashion in today’s economy feels like pushing against a brick wall. Instant gratification is destroying us.

A sharp knock taps against the door.

Hannah enters, her presence brisk and businesslike. “Your seven o’clock meeting has arrived.”

“Send them in,” I say. It sounds harsher than I intended.

“I need to tell you something.” Harper clears her throat.

The grin on my lips vanishes when I seehimstanding in the doorway, wearing a three-piece suit, looking like the Devil himself.

Asher Banks.

His light-brown eyes meet mine and nothing exists other than our hate for one another.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss under my breath, the words barely escaping my lips. “No. No way. Hell will have to freeze over.”

The fact that my best friend didn’t tell me that our important meeting was with Asher fucking Banks nearly sets me off. It’s too early for my heart to be pumping this fast.

“Harper,” Asher says. The light filters through the window, illuminating him like the angel of death. “Billie.”

A low growl escapes from my throat, and I nearly choke on theirritation that wells up inside me. Fuckhim,and that infuriatingly attractive smirk plastered on his face.

“Harper, can I speak to you outside?” He glances at her, his chiseled jaw clenched tight.

The scent of his cologne—a blend of something that’s so distinctly him and cedar—drifts through the room. I hate that he smells good.

The tension wraps around my throat like a fist, and it squeezes.

He’s the only man on this planet that I purposely avoid because I can’t be in the same room with him without getting into an argument. He’s a pompous, know-it-all asshole. And I don’t care that he’s best friends with Weston. We’ve hated each other since undergrad. Nothing has changed in over a decade. Nothing at all.

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