Page 75 of Twins for the Enemy

Mac has been with me for over a decade. His salt-and-pepper hair, meticulously combed, is all I see now that he’s taken his eyes off the rearview mirrorand back on the road. As we approach a red light, the sedan slows to a stop, and the music gains clarity. Through the tinted window, the panoramic skyline sharpens into focus, and so do the pedestrians crossing the busy sidewalk, reminding me how mercifully warm the first week of May has been.

As we approach Morgan Investments, I brace myself for the upcoming meeting with Ethan. A call from my best friend had summoned me out of a lunch discussion with potential partners. The urgency in his tone overshadowed the insufferable pair of bland eyes across the table, yammering on about a doomed investment I had no interest in un-dooming. Suddenly, my phone buzzes, and I look down at a text from my PA.

Ethan Turner is here to see you, sir.

I swiftly tap out a response, telling her to let him into my office, and then rest my phone on my thigh. Melissa, a valued member of my team for over two years, stands out in a sea of predecessors who were more interested in navigating my bedroom thanmanaging my affairs. Her competence and professionalism have been a breath of fresh air. Her response is almost immediate as she lets me know it’s been done. Good. I seldom grant access to my office, but for Ethan, who has been by my side for most of my conscious life, exceptions abound. In the face of his urgent plea to meet, I’m prepared to offer everything he’s ever trusted me with.

The sedan purrs to a stop in front of Morgan Investments as I signal for Mac to pull over.

“Mac, drop me off by the central complex today,” I say, a subtle shift in my usual routine. “Take the time off. I have a car I can take if I need to.”

“Yes, sir.” Mac nods as I open the door and step out.

My brisk strides carry me towards the ensemble of interconnected buildings, all part of Morgan Investment. The exterior is a canvas of glass and steel, each structure seamlessly flowing into the next.

As I approach, the central courtyard comes into view. The restaurant I had insisted on building here sits at the heart of the complex. The floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the flower beds surrounding them. I catch a glimpse of my reflection as I walk by. The sound of water trickling from the fountain in the center mingles with the clinking of cutlery and the faint sound of hushed conversations.

The cafe, bathed in sunlight, beckons with the aroma of coffee. I spot a few familiar faces as I swiftly scan the tables arranged around the side of the fountain. A commotion from one of the tables steals my attention. I narrow my eyes at a young woman, her expression contorted in pain. One hand clutches her mouth, while the other, gripping a book, desperately attempts to salvage the situation as the contents of her mug spill onto the small plate beneath. In reflex, she starts fanning her hand in front of her face and looks around the table. Frantically, she reaches for a handful of napkins, and I watch with subtle amusement as she begins to wipe away the spilled coffee.

The sun highlights the strands of her honey-blonde hair, casting a gentle glow around her. She brings her gaze up and looks around nervously; hereyes framed by long lashes are a captivating shade of green that flicker with embarrassment.

My body stiffens. I recognize those eyes. My brows knit together as I mentally scour my past for any trace of where I might have seen her. Nothing surfaces. I open my eyes to look back at her. The features of her face become clearer once she relaxes her mouth. Her mouth. Lush lips, the shade of a summer rose, draw my gaze for an instant longer than necessary. It triggers a fleeting wonder of what her lips would feel like wrapped around my c—

Fuck, stop. I peel my eyes off her and force myself to keep walking. Could she be… The notion that she might be a new intern flickers in my mind, prompting an instinct to verify.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a face I wish I hadn’t.

“Adrian!” My COO calls out after me, but I don’t bother stopping. Victoria’s recent behavior has left me with little patience for her whims. But as I try to make my way to the main building faster, the insistent clackof heels pursues me. I let out a deep sigh and turn around. Keep it civil and quick.

“Good afternoon, Victoria.” I know my tone borders annoyance, but I also know she can take it.

“Ever so formal,” she purrs.

“Do I have a reason to be anything but?” I challenge. As brilliant as she is, she’s just as insufferable.

“I just wanted to remind you about the exhibition tomorrow night.” Her red lips curve into a smile. “I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“I haven’t.” My tone is firm and decisive as I sense her disappointment. “Enjoy the exhibition.” Before she can react, I pivot on my heel, continuing my purposeful stride towards the main building. Be a good girl, and don’t follow me. Thankfully, she’s taken her wits with her today, and the sounds of her heels echo in the oppositedirection.

As the elevator doors glide open, I step onto the last floor, the familiar territory leading to my office. Melissa greets me with a poised smile. She’s put her dark hair in a tight bun today, and it glistens under the natural light coming from the windows.

“Good afternoon, sir. Mr. Turner is waiting for you in your office,” she informs me, her voice as composed as her demeanor.

“Thank you, Melissa.” I nod. “Have we taken in any new interns recently?”

“No, not besides Bethany,” she replies, gesturing towards the young woman at her desk. Bethany looks up from her work, her plump lips part, and she sucks in a breath. She’s definitely attractive, and there’s a certain sparkle in her eyes that hasn’t gone unnoticed.Oh, miss me with that bullshit. Melissa, oblivious to the dynamics at play, continues, “She’s been assisting me.”

Maybe the girl from earlier isn’t an intern. If I bothered learning the names of everyone who works for me, I wouldn’t get shit done. I glance over at Bethany,her gaze lingering a beat longer than it should, and I return the look with a hint of a smirk. It’s a familiar dance, one I’ve mastered.

“Mr. Turner and I would like coffee,” I tell her, not taking my eyes off hers.

“Of course, Mr. Morgan.” Bethany gives me a wide smile that’s a little more than friendly. “I’ll make sure it’s just the way you like it.”

“Will you now?” I raise a brow at her and turn to look at Melissa who’s clearly glaring at Bethany. “Make sure she doesn’t mess it up,” I tell Melissa before proceeding to my office. I catch the subtle drop in Bethany’s smile from the corner of my eye, prompting a wry grin of satisfaction on my own lips. Good. It’s a calculated act, reminding her of the boundaries.

I swing open the door to my office, and there, sprawled nonchalantly on the brown leather couch, is Ethan. Blond, blue-eyed, and oozing charm, he springs up at my entrance. I can’t help but smile at Ethan’s infectious energy that has already spilled into the room.

“Adrian, my man!” Ethan exclaims, a grin spreading across his face as he pulls me into a bear hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

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