Page 16 of Hired By the Enemy
“That’s a whole lot of pasty white on display,” I say, trying to cover up that I was so obviously checking him out.
Matthew rolls his eyes as he rummages in his suitcase for a shirt. “I have a desk job. Besides, I thought we were keeping this professional?”
I stretch lazily. “I figure we’ve got to indulge in a little insult exchange in private, get it out of our systems so we can keep up the front in public.”
“So is this where I tell you that your snoring is like listening to an orchestra of pugs?” he asks as he buttons a short-sleeve shirt.
“I’ve never had complaints from my overnight guests before. But maybe that’s because they’re so satisfied and sated they aren’t bothered about menial things like snoring.”
This time, Matthew rolls his eyes so hard it’s like he’s attempting an inventory of his brain.
“Maybe they have a litany of complaints, but they’re so desperate to escape that they don’t bother wasting time mentioning your snoring,” he retorts.
I give a half snort. Matthew has always been quick with the comebacks. It’s one of the things that made battling him so frustrating.
I move to sit up on the couch, the sheet slipping off my body to reveal me only in my boxer shorts.
Matthew’s eyes fix on my abs for a second before he seems to catch himself.
“You need to have a quick shower. Breakfast starts in a quarter of an hour,” he says as he turns away.
At breakfast, we’re greeted by Matthew’s colleagues and their partners. They’re a pretty chill group, except for Paul, of course.
I make a beeline for the buffet and load up on fruit,pastries, and cooked food. Buffet breakfasts really are one of the best inventions ever.
“You guys did a great job in the quiz last night,” Henrietta says as I settle down in the chair next to her. Her frizzy hair seems to be fighting a losing battle in the humidity, sticking out around her face like a halo.
“Thanks.” I tuck into my scrambled eggs.
“So, how did you guys meet?” she asks.
Matthew and I discussed this yesterday, so I give her the answer we agreed on.
“We met online and then hit it off in person. Right, pookie bear?”
Matthew looks up from his croissant. “That sounds about right, snuggle muffin.”
“We’re still trialing pet names for each other, aren’t we, babycakes?” I say smoothly.
He tilts his orange juice in my direction, almost like he’s toasting me.
“It’s so hard to come up with one name to encompass all the aspects of your personality and what you bring to my life, love nugget,” he replies.
I have to hide my smile at that, and when I glance at Matthew, there’s a trace of a smirk on his lips too.
After a lifetime of having Matthew as my enemy, it’s weird being on the same team as him. But subtly needling him while pretending to be his boyfriend is almost…fun. Because I know Matthew can give as good as he gets.
But when I look back down at my breakfast, the memory of when I actually did meet Matthew slides into my mind, and any thought of smiling disappears.
Because I met Matthew during the worst time of my life.
My parents had split, and I’d been dragged across thecountry with my father. I’d lost everything. My house. My friends. My mother. My dog, Molly.
It was brutal.
My dad had inherited a house from his aunt, which is why we moved to Bainfield. Located by the river, it was the only original house left because the rest of the neighborhood had been swallowed up by new mansions.
I’d been in the backyard, tossing a ball against the side of the house, when I’d spotted a golden retriever pressing his nose against the fence.
