Page 1 of Enemy Boss

Chapter 1

Max

The club is heaving, and I can feel the pounding of the bass echoing through my body. The air is hot and humid. and I gulp down the last bit of water in my bottle and put the bottle down on the narrow counter running along the wall.

I am not getting any cooler so I decide to go outside for a bit of air. I turn to tell Harriet, my best friend, that I am stepping outside for a moment and that I might actually call it a night, but she’s joined at the mouth with a guy she’s met earlier. I shake my head with a smile and decide to leave her to it. I’m sure between her and the other girls who are off somewhere in the club, they will be able to work out that I’ve gone home.

I start making my way towards the exit.

The club is jam packed and I have to squeeze between writhing, dancing bodies, and by the time I get to the exit, I’m a whole lot more hot and bothered than I was on the dance floor. I make a promise to myself there and then that I won’t come to a club if I’m stone cold sober ever again. The oppressive heat, the strangers being forced to stand too close to each other, and the incessant thump of the music are enjoyable when I’m drunk, but sober, they are awful. I wonder how any of the staff can stand to be there. I suppose it’s slightly less packed behind the bar.

It is a relief to step outside. I take a long, deep breath of the cold air. I stand there until I feel goose bumps scurrying up and down my exposed arms. Crossing them in front of my body, I rub my upper arms, trying to get some warmth into them. My dress is cute; a barely there black bandage dress, but it really isn’t suitable for the cold. Just like my heels aren’t suitable for the concrete steps leading down from the club’s door.

I start making my way down the steps carefully. Holding on tightly to the metal railing despite how cold it is against my hand. I look down, concentrating on my feet. What sort of idiot designs a place where people wear heels and drink alcohol to have concrete steps to get in and out?

I’m about halfway to the bottom when I feel my ankle roll.

I grab for the railing with my spare hand as my knees bend and I fall towards the unforgiving jutting edges of the steps. I don’t hit the those gray stairs though. Instead, warm, strong hands catch and hold me until I manage to regain my footing. I look up, ready to thank my savior, but the words are stolen from my mouth.

I just look at him, my words momentarily lost, drinking in the sight of him.

He has tanned skin which perfectly complements the deep brown of his eyes. His hair is cropped short and for a second, I imagine running my hand over the silky strands. I imagine my hand moving lower, running over his arms and chest, which I can see through his t-shirt are muscular.

One side of his mouth curls up in a mocking smile and I realize I have been staring. I feel my cheeks flush and immediately I feel awkward, which brings on a surge of unreasonable anger inside me. As though it’s somehow this stranger’s fault that I was staring at him like a lost puppy.

“Thank you,” I say huffily, self-consciously pulling down the edges of my dress.

“You’re welcome,” he says, but he doesn’t move. His voice is low and gravelly, and I feel a shiver of desire go through me at the sound of it. I ignore the feeling and continue to frown at him. He’s still so close I can feel the heat coming off his body… and he still wearing that irritatingly knowing smile on his face.

“Well?” I demand. “Are you going to get out of my way?”

He casually glances over his shoulder at the rest of the steps.

“Do you think you can make it that far unassisted?” he asks, unperturbed by my shocking rudeness.

“I’m not drunk you know,” I blurt out.

“I didn’t say you were,” he replies, looking even more amused.

God he’s annoying. And hot. Annoyingly hot.

“You implied I can’t walk down a flight of stairs on my own,” I say.

“Ah but I wasn’t basing that conclusion off how much you may or may not have had to drink. I was basing that off the fact you have already almost fallen once and you’re not quite half way down the stairs yet.”

I know he’s just teasing me, and I can’t really argue his point either because he’s right. Drunk I might not be, but my ankle is throbbing slightly, and my heels are too high. I have a feeling I will turn the ankle again before I reach the bottom of the stairs. Even so I can’t give him the satisfaction of being right.

“Thank you again for catching me, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of getting down the rest of the stairs,” I say firmly.

The smirk on the man’s mouth becomes more of a grin as he waves his hand in the direction of the bottom of the stairs.

“Be my guest,” he says.

He steps back enough to allow me space to move past him, but he makes no effort to carry on up the stairs towards the club. He watches me and I turn back to look him.

“Well?” he says.

“Go on then,” I mutter grumpily.

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