Page 42 of My Enemy, My Obsession

Irun long andhard, and I think I surprise Ethan in the process. We’re back in his room with a pot of coffee that we’re both doctoring our own way. He likes a lot of Splenda and creamer, and I approve.

“You're kind of a badass,” he says, sipping from his cup.

“Why do you say that?”

“You were giving me a run for my money on that treadmill.”

“Hardly,” I laugh, “but I love a good run. It’s my stress relief.” I hesitate and add, “It got me through losing my mom. It’s how I stopped crying all the time.”

“I get it,” he says softly, refilling my cup. “It’s gotten me through a few shitty moments, too.”

I like that we connect on running, it’s a part of our lives separately, and somehow also connects us.

“I’m a better person when I’m running,” he adds. “It makes me human, and it’s probably saved a few jobs. Have you done any marathons?”

“No, but I’d like to. Have you?”

“When I was younger,” he says. “I don’t have the time to train for anything but work right now.”

I wonder if that’s always or a certain project right now, but somehow it feels too complicated when we have to leave soon for my meetings, so I keep it light and tease him. “Because you’re so old now?”

He laughs an easy laugh. “Thirty-six isn’t all that old, which reminds me. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine, and at least you have a world of accomplishments. I’m still interviewing for the right job.”

“I read your bio. You own your own clothing store.”

“That makes very little money, and I have one staff member who will carry a heavy burden if I leave for Paris for six weeks.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“I don’t think so. I was already going to ask her to work more hours so I could help my father. Of course, my father doesn’t know my plan, and he probably would have fought me tooth and nail.”

Ethan’s cellphone rings, and he glances at the caller ID. “This is work. I need to take it, but I want to talk about your father later. You go ahead and get ready. We have to leave in forty-five minutes.” He answers the line but makes no move away from me, as if he doesn’t mind that I listen in, but I do not presume that’s okay. I grab my cup, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are warm, the charge between us electric. I feel the spark between us, the thread to a bond weaving tighter, and I know then, really know, something is happening between us. Something that feels like nothing I have ever known in my life.

I turn away from him, but it feels like I’m still with him and him with me. It’s hard to explain. I enter the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror, and I look different, glowing even. Lord, help me. I look like a woman infatuated, who better be careful before she falls in love with a man who just said himself he has no time to train for a marathon. Work rules his life.

And he’s single for a reason.

He chooses to be.

I’m standing at the sink in the hotel robe, my makeup done but my hair wet when Ethan joins me. “That took longer than expected. I called Harper and got your meeting pushed thirty minutes. I want us to have time to enjoy breakfast.” He pulls off his shirt and steps behind me, his hard body pressed to mine, his eyes finding mine in the mirror.

“How many hotel rooms have you been in with men?”

My eyes go wide, defensiveness erupting inside me. I try to turn, but he holds me steady. I exhale and meet his eyes again. “None. Ever. How many women have you been in hotel rooms with?”

“Too many, Sofia, but with not one of them did I hold them when we slept, or ran with them the morning after, or even shared a cup of coffee. Ever. I don’t do things like this.”

My heart is thumping and running. “You keep saying things like that, and it makes me feel like you want me to leave.”

“That’s just it, Sofia. I don’t want you to leave. I really don’t want you to leave.” He nuzzles my neck and says, “Come to Paris with me.”

I’m tingling all over, inside and out, and I cup his head. “The contract—”

“No matter what,” he says. “Even if you say no to the contract.”

This time when I try to rotate, he lets me, and I stare up at him, searching his face. “You want—”

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