Page 2 of Texting the Enemy

She looks up the second the door opens, her blue gaze sharp and piercing. I’m struck dumb by it for a brief second, standing stock still in the doorway. I pride myself on my professional, unrattled demeanor. Even in emergencies, I’m composed and unshakeable.

But with Faith’s narrowed eyes analyzing me?

I can’t remember how to breathe properly.

It’s like she’s hit me in the chest, a physical reaction blooming beneath my ribs.

My head is empty of everything I’d come in here to discuss, three words ringing through my mind on repeat.

Faith is mine.

2

FAITH

Iget to the meeting room fifteen minutes early to prepare my notes. I know the office grump, also known as Ford Grant, will be looking to do anything he can to deny my request. I like to refer to him as a gargoyle in my head since he’s made of stone. Although, it would be so much easier to deal with him if he looked as monstrous as his stony counterparts. But no, that would be far too easy. Instead, Ford looks like he’s cut straight from a muscle magazine or something.

If he weren’t my office enemy, he’d be my office crush.

Who are you kidding? He’s already both, my brain says. I shove the thought away with a frown, refusing to acknowledge that unhelpful comment.

Refocusing on the matter at hand, I read through my notes again. I wasn’t here when the budget was agreed upon at the end of last quarter, and whoever the last marketing manager was clearly didn’t care about pushing the company forward because there’s no way I can make this abysmal number stretch to do what we need to do.

I plan to tell Ford exactly how I feel about it.

I have a lot to prove here, and Ford poses a big threat. I need to prove to him that I know what I’m talking about, that I deserve my place here, and that I deserve a decent budget to blow them all away with. He clearly doesn’t like me; I can tell from his cold stares and silent treatment, and that just makes me want to prove myself even more.

I exhale slowly, squaring my shoulders as the door swings open.

My head snaps up the second Ford enters.

It’s like the whole world shrinks until nothing is left but Ford and me. The air between us crackles with unspoken energy, sending sparks and goosebumps along my skin. I try not to react, clenching my jaw and hiding my hands under the table so he can’t see the way I’m fidgeting.

Keep it cool, Faith, I tell myself.

But it’s impossible to ignore the attraction simmering in my chest. Impossible to ignore the craving in my bones, the hunger burning low in my stomach. As hard as I try, I can’t deny the way my whole being begs for him.

I hate him, right? So why do I want him so damn bad?

I try to find a place of calm inside myself because there’s no point in me wasting energy snapping at Ford or winding him up. He never rises to the bait, and that’s just as annoying as everything else about him.

Ford startles, as if coming out of a dream, and finally steps into the room fully. The door falls closed behind him with a finalthudthat reverberates through my whole body.

I can’t let him get the first word in, so I start talking before he even sits down across from me.

“Thank you for meeting me, Ford,” I begin, shuffling the papers in front of me again. “I asked you here because I have to say that this budget is just not going to work. Why anybody ever agreed to this, honestly ridiculously low number, is beyond me. I cannot be expected to get the results I need with such a limited scope. Frankly, it’s impossible for me to run the campaigns we all know we need with these numbers. Honestly, Ford, I have to wonder whether this is personal. You’re obstructing my work, and this is unreasonable. I’d expect better from someone who’s supposed to be as knowledgeable as you are as the head of Finance.”

The whole time I’m ranting, furious, and full of indignation, Ford just sits there across from me, sipping on a coffee and looking at me with an utterly unfazed expression on his stupidly handsome face. There’s a tasteful smatter of stubble on his cut jaw, a flop of hair over his forehead that only highlights his cut-from-stone perfection even more. Those dark forest-green eyes of his are locked onto me, and I can’t look away.

I can’t break his stare.

I can’t back down.

I keep going, doubling down and hammering my point in, ensuring he knows exactly how I feel. By the time I’m done, there’s a smirk tilting up the right corner of his lips and a heat to his green eyes that sends my heart racing. He waits a beat before answering me, stretching out the tension to the point I feel like I might break before it does.

“Well?” I say, unable to take it anymore. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

That smirk stretches again. Ford leans forward, elbows on the table. “All you had to do was ask, Faith,” he says, his voice velvety and low.

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