Page 1 of Flirting with My Billionaire Enemy

1

ARIANA

Ican’t believe I let her talk me into this. I definitely didn’t sign up for it, but my cousin is relentless, and now I’m paying the price. And that price feels like pain.

“Why do I have to wear these heels again?” I shift my weight to take the pressure off my already-aching feet.

“Because they make your legs look a mile long in this dress.” Farah twists another strand of my pitch-black hair around her curling iron. And yes, it’s her curling iron. I don’t own one because I don’t need it. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.

I’m not a fan of the form-fitting blue number either. Why do people think it’s a good idea to dress like this? I feel like I’m being strangled by a boa constrictor.

“Maybe I should just wear my flip flops.” My favorite pair might have seen better days, but they’re broken in and oh so comfortable.

Farah wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ariana Hashemi, those things should be disintegrated.”

I laugh at the way she uses my full name. “No way. They’re the best after a hard day of work.”

“Maybe. But not for trying to score a man.” Farah releases another glossy curl from the curling iron. Okay, maybe it does look pretty good, but it’s not worth the trouble.

“I don’t need a man,” I say. “I thought we were going out to celebrate me landing my dream job, anyway.”

“We are, but wouldn’t it be the cherry on top if you found a guy too?” Farah got a faraway look on her face.

She’s happily dating her perfect guy, so I get it. She wants me to be happy, too. But a boyfriend takes a lot of time, and that’s something I don’t have very much of. Especially not now that I’ve landed my new job.

Farah sets the curling iron down and fluffs my hair to loosen the curls. “There.” She covers her mouth and lets out a little squeal. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

“What? Torture me?”

“No. Bring you out of your shell. You always hide behind those boxy pantsuits with your hair pulled back. Not to mention the glasses.”

“It’s expensive to wear contacts. My eyes are sensitive, and I have to wear the daily kind. That adds up after a while.”

“And now with your new job, you can afford it and then some.” Farah smiles like she’s won.

“Can I look now?” I ask.

“One last thing.” She grabs a tube of bright red lipstick and applies it to my lips. She looks me over and gives a quick nod. “All done.”

She leads me from my bedroom to the bathroom, and Farrah angles the door so I can see myself in the full-length mirror. I barely recognize my reflection. The Persian girl staring back at me is stunning in a blue dress, showing off a tiny waist. My dark eyes are fringed with thick, long lashes, surrounded by a smokey eyeshadow. Farah had spent forever contouring my face, and my cheekbones are higher and more accentuated. My pouty lips are shiny red. My hair falls past my elbows in glossy curls, looking like extensions people would pay hundreds of dollars for. It’s healthy because I always keep it up in a bun and rarely subject it to any kind of heat.

My dad was from Iran, and I inherited his darker features. I have dark hair and eyes, but my skin is lighter than most Persian women. My mom was a blonde-haired woman with fair skin. Even though my skin is light, people can still tell I’m half Persian. I have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously.

I look down at the heels I’m wearing. As much as I don’t want to admit it, she’s right about the shoes. I look like a supermodel in them. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be wearing them after tonight. Nope. I’ll be right back in my comfy shoes after this. Farah won’t win that battle.

* * *

The bass thumps so loud I can feel the floor shaking beneath my stilettos. Farah suggested we go to the hottest new club in Atlanta, and it is packed. She seems acquainted with everyone. My Persian uncle is from one of the wealthiest families in town, and Farah grew up brushing shoulders with Georgia’s elite.

We squeeze through the crowd, past gyrating bodies, toward the bar. I climb up on a barstool, and she takes the one next to me. I don’t drink often, and I don’t plan to go into my first day of work hung over, so I’ll have to take it easy tonight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t at least have one special drink. We order cosmos, and Farah holds hers up.

“To new beginnings.”

I clink my glass against hers, careful to keep from spilling the liquid. As I take my first sip, a guy with dark hair and broad shoulders takes the seat a few spots down from me.

He’s a sight for sore eyes, and I feel embarrassed for staring, though I can’t seem to turn away. With his chiseled jaw and kissable lips, this guy is the best-looking man I’ve seen in a long time. He glances our way and waves at Farah.

She waves back.

---