Page 1 of Flirting with the Enemy

One

Alligator bow tie

Parisa

If my life wasn’t a steaming pile of dog shit sitting in the scorching hot sun right now, I don’t know what else it would be. I can’t lose this folder. My entire future at The Blue Stone Group depends on it. Maybe not my entire future, but definitely the foreseeable future.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I mumble to myself. I frantically shove papers around my desk searching for the manilla file folder I need for this meeting. “Where did I put it?” Maybe it fell behind my desk? Pushing my desk chair back, it glides across the vinyl chair mat leaving me room to crouch down to my hands and knees and search under my desk. When was the last time someone cleaned under here? My hand swipes cracker crumbs off to the side. Wait. Do they expect me to do it? With my face down, ass up, and still under my desk, a voice from behind causes me to freeze.

“Lose something?” His deep voice causes my hackles to raise. And here comes another dog to add to that steaming pile of shit. I crawl out, backwards. While still on my hands and knees, my eyes catch sight of his brown Italian loafers. As my gaze drifts upward, I take in his perfectly ironed gray slacks and his crisp, white shirt that’s precisely tucked into his pants. But my perusal pauses on his god-awful navy bowtie. Who still wears bow ties? Then a tan folder catches my attention.

“Yes. That. I need that.” I climb to my feet and yank the folder out of his hand, the sudden movement causing me to get a whiff of his cologne. Citrus and cedar. Not overpowering, but a clean fragrance. I flip through the folder to make sure everything is still there.

“Also, if you didn’t see the email, Mr. Evans wants you to print out the last marketing report.” Seth checks his watch. “Oh, and the meeting starts in five minutes.” A smirk flashes across his face before he turns and meanders through the sea of cubicles on his way to Conference Room B. Both of us are marketing associates at The Blue Stone Group, the largest real estate and development firm in Harbor Highlands. The draw of Lake Superior creates a high demand for real estate in Northern Minnesota.

Dammit. Turning around, I find my mouse and give it a wiggle to wake up my computer. Come on. Hurry up. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I enter my password. I search for the report and press print. I wait. And wait. Nothing. What the hell is wrong? I check the screen on the printer. Load Paper Tray 2 flashes on the LCD. Why does today hate me? I stand up and yank open the overhead cubby door. I grab the ream of paper and fill the stupid tray. Once it’s satisfied, it spits out the printed pages and I gather them as each one prints. The stack is still warm in my hands as I make a dash for the conference room. Dammit. The manilla file folder. Quickly, I turn around and take a few steps back to my cubicle and snag it off my desk. I shove the papers into the file folder and haul ass to Conference Room B.

“I’m here. I’m here.” I rush through the door and past the row of people already seated. When I find my chair on the opposite side, I take a seat and place my papers on the table. Everyone sits in silence as I get situated and attempt to control my erratic breathing. Maybe I should take Olivia up on those yoga classes.

“Glad you could join us, Ms. Anthony. Did you print off that report for me?”

“Yes. Of Course, I did.” My hands fumble with the folder as I retrieve the papers and pass them to Mr. Evans. His salt and pepper hair glimmers as the morning sun shines through the floor to ceiling window.

He glances over the papers, quickly thumbing through them before placing the stack on the long rectangular table and continuing with the meeting that takes longer than any meeting should. While Mr. Evans rambles, my gaze drifts to him. The enemy. Seth Taylor. His perfectly messy styled hair. The black framed glasses that rest on his perfectly shaped nose. In profile, the sun radiates off his smooth, freshly shaven skin. My eyes continue to follow the contours of his face, over his chin, past his lips, the top slightly thinner than the bottom, and then down to his Adam’s apple. Are those alligators on his bow tie?

“Parisa. You’ll get me that document?” Mr. Evans’ question pulls me from my shameless gawking.

“Uh. Yeah. Document. Got it.” I hastily stack all the other papers in front of me when I catch sight of Seth, a slight smirk on his face as he shakes his head before rising from his seat. Not wanting to give myself away, I jump up from my chair and square my shoulders as I clutch the now rumpled papers in my grasp. Once Seth is out of the room, my shoulders deflate. Quietly, I finish organizing the papers and when I get back to my desk, I throw the folder next to my keyboard and plop down in my chair.

“Shit. What document did he want from me?” I rest my elbows on my desk and drop my head into my hands.

“He wanted the papers for the upcoming conference.” With my cheek still resting on my hand, I turn my face to follow the voice coming from my right over the half wall separating our desks.

“Of course, you would know exactly what he wants.”

Without looking up Seth replies, “I pay attention when I’m in meetings. Helps me to know what’s happening in the company. You should get yourself a digital calendar or a notes app. It will help you stay organized.”

It’s not that I’m disorganized. I just consider it organized chaos. I silently mock him with exaggerated facial expressions.

“Yeah. I saw that.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “Of course you did,” I mumble under my breath.

“And I heard that.”

“Do you have extra spidey senses today, or what?” Irritation laces my voice. “And what’s this conference?”

This time his head does pop up. His piercing green eyes bore into mine. “It’s in the email. You might want to familiarize yourself with it because we’re going to be spending even more time together.” He goes back to jotting down notes.

Email? What email? I might have to contact IT to let them know I’m not getting my emails because I haven’t seen any emails. I log into my computer and open my email. Oh. There it is. I spend the next few minutes reading and rereading the words on the screen.

“This is bullshit,” I blurt out.

A small chuckle sounds from my right. “Bullshit it is not.”

I drop my head to my desk and slowly bang my forehead against the surface. Maybe if I’m concussed, they’ll make someone else go. Because the last thing I want is to spend even more time with Seth.

Two

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