Addicted to the Enemy: Falling for Trouble

Leaning back in her chair, Isla Lawson watched the wavering cursor on her screen disparaging her lack of focus. Though it hung heavily in her thoughts, her history was the one she couldn't quite escape, not the current campaign she was working on. Her last email to the board stayed with her. Noah Vincent was the name she hated to say aloud at the root of it all; the takeover that almost ruined her career felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. She massaged her temples, trying to ignore the thought. She told herself that was ridiculous. Here were her new job and her life. Light-years from the corporate jungle she had left behind, she was a budding fashion company marketing manager. Her coworkers' unorganized whisper penetrated the office, the hum of the coffee makers, and the faint thrum of pop music streaming in from the design floor. This was safe; it energized even. Still, Noah's shadow hovered like a shark stalking just under the surface.Earth to Isla! Evan Monroe's voice

The only fashion show was a rainbow of color, lights, and well chosen anarchy. Isla Lawson looked around the room, absorbing the clusters of New York's elite mingling under the golden chandeliers and the low murmur of talks broken by laughter. This was more than just a performance; it was a battlefield where designers, models, and fashionistas battled for power using fabric and style. And Isla was here ready to assert her claim, not only as an observer. She was also a participant. Evan Monroe, beside her, grinned knowingly as he drank his champagne. Even in a throng where sticking out was the norm, his turquoise blazer, covered in beautiful embroidery that shimmered when he moved, caught attention. Tilting his head and acting to inhale deeply, he remarked, "Can you smell that, Isla?" She shot a roll of her eyes and said, "Please don't say it's the perfume of ambition." He laughed, a rich sound that caught the interest of a couple inquisitive visitors. Oh, not at all There is the ar

Long shadows on Isla's desk filled with notes from the Noah conference and papers sprang from the dawn light flooding her office. She was still processing their conversation, the way he had stoked old memories while planting the germ of a new, maybe revolutionary union. The only sound in the still room was her absently clicking pen. A sudden knock on the door took her from her thinking. Evan arrived, his perfect smile a jarring juxtaposition to her thoughtful silence. Good ammon, sir. You seem like someone who just marched across a war and lived to tell the tale, setting a cup of coffee front of her with a flourish. Not far off, Isla remarked, smiling as she sipped. She felt the sour warmth and found some brief comfort. And about the good mindset, what is it? Have you happened across the lottery? "Nope, but I did hear that a certain Noah Vincent's crew has extended an olive branch," Evan said, eyebrows wiggling. According rumors, they want to collaborate with us. Isla looks f

Noah Vincent leaned against the floor to-ce ceiling window of his office and felt the city lights slink under him like a disordered sea of stars. It was a viewpoint he had come to demand, a panoramic monument to the empire he had built on tenacity, danger, and more than a few well selected betrayals. His eyes turned back, sharp and enigmatic, framed by jet-black hair that resisted insurrection with its ideal styling in the dark reflection of the glass. He was polished, under control, a constructed image exuding force. Everything about him was Tonight, though, the glittering shell felt thin, hardly holding the storm gathering inside together. Lawson, Isaata. The moniker cut across his thinking like a razor, harsh and unavoidable. It took him back to moments he had thought he would have buried under layers of success and indifference. Surprisingly tenacious, the woman had a keen tongue that made her unforgettable and a rapid mind. Hair framing her face as she sat across fr

Isle sat at her desk tapping her pen fast against a stack of notes while she mentally rehearsed the conversation she was about to have. Approaching Noah Vincent seemed like opening Pandora's box; she had no idea what anarchy may enable, but the possible advantages were too tremendous to ignore. Apart from that, she was a capable marketing manager who had acquired skills in negotiating shark-infested seas, not the assistant aiming to prove herself. She could behave in this way. She might have to. The piercing ring of her office phone jolted her from meditative silence. On the screen Evan's name burned. She picked up half expecting more ridicule.Evan's voice, laced with both amusement and true concern, said, "Tell me you're not about to back out." Isla said, "I'm not," drawing a long breath. " Right now I'm headed into the conference. "Good." Remember to inhale deeply and fight allowing him to smile you into obedience.