Jude
S ay what you will about Leo Corbin, CEO of Grapevine—he really knows how to throw a party. Or at least his assistant does, since Hazel has been run ragged for months planning tonight, always sucking on a giant iced coffee whenever she hustles past in the office, muttering under her breath about vendors and invites and canapes.
When I step out onto the skyscraper rooftop, the stars glitter high above, and Hazel is there, practically vibrating with excitement by the boss’s side. She’s in a pink cocktail dress, her blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, while he looms over her like a grumpy raven.
Mr Corbin nods at me, expression dour, and pumps my hand. “Thank you for coming…”
Hazel leans close to him and whispers, “.”
“.” The boss attempts a small smile, then aborts with a huff, waving me into the party. “Enjoy.”
Stifling a grin, I nudge past and plunge into the crowd as Hazel’s hissed recriminations fade behind me. Only the boss’s bubbly assistant ever tells him off, and I would fucking love to eavesdrop—but there’s no time tonight. No time to think about anything except one thing.
Violet Moore is here.
She’s near.
She’s somewhere on this rooftop, dressed in evening wear. Sipping a drink, or laughing with that girl from Accounts, or— god forbid—dancing in that press of bodies, twined around some jerk from Legal. Shit. And I’ve pissed myself off with that last scenario, my strides getting longer and my chest pinching tight, but when I scan the makeshift dance floor… Violet’s not there.
Whew.
Okay. Bullet dodged.
Swallowing hard, I tug at my collar and peer around the party, taking it in properly for the first time. The rooftop bustles with bodies, and string lights climb trellises behind three pop-up bars. A live band plays from a small stage, their music upbeat, while guests laugh and chat in small groups and nibble on canapes.
In the center of the roof glows a swimming pool. Steam rises in billowing clouds off the water, and dappled light dances on the surface. Most people are giving the pool a wide berth, treating it like a water feature, but a few guests have already plopped down on the sun loungers for a more casual chat.
So this is how Leo Corbin lives. Hazel let it slip once in the break room—that this is his building, and the boss lives in the penthouse apartment. It’s his private rooftop. Though it’s impossible to picture him swimming laps in the pool or stretching out on a sun lounger on a Sunday morning, working through the week’s crossword.
It’s too human. Surely his grumpy circuits would fry.
“Violet!”
The voice comes from behind me. I wheel around, face already cracking into a grin. But it’s not her—of course it’s not her, why would Violet call her own name? She’s not a fucking Pokemon—it’s that girl from Accounts. The quiet, curvy one with the school ma’am glasses. She’s clinging to a handsome man’s arm, waving across the crowd, hopping from foot-to-foot with excitement.
Can’t blame her. That’s how I feel whenever I see Violet Moore, too: ready to float up to the ceiling. And— Christ , there she is, slipping easily through the press of bodies, draped in mist-colored silk. Violet’s lips are red, like always, and her long legs end in strappy heels. A warm smile plays around her mouth as she goes to hug her friend.
“Darius,” Violet says when she steps back, nodding at her friend’s date. So that’s why he’s familiar—he’s Grapevine’s star composer. The closest thing our company has to a celebrity. Violet glances between the pair of them, bemused but happy. “I didn’t expect… well. Hi. Nice to see you.”
The composer slings an arm around his date’s shoulder, and the girl from Accounts flushes bright red. “You too.”
Violet looks like she has a million questions, like she’s ready to drag her friend aside for a gossip fest, but screw it—I’ve hung back for long enough. Have already exercised extreme patience where my rival is concerned.
It’s been hours since we spoke. Hours! I need to see her up close.
When I step forward, Violet jolts, the smile dropping off her face.
I don’t love that, but the beautiful shiver that coasts through her… that helps soothe the blow. Violet’s lips part, and her nostrils flare as she sucks in a deep breath.
“Judas,” she greets flatly. Does she even realize that she’s leaning toward me? Craning forward like a flower seeking sunshine? The others turn away, greeting someone else.
“Hello Violet.”
Already we’re drifting away together to a quiet spot, pulled like magnets. Already her pupils are dilating, and she’s wetting her lips, and my abs are clenched beneath my dark blue shirt. Every moment with this woman feels like foreplay.
“You look beautiful,” I say, and when she blinks in shock, I can’t resist adding: “Though there’s no need to dress up for me, sweetheart. You could seduce me in a garbage bag.”
True, all true.
“Such high standards.” Violet rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the pink tinge to her cheeks. She’s pleased to see me too. “You should really work on that.”
“Oh, I am.” Every time I make her blush, or laugh, or roll her eyes, I’m raising the bar. Isn’t that obvious?
Violet lets me cup her bare elbow and draw her into my arms, though we’re far away from the dance floor. Her body curves against mine and her arms wind around my neck, even as she scowls at me from beneath her bangs. She might hate me, but her body disagrees.
“I’m working incredibly hard,” I say.
And it’s true: I’m working hard to torment her.
To win her.
To make her feel as jumbled up and lost as I do; to make sure I’m not in this alone.
Because it’s not fair that I dream about Violet Moore every night while she swans about, living her carefree life. It’s not fair that she wrinkles her nose at me, full of contempt, and meanwhile I bite my fist in the shower every morning, choking back her name.
She’s stolen my power. Ensnared me with her witchy ways.
But I know she wants me too. She can’t hide from me.
Spreading a palm over her lower back, I press us closer, sealing our bodies together. Violet’s heart beats rapidly, knocking against my chest, and she’s so soft, so feminine, her scent laced with berries. My stomach growls.
Yes. It’s taken us too damn long to come even this far.
“I loathe you,” Violet murmurs, though she’s gazing up at me through her lashes.
My chest burns. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”
“I’m serious,” she says, even as her arms wind tighter around my neck; even as she pushes onto her toes, bringing our mouths a single breath apart. “You are the most irritating man I’ve ever met. I go to sleep every night cursing your name.”
“Stop flirting with me.”
Our noses brush together, and we’re spinning in slow circles—never mind that the band is playing a fast song. Never mind that this is public. Colleagues glance over at us and whisper, and there are a few muffled laughs. We’re causing a spectacle, but I don’t care.
I do not care.
“If you kiss me,” I say, “I’ll call for HR.” Our mouths get closer, almost brushing together, and my heart’s booming now, pulse slamming in my ears. Every cell in my body is tense, on edge, urging her to do it, do it, do it.
Will she do it? Will she kiss me at last? I’ll die if she won’t. I’ll keel over onto the nearest sun lounger, struck down in my prime.
“If you kiss me, I’ll chew off your tongue,” Violet returns, and she’s plastered so close I can feel every curve and dip of her body against mine. Could map her with my eyes closed. It’s everything I thought it would be: hot and sweet and agonizing.
Despite the turmoil inside my chest, my shrug is casual. “Might be worth the risk. Do I even use my tongue that much?”
Violet snorts. “I knew you’d be that kind of guy.”
And she’s so aggravating, such a shameless little harpy, that I growl as I duck down to nuzzle her ear. I’m squeezing her hips now, hard enough to wrinkle her dress, and I should ease off on her but I can’t. We’ve started something here and I can’t stop it, no matter how many of our colleagues keep stealing glances. My body has taken the wheel.
If I step away, I’ll break the spell. This will be over too soon, and what if I have to wait years for my next taste?
No. Need to drag this out. Need to commit every detail of this moment to memory: Violet’s warm skin, her husky voice, the scent of chlorine from the nearby pool. All of it.
Because she said so herself: this woman loathes me. And who can blame her? Over the last few years, I’ve made it my personal mission to wind Violet Moore up like a clockwork doll. I’ve pushed and prodded and teased until she can barely stand five minutes in my presence, and it’s all my fault, all my own short-sighted idiocy, but something about this woman short-circuits my brain.
Monkey see, monkey tease.
Monkey fall in unrequited love.
Stupid monkey.
“So you do think about us,” I murmur. “I knew you did.” My thumb strokes her hip bone through the silk of her dress. “Bet you daydream about it all the time. Bet you doodle my name in your neat little planner.”
A strangled laugh. “You wish.”
I do wish.
And I like it here, this close to her perfumed neck, with her dark, glossy hair tickling my nose and her earlobe close enough to nibble. I like that Violet doesn’t care about our witnesses either; that she’s too wrapped up in this moment to feel self-conscious. Fuck, I like her. So, so much. Why can’t she see that?
Something twists inside me—something mean and dark and hungry. Something bitter, because I’ve denied this for too long.
No, we’ve denied this for too long, trading insults when we could have worked out our frustrations in a much more fun way. I’m so tired of sniping when all I want to do is bury my face between those soft thighs.
We’ve wasted so much precious time together. Why does Violet fight me at every goddamn step of the way? Why can’t she listen for once?
Not everything is a joke. When I flirt with her, I mean it, damn it.
“Bet you plan your outfits everyday, wondering what will catch my eye.” Spiky nerves crackle like embers under my skin—and though I’m speaking softly, some of that bitterness and impatience seeps through. Maybe it’s because I’ve tried telling this woman how I feel so many times, but my teasing words sound all wrong: harsh and judgmental. “Bet you planned this outfit for me. You act so high and mighty, but you’d beg for it, Violet Moore. The moment I got you alone, you’d drop to your knees and beg.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve misjudged. I’ve gone too far.
Because Violet stiffens against me, her breath freezing in her throat, and when I nudge her with my nose, she makes a strangled noise of pure fury.
“Get. Away. From. Me.”
I stumble back, bitter cold already gnawing on my bones. My stomach drops. For once, I’m not grinning, not taunting her at all—but Violet doesn’t seem to notice that fact. She’s too busy glaring at me, scorching me with her unbridled hatred.
My mouth tastes sour with regret. Christ, why did I say that? It sounded hotter in my head; less like an insult. Guess I forgot that we’re not actually involved the way I want us to be, and I have no business speaking to her like that.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Violet—”
“I’d rather die ,” she spits, tugging at her dress straight until all my creases are gone. Like we were never pressed together at all, and the last few minutes are nothing but a bad memory. “I’d throw myself off this roof before kissing you, Jenkins. You get that, right? Tell me you get that.”
And my insides plummet down, down, down, all the way to street level, but my smile is bland. “Loud and clear.”
Because what else is there to say? Violet Moore has won. I want her desperately, I’ve made that clear in front of everyone, and she’d rather be a pancake on the sidewalk than let this happen.
Violet has spoken: I’m her rival. Nothing more.
Something flickers behind her gray eyes as we hover in silence—uncertainty, maybe. Even regret. The sounds of the party wash over us both, crowding out the painful static buzzing in my brain, and the Legal bros are staring, delighted. Chlorine scents my shaky breaths.
Violet softens, her lips parting to speak, but I’m already turning away and plunging back into the crowd. I shoulder my way toward the nearest bar.
She doesn’t need to give me the full lecture. Doesn’t need to let me down gently.
The only thing between us is hate. Message received.