28. Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers
Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers
One year later...
“Now, this little guy, the magenta one,” I draw my audience of third-grade field trippers to the vibrant sea slug fluttering across the tank, “is the Spanish Shawl nudibranch. You can find it all along the west coast of North America, as far north as British Columbia and as far south as the Galapagos, though it’s most common right here in Southern California.
Fun fact: the orange tentacle-like appendages on its back are called cerata.
The tips contain stinging cells that could immobilize any predator long enough for the Flabellinopsis iodinea to escape.
You know, since I mentioned the Galapagos, I’m actually going on a—”
“Shark! Shark!” My story fizzles as my audience, distracted long enough by the beauty of a tropical reef habitat, races to the underwater tunnel as the star of the show, a Blacktip Reef Shark, glides above them.
Mrs. Folly, their teacher, shoots me an exasperated glance and chases after them, leaving me in the lurch.
I glance apologetically at the purple sea slug, now latched onto a piece of kelp.
“Sorry, buddy,” I say, “one day someone will find you more interesting than sharks.” Now, left alone, I discreetly slip a microfiber cloth from my back pocket and polish the fingerprints from the glass.
While it’s not part of my responsibilities to tidy up, I like to keep the aquarium in shipshape.
You can’t fully appreciate the Flabellinopsis iodinea’s beauty behind dirty glass.
I’m happy.
Despite taking a giant pay cut, I’m finally doing what makes me happy.
I’m enrolled in grad school, on the slow and steady path to becoming a marine biologist. My tuition is partially paid for by a surprisingly generous severance package.
I suppose the severance is in exchange for my ‘continued discretion about my unpleasant experience with the former CEO and for future consultation opportunities.”
Translation: Rylan paid me a lot of money for not suing the shit out of the company while keeping the door open so I can come in as a contract ASSET consultant.
So I’m not technically ‘out.’ The board and Sam’s mom, with whom I’m on friendly terms with, wants me back. And I’m not averse to popping in on occasion for consultation work…
On the condition that we implement an ethics committee on how to use the ASSET responsibly. In other words, sure, I’ll stop by to make a monthly presentation. Just don’t be dicks to the world.
My direct reports oversee the ASSET ‘Do No Evil’ committee.
Most of the time, they’re in total chaos, messaging me at odd hours for my input until I remind them that I’m not their director anymore.
It doesn’t matter. They still call me Director and pepper their messages with “Sorry to bother you...”
I’m not exceptionally bothered. My stint at Rylan is a loose string that I haven’t tied up yet.
And I’m not mad about it. Not long after walking out on that meeting, I came to the realization that life is one giant loose string.
Much like the lawn chairs that still fester my living room due to budget constraints, my old career as an accidental ASSET expert is not completely over, and my new career trajectory is still a work in progress.
My love life is also a work in progress.
I’m seeing someone new.
We met at work, though we never officially worked for the same company. We came together through a series of strange events or ‘synergetic’ forces.
“And you gave up the corner office for this,” a voice says from behind me, triggering a trickle of delight. I don’t need to turn around. I can see his reflection in the tank, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “To think, you were one of two ASSET experts...”
I continue polishing the dirty fingerprints. “How many ASSET experts does the world need?”
“You have a point,” he says. “You weren’t very good at it anyway.”
I tip my head to the side. “I distinctly remember you singing my praises.”
“I never sing praises. At some point in time, you didn’t suck.”
“I’m hard at work,” I say, waving him away, “so if you came over here to heckle me—” Suddenly, I feel his arms wrap around me and his lips against my ear.
With a sigh of contentment, I lean back into him, shivering as he presses a stolen kiss to my neck and another one behind my ear.
I pluck at the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s not the same grey hoodie.
I might have accidentally burned that. It’s a soft, cream-colored hoodie, which Rhys purchased himself after he admitted that the reason he hasn’t been wearing his collection of waffle-knit sweaters is because he secretly hates the textures.
Plus, he’s a hoodie type of guy. I guess you can’t take the boy out of Vacaville…
And I’m okay with that.
Just as I will never see my childhood neighborhood by the smog-choked freeway as anything other than beautiful, Rhys can wear a literal trash bag and I’ll still think he’s the hottest guy in the room.
We’ve come a long way, and, in a twist of irony, I’ve learned that a makeover works both ways.
As far as it applies to me, Rhys says that I’m far from the shallows now.
He thinks he’s quite clever, keeping with the marine theme and all, and I have to agree.
The aquarium is tranquil after the kids stormed off. For a few precious moments, we’re alone in the dark, surrounded by my colony of neon sea slugs.
“Did I ever tell you,” Rhys whispers in my ear, “that you’re prettier in person than you are in photos?”
I blush from head to toe and discreetly turn around. Rhys’ hazel eyes smile down at me as I reach up to brush a strand of unruly hair away from his brow.
“Almost every day,” I say, touching my forehead to his. It’s an inside joke between us. Only we would know how far he’s come. “Who taught you to be such a sweet talker?”
“I had lessons from an adequate teacher. I can’t think of her name.”
“Just an ‘adequate’ teacher?” I pull away long enough to side-eye him into admitting that I more than upheld my end of the bargain.
He never got laid so much before I got my hands on him, and now...
Well, I won’t kiss and tell, but ever since we made it official, I’ve personally helped him overcome that obstacle every night of the week and twice on weekends.
“Okay, you got me,” Rhys says, gathering me more closely against him. “You’ve single-handedly taken a piece of shit, that’s me, and spun it into gold.”
I chew on my inner cheek. The same could be said for what he did for me.
I’ll admit, when we first met, I was not exactly the perfect minimum-wage aquarium intern you see before you.
I needed a bit of work. One could even say he gave me a makeover of the soul, but I would never tell Rhys that. It’ll go to his head.
“I never called you a ‘piece of shit.’”
He snorts, his fingers lightly grazing the hem of my T-shirt. “Sure you did. You called me that plenty.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call you ‘gold’ either. I don’t know where you got that.”
“What do you call me then?”
“Rumpelstiltskin,” I whisper in his ear, embarrassed to be heard saying it aloud.
We had a long, achingly slow courtship, beset by speed bumps like when he confronted me about bribing Michelle to go out with him. I assumed he was pissed, but Rhys, familiar with my wily ways, was only slightly perturbed. “You like a rigged game,” he’d said, “that much is obvious.”
Naturally, we have many terms of endearment for each other, not all of them endearing.
‘My Grifter Girlfriend’ and ‘Fae Fuck Face’ were some of our duds.
Rhys was quite confused when I called him that…
until one sultry summer night, he learned that, yes, he can pleasure a woman and pleasure her well, with just his face.
But the latest one, Rumpelstiltskin, seemed to fit him like a glove.
“You’re my Rumpelstiltskin, and I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
And the look he gives me in return… it’s making me blush.
It can only be described as yearning. Unabashed, naked, passionate yearning.
I’ve seen it before, a long time ago, in a sterile boardroom while trying to broker a deal.
I didn’t know it was meant for me at the time.
Now I know his fae fuck face is mine, all mine.
I can’t stand here amongst the sea slugs and be subjected to that look without doing something indecent.
“Carina, I—”
I stop his words with a clumsy kiss, nodding, “I know.”
“I want to say it,” he frowns, “Everyone does it in the movies.”
“If we were a movie, it would be a pretty freaking weird movie, panned by all except the most devoted film snobs and Quentin Tarantino stans for all the times we talk—” I peck him on the nose.
“And talk.” Another peck on his chin. “And talk.” This one goes to his lips, long and slow and sweet until we ceased talking.
Rhys comes up for air. “We really can’t seem to shut up, can we?”
“I’m the wittiest person I know. And I suppose you are too.” I turn serious, holding him at arm’s length. “Besides, you’ll jinx it by saying it too soon. I want to extend this honeymoon period for as long as possible.”
His thumb strokes my cheek, amused. “So you’re saying we’re doomed?”
“Probably,” I say, planting a final kiss on his lips. “But we might as well have fun in the meantime.”
“I concur.”
I glance over my shoulder. The field trip group has vanished from the shark tunnel, moving on to the Arctic seal quarters.
I still have twenty minutes left in my shift before I’m free for our Friday night date.
It’s surreal. I used to have a corner office with a fancy job title and perfectly tailored work slacks.
Now I’m dressed in an electric blue T-shirt emblazoned with a neon dolphin and secretly making out with my boyfriend at my internship.
One would think I’ve severely downgraded my life, that I’ve regressed.
I beg to differ. You’re never too old for a career change.
Nor is it too late to fall for your sworn enemy. They say a honeymoon period won’t last.
However, my work with data patterns suggests that abnormalities can happen.
If you can befriend your enemy, then date your friend, you already have a solid foundation for success.
This is not a feeling. It’s a statistical prediction for love.
Trust me on this. I used to be one hell of an ASSET expert.
I walk away, and then run back and throw my arms around him, startling him with three kisses: one greedy, one tender, and the last one promising my every wish for a happily ever after.
For both of us.
We deserve this.
We deserve each other.
“I love you, too,” I whisper in his ear before jogging away.
* * *
Thank you so much for reading my book.