Empire of Hate: A Second Chance Enemies to Lovers Romance

PRESENT

My head is about to explode.

I’m overthinking everything, thanks to a certain jerk, and worse, the onslaught of emotions that I went through over the past two days is stronger than anything I’ve experienced.

It’s like being waterboarded and I have to count fractions of seconds until I get my next breath.

It’s like living on my toes for the next hit.

I have no doubt in my mind that it’s coming. I have no doubt that Daniel will find a reason to chew me out or threaten to fire me.

It seems to be his modus operandi—wanting to kick me out. The arsehole has the power and he knows it. Hell, he’s bent on showcasing it every chance he gets so I have no misconceptions about my position.

After the initial shock of meeting him again wore off, I googled him.

What? I needed to know my enemy.

Obviously, Daniel abandoned his family fortune. He left everything behind and came to the States at the age of eighteen. He studied law, passed the bar, and became one of the youngest solicitors to acquire the junior partner position. That’s especially notable considering how big and influential Weaver & Shaw is.

Not only that, but he’s also talented enough that some European sovereignty recently appointed him as their attorney in charge. That, aside from all the international business moguls that he represents.

All except for his own family.

Not many people drew the connection between him and the influential Sterling family back home. Probably because no one would think he’d abandon such fortune to become an attorney.

Still, he managed to become the media’s sweetheart and photographers’ wet dream. He has the looks anyone with cameras or eyes would want to freeze into an ethereal moment of perfection.

Over the years, Daniel gained everyone’s attention with his quick wit and dripping charm. Or at least that’s what the articles say.

They sing praises for him like angels hum hallelujah in the heavens.

But no one knows the Daniel I know.

The heartless, merciless jerk with control freak tendencies and egomaniac issues.

My gaze flits to his office, to where he disappeared with the lawyer named Knox.

They’ve been there for five minutes and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to interrupt him. But on the other hand, if I don’t get him what he asked for on time, he’ll just bring up the wanker parameter a notch.

Besides, I need to leave now if I want to get him his freaking “specific” lunch on time.

So I open my texts and grind my teeth at the long string of orders he sent at exactly three-second intervals just to distract me.

He can be such an unbearable fucking jerk.

But it doesn’t matter what he does. If I put my head to something, no one will be able to stop me.

Not even him.

Me: I finished the report.

His reply is instant.

Bloody Idiot: What are you waiting for then? Email it.

Me: If you checked your inbox, you’d find it there.

Bloody Idiot: Drop the fucking attitude, Ms. Adler.

Me: It wasn’t attitude, just a piece of information.

Bloody Idiot: Let me be the one to decide that. I need my lunch in exactly thirty-seven minutes.

I’m about to type that I was going to get that anyway, but I settle with, On it, sir.

I hate the flutter and the squeezing in my chest whenever I type or say that word.

I hate the wave of emotions that follows it.

But most of all, I hate this man.

I hate him with a passion that leaves me seething and constantly thinking about how to commit a flawless crime.

But I don’t let the anger rule me or it would ruin everything else.

Grabbing my bag, I storm out of the office as if my heels are on fire. I wore medium ones today because my legs are still screaming at me from yesterday’s torture.

After I take a taxi, I call Jay.

He picks up immediately. “What’s up?”

“Heeey! Is that any way to talk to me when I didn’t see you last night or this morning?”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait for you tonight if you prepare fish.”

“You greedy little rascal. But fine, I’ll bring some fish.”

“’Kay.”

“Don’t forget your medication, Jay.”

“I won’t. Stop moaning.”

“Did you just say I’m moaning?”

“You do that a lot. I’m a child genius, remember?”

He is. Last year, Jayden skipped two grades, which is why he doesn’t have friends.

If I had the necessary means, I would’ve sent him to one of Europe’s prestigious schools for the youth, but that’s a dream neither of us is capable of entertaining. At least, not now.

Maybe one day, when he’s older, I’ll be able to pick up the dream I’ve been secretly suppressing and I’ll be well off enough to afford a better education for him.

“I’m just reminding you, Jay.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

“’Kay. Oh, by the way, Nikki. There was a letter in the mail this morning and…I kind of opened it, sorry.”

“What is it about?”

He pauses, gulping audibly through the phone which is not a good sign. “I’ll send it over. I gotta go.”

Then he hangs up, leaving me baffled.

The taxi pulls up in front of the restaurant and I pay the driver before I step out, practically jogging inside.

Katerina’s is a high-end restaurant with a futuristic clean décor that looks kind of tacky instead of revolutionary. If I was responsible for this, I would’ve added a splash of color and removed the loud music that doesn’t allow people to concentrate on what they’re eating.

But that’s just me.

“Menu du jour?” The cashier asks when I stop in front of him. His name is Jonas and he’s a middle-aged man with a kind, welcoming smile. I think he’s used to having dozens of different assistants come pick out Daniel’s meals.

He always gets the “menu du jour” with coffee if he specifically asks for it.

I’m half panting when Jonas shows me the ingredients in the meal.

“Is that parmesan and pesto in the pasta?”

“Yes,” Jonas says.

“I’ll just take a steak then.”

“Are you sure, miss? Mr. Sterling always takes the menu du jour.”

Not when it has parmesan and pesto. I shouldn’t remember that, but I know for a fact that he dislikes them.

“Yes, the steak will be fine. Medium cooked, please.”

“I’ll tell the chef.” Jonas gives me a “you’re out of line” look. “Not sure if she’ll appreciate it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re new, so you probably don’t know this, but the reason Mr. Sterling only eats here is because of our chef. She’s a close friend of his.”

I narrow my eyes, and it’s not only because of the way he enunciated “close.” What is he trying to insinuate? That I’m getting in the middle of his chef and Daniel? They can be all lovey-dovey for all I care.

“Listen, Jonas.” I adopt my calm tone. “I’m merely an assistant who happens to know that my demanding boss doesn’t like parmesan and pesto, so I’m trying to get him something to eat that he actually likes or else he’ll call me incompetent, send me here again for something else, and force me to make up for the wasted time after work. And I can’t do that, because I have a family and dinner to cook. So how about you do us both a favor and get me a freaking steak?”

His lips twist, but he nods. “Right away, miss.”

I check my messages as I wait for the food. My stomach growls, rightly so since I haven’t eaten anything since this morning in my attempts to get his majesty his damn coffee on time.

Once I get him his lunch, I’ll be able to eat my measly homemade sandwich.

My hunger is long forgotten when I find the letter Jay sent me.

It’s from the court.

And it’s about Jay’s custody.

No, no.

My fingers shake and moisture burns in my lids. This can’t be happening.

The words blur in front of me and I lean back against the wall so as not to lose balance.

I latch my fingers onto my necklace for much-needed solace, for some semblance of calm.

However, neither comes.

Even my necklace seems useless in front of the ghost from my past.

“I assume you’re Danny’s new assistant.”

My head slowly lifts at a woman’s voice. She’s wearing a chef’s outfit, her brown hair is tucked neatly beneath the cap. Her brown eyes are big and currently judging me.

“Uh, yes. That’s me.”

She shoves a takeout bag in my hand. “Give Danny the pasta and tell him Katerina sends her love. Next time, don’t interfere in our routine when you’re just an assistant.”

I grind my back teeth, calling for an extraterrestrial force of calm. “As his assistant, it’s my duty not to give him something I know for a fact he doesn’t like. And since you’re his chef, shouldn’t you have learned his eating habits by now?”

“And what makes you an expert on his eating habits?”

My old unhealthy habits. But I don’t say that and conjure calm instead, “Can I please get the steak?”

“No. Tell Danny I sent him my menu du jour.”

“You know what? I don’t care.” I take the bag and storm out of the restaurant.

When the traffic gets bad, I jump out of the taxi and continue on foot, practically stomping like a spoiled child. My mind is overcrowded, overwhelmed, and going on overload.

The court letter is playing in my head like a distorted record. Why now of all times? Why does he think he can get Jay now when he never wanted him?

When he freaking abused him to get to me?

I wince when I reach the office five minutes late.

A different emotion sinks in my stomach as I knock on Daniel’s door. An emotion I’ve been actively trying to kill.

An emotion that I won’t let revive again.

“You’re five minutes and thirty seconds late, Ms. Adler,” he barks as soon as I’m inside and I slowly close my eyes to rein in the need to lash out.

“There was traffic.”

“I don’t give a fuck about traffic. When I say twelve thirty, do I mean twelve thirty-five?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

I stare at him. Or maybe it’s something a bit more intense than a stare when I grit out, “No, sir.”

His eyes meet mine and I’m trapped in a cage so wild and dark, I regret actually making eye contact with him.

What was my resolution about Daniel, anyway?

“Are you glaring at me, Ms. Adler?”

I shake my head.

“Then lose the attitude and lower your fucking eyes.”

I purse my lips and stare at my shoes, chanting.

This is for Jay.

You need this job now more than any other time.

You can’t throw the takeout bag in his stupid gorgeous face and leave.

“Are you going to get me the food or should I wait another five minutes?”

I walk so forcefully that I trip, but I catch myself and the food at the last second. That only makes Daniel impatient, because he’s throwing poisonous arrows my way from behind his desk.

After placing the bag down, I straighten. “For your information, your chef, Ms. Katerina, refused to give me steak and insisted that you have her precious menu du jour, even though I repeated twice that you don’t like pesto and parmesan. So I would appreciate it if you don’t blame me for this. It clearly isn’t my mistake and I don’t want to pay for other people’s stubbornness and lack of cooperation. Oh, and she sends her regards. Sorry, I mean her love. Now, if you don’t need anything else.”

I turn around to leave, realizing I kind of just had a mini-rant in front of him, which is possibly frowned upon in his stoicism dictionary.

But I can’t help it. The accumulation of meeting him again, what happened earlier, and the custody suit are turning my head to mush.

“Stop.” Daniel’s authoritative word makes my feet halt. “Turn around.”

I slowly do, my heart thundering in my chest. Please don’t tell me he’ll act on his threats and fire me this time.

“How do you know I don’t eat parmesan and pesto?”

His question catches me off guard. Out of all the word vomit I just said, that’s what he got out of it?

I clear my throat, summoning nonchalance. “It must be in the million requirements you sent me.”

“No, it wasn’t, and I told you to drop the attitude before I find an unpleasant way to extort it out of you. Now, tell me how you know about my preferences regarding parmesan and pesto?”

“I just know it. Why is that important?”

“I never shared it with you, so how did you find out?”

“I must’ve overheard one of the other assistants mention it.”

“Liar.” He stands up and my heart squeezes when he stalks toward me. The moment I smell him, the pine and lime and bergamot, I become drunk.

But not on his smell alone.

It’s on his presence.

His nearness.

I quit my addiction to him a long time ago—I’m eleven years sober—so how come one hit is enough to make me backpedal into bad habits?

When he speaks, his voice is too close to my ear, I shiver. “Even my best friend isn’t privy to that detail about me. In fact, no one is. So how are you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I kind of forget easily. Can I go now?”

I make a move to turn, but he grabs my elbow and I nearly shriek when he pulls me back against him. “No, you can’t.”