🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.9.

After a day of watching really bad reality shows on autopilot and eating lukewarm room service, I blinked and found myself at work.

Last I remembered, I was considering a personal day.

I had no idea how I got to the agency and I didn't know why I was early to the weekly creative team meeting. Or how I'd managed to pair my neon orange running shoes with a tartan A-line skirt and a faded Van Halen t-shirt.  

Clutching a generic peppermint mocha (that I also had no recollection of buying) I tried to blend in with the other art directors. It wasn't hard. Creatives at Seattle ad agencies always resemble a gang of loveable mismatched misfits from a John Hughes movie. Apparently, I was really leaning into the role of 'oddball outcast in dire need of a shower,' while the last of the team gathered.

My eyes met Rebecca's and we shared a brief smile, which quickly turned into a look of concern from her. 

'You OK?' she mouthed across the stark white reflective surface of the rectangular conference room table.

'I'll tell you later,' I jawed, turning my attention to the shuffle at the front of the room.

Maleficent Caldwell strode in wearing ripped jeans with a couturier jacket and sky-high Louboutin heels to match the thick cherry rims of her hip glasses. Her cropped salt and pepper hair was coiffed to compliment the hint of makeup on her distinguished face.

Even if she wasn't our boss, everyone paid attention to Maleficent when she entered the room. Her austere presence demanded it.

"Morning," she greeted in her reserved, unaffected voice. "I come bearing some great news."

If it was great news, you'd never know it from her monotone. The others perked right up while I stared listlessly out the window at the drizzle obscuring the ocean.

"Isla, you might want to wake up for this," Maleficent announced. "I just got a call from Adam at Microsoft. They've decided to run with Classroom Smiles. Congratulations, you just got your first national commercial, and they want to make it a series."

My idea was a lot more than a feel-good ad, it was a comprehensive investment to improve an underprivileged school with innovative technology.

Over a pilot year, Microsoft would select one inner-city high school and install the same technology and STEM equipment you might find in a privately funded institution. Then, we would track and measure the student body's scholastic improvements. It was a social experiment for good, or at least, that's how I'd pitched the idea last week.

So much had happened since then, I'd honestly forgotten about it.

"Braxton's going to take the lead on this, but Isla," Maleficent spoke in such an aloof manner, that it was hard to tell if she was joking or not. "I want you there as associate creative director, are we good?"

If I'd heard her correctly, Maleficent had just named her third husband, Braxton Rose, the lead creative director on the concept that I came up with.

The room broke out in applause while I fought to hear over the ringing in my ears. Braxton gave DJ, the closest art director he could reach, a high five that turned into a congratulatory chest bump. My guts clotted at the thought of working long hours next to Braxton's wandering eye.

He was an institution at CD&R, not to mention one of the founders. His aging swagger and objectionably youthful wardrobe were a cover for his deep-seated need for attention and ego-stroking.

Maleficent finished her announcements to turn the meeting over to her project management minions while I tuned everything out.

The client had selected my concept, and they were willing to spend a ridiculous amount of money. Sure, it was also a campaign designed to ultimately build up the brand and sell more computers, but this was really going to help underprivileged schools and students too.

Unfortunately, my vision was going to be directed by a swarthy creep that had a habit of acquiring HR complaints, (and tons of ad industry awards, of course). 

"Wow," Rebecca remarked as we gathered up our computers to head back to our shared office. "That couldn't have gone worse."

Rebecca's sleek black heels clicked against the fake wood tiles lining the stylish hallway. As always, she looked flawless in an outfit that perfectly highlighted her enviable curves, creamy coffee-colored skin, and lustrous raven hair.

Admittedly, walking next to her, I looked a little like her heavily medicated friend who got dressed in the dark (or at gunpoint), but at least she wasn't judging me for it.

"They say bad things happen in three's, right?" I looked to Rebecca dubiously for confirmation.

"Yeah, I guess," Rebecca followed me around the large potted (and fake) tree that marked our office door. "Why? What else happened, chica?"

"Elijah got into a really bad car accident this weekend," I sat down on my leather and chrome chair to hook my computer up to its desk port.

"Wha-at?" Rebecca squawked loud enough for the nearby interns to pop over their cubical partitions like a game of human Whack-a-Mole. "Why are you here today?"

"Because he was in the car with a woman that he's been having sex with," I leveled the last blow as Rebecca shrieked and darted to slam our office door. "And I don't want to sit in a hotel room alone and think about it. I might go crazy. Like, the kind of stuff you hear jilted ladies do in country songs. That level of crazy."

"Holy shit, chica!" Rebecca's corkscrew curls were practically vibrating. "Why didn't you call me? And why were you in a hotel room, ALONE?"

"I didn't know who to call," I shrugged. Rebecca and I have been on the same creative team for almost two years, but I didn't feel comfortable calling her up out of the blue and asking for a place to stay. "But hey, at least Braxton is the third thing, right? I mean, I should be done with shitty news for a while?"

"Well, I don't know," Rebecca flopped down on the tiny loveseat couch by the bookshelf that divided our desks, fixing her rich chocolate eyes on mine. "The car accident happened to Elijah, but Braxton and the cheating happened to you. Technically, I think Braxton and the cheating count as two things. And that's stupid, come stay with me! I've only got a one-bedroom, but I've got a really nice couch with a sick flatscreen. You can stay as long as you want."

"That's super nice of you," I sighed, noticing that my coffee had gone cold a while ago. I was losing pockets of time as if I'd been in some sort of fugue state. "But I can't put you out like that."

"Oh please, I shared a bedroom with four sisters growing up. I won't even notice you're there," Rebecca twirled a hunk of her dark brown hair excitedly. "Just don't rebound on my couch, got it?"

"Ugh, I can't even think about sex with another person," I shivered involuntarily at the chill that shot through me.

How long had I been sleeping with a man who'd recently been inside other women? In a way, it felt like both of us had been sleeping around.

"But you're going to break up with him, right?" The whites of Rebecca's eyes puffed like marshmallows in a microwave. "You can't stay with a guy like that!"

"Well, yeah, I guess," I replied, a little surprised. "I mean, he cheated on me. I don't want to stay with someone like that. I can't trust him, right?"

"Right," Rebecca nodded dutifully. "You can't. So, it's settled? You'll move in tonight?"