🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.17.

Gray's crisp white button-down was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing the colorful tattoo sleeves covering his toned forearms. His fitted black pants tapered down to a pair of ridiculously expensive-looking shoes, and his hair was slicked back to show off the subtle ink of Batman's mask over his right ear.

"Woah," Rebecca's eyes widened. "That's heavy."

"An important subject to shed light on, for sure," Gray nodded stoically like he genuinely believed that. "One that prompts an honest conversation."

I turned to absorb the image a second time.

Her eyes sagged with melancholia that I understood, deep, deep down. She carried emotional scars that were far worse than the evidence on her body.

I left Gray and Rebecca to flirt so I could tour the beguiling photos.

The individuals in each poignant shot were imperfect, broken, overcome, adrift, euphoric, dejected, and so many other emotions. Until one image halted me altogether.

I'd seen it before.

On my desk.

That morning.

In it, a mother wept while cradling her tiny sleeping infant. A single adult-sized tear trickled down the baby's cheek, twinkling in the studio light. It almost made you question whether the baby was asleep or this mother was allowing us to peer into her grief as she mourned the unthinkable.

I gulped as my brow flashed hot with a sheen of stress sweat. I'd unknowingly recommended that Braxton hire Gray to be our director of photography.

To be fair, I rarely checked names when going through artist portfolios because I don't care about clout. I usually look for a specific style, not a name.

Apparently, Gray's work was exactly what I'd had in mind. Elijah only ever told me about the big ad campaigns Gray shot with tons of models, so it wasn't like I knew he had a secret soft spot for realism.

That, however, was going to be problematic. Gray loathed me, and I didn't exactly think he was a bucket of kittens either.

A skinny waiter shuttling Champagne around the room happened to be passing by, so I snatched two flutes from his tray.

Double-fisting my booze, I took a long gulp of the rose-tinted bubbly and almost finished the first glass.

Another guzzle polished it off, and I abandoned it on one of the tall draped tables decorating the room. 

I smiled as the effervescent bubbles tickled their way into my bloodstream.

At least I didn't have to drive, which I silently celebrated by tipping my other flute to the pot lights and drinking.

"What do you think?" A low voice rasped from over my shoulder.

I spun to face Gray's seeking eyes. 

He wasn't sneering or teasing me, as far as I could tell. He was actually interested in hearing my opinion. 

Then again, all artists (even me) like to have their egos stroked every once in a while. The word stroke stuck in my craw as I searched for something to say.

"Your work is," I looked into my glass for help, "superb."

"Do you think I'll be able to get what you want for your campaign?" Gray asked as his green eyes flashed playfully.

"Braxton already told you?" I disguised a nervous chuckle in a sip from my glass.

"Yeah, he called me today," Gray nodded thoughtfully, glancing at his work. "I was really excited to win the contract."