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Flirting With My Billionaire Enemy

Flirting With My Billionaire Enemy

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When the player you reject at the club turns out to be the boss at your new job.

Main Tropes

  • Office Romance
  • Billionaire
  • Enemies to Lovers



After making me over, my cousin takes me dancing to celebrate me landing my dream job. At the club, a hottie tries to pick me up, but I turn down the cocky player. I’m too focused on my career to date. But he makes my pulse race, and I find myself watching him from across the room.

Fast forward to day one at Keith Enterprises where I’m hired to design software that will save billions. The player from the club, Kaison Keith, billionaire son of the CEO, is standing right in front of me, and we’re assigned to work together. Only he doesn’t recognize me in my boxy suit with my hair in a bun and my oversized glasses on. I don’t like him, but I can’t help but check him out when he’s not looking.


I feel like a fool when I realize the new hire is the same girl I was hitting on at the club. She’s not as dressed up as she was, but she’s still just as gorgeous and driven and smart and I’m drawn to her more than before.

When my mom gets injured in a car accident, we take the project to my parents’ historic estate in Blue Mountain, Georgia so I can be there for her. The longer I’m with Ariana, the deeper I find myself falling. Will Ariana be able to thaw her heart, or will she remain icy to me forever?

If you like troublemaking kittens, a matchmaking mama, and a billionaire family of bachelors, then you’ll want to dive into this hilarious sweet romantic comedy today.

Intro into Chapter 1

I can’t believe I let her talk me into this. I definitely didn’t sign up for it, but my cousin is relentless, and now I’m paying the price. And that price feels
like pain.

“Why do I have to wear these heels again?” I shift my weight to take the pressure off my already-aching feet.

“Because they make your legs look a mile long in this dress.” Farah twists another strand of my pitch-black hair around her curling iron. And yes, it’s her
curling iron. I don’t own one because I don’t need it. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.

I’m not a fan of the form-fitting blue number either. Why do people think it’s a good idea to dress like this? I feel like I’m being strangled by a boa

“Maybe I should just wear my flip flops.” My favorite pair might have seen better days, but they’re broken in and oh so comfortable.

Farah wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ariana Hashemi, those things should be disintegrated.”

I laugh at the way she uses my full name. “No way. They’re the best after a hard day of work.”

“Maybe. But not for trying to score a man.” Farah releases another glossy curl from the
curling iron. Okay, maybe it does look pretty good, but it’s not worth the trouble.

“I don’t need a man,” I say. “I thought we were going out to celebrate me landing my dream job, anyway.”

“We are, but wouldn’t it be the cherry on top if you found a guy too?” Farah got a faraway look on her face.

She’s happily dating her perfect guy, so I get it. She wants me to be happy, too. But a boyfriend takes a lot of time, and that’s something I don’t have very much of. Especially not now that I’ve landed my new job.

Farah sets the curling iron down and fluffs my hair to loosen the curls. “There.” She covers her mouth and lets out a little squeal. “You don’t know how long I’ve
been wanting to do this.”

“What? Torture me?”

“No. Bring you out of your shell. You always hide behind those boxy pantsuits with
your hair pulled back. Not to mention the glasses.”

“It’s expensive to wear contacts. My eyes are sensitive, and I have to wear the daily kind. That adds up after a while.”

“And now with your new job, you can afford it and then some.” Farah smiles like she’s won.

“Can I look now?” I ask.

“One last thing.” She grabs a tube of bright red lipstick and applies it to my lips. She looks me over and gives a quick nod. “All done.”

She leads me from my bedroom to the bathroom, and Farrah angles the door so I can see myself in the full-length mirror. I barely recognize my reflection. The Persian girl staring back at me is stunning in a blue dress, showing off a tiny waist. My
dark eyes are fringed with thick, long lashes, surrounded by a smokey eyeshadow. Farah had spent forever contouring my face, and my cheekbones are higher and more accentuated. My pouty lips are shiny red. My hair falls past my elbows in glossy curls looking like extensions people would pay hundreds of dollars for. It’s
healthy because I always keep it up in a bun and rarely subject it to any kind of heat.

My dad was from Iran, and I inherited his darker features. My skin is lighter than most Persian women, but I have the dark hair and eyes. My mom was a blonde-haired woman with fair skin. Even though my skin is light, people can still tell I’m half Persian. I have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously.

I look down to the heels I’m wearing. As much as I don’t want to admit it, she’s right about the shoes. I look like a supermodel in them. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be wearing them after tonight. Nope. I’ll be right back in my comfy shoes after this. Farah won’t win that battle.


The bass thumps so loud I can feel the floor shaking beneath my stilettos. Farah suggested
that we go to the hottest new club in Atlanta, and it is packed. She seems acquainted with everyone. My Persian uncle is from one of the wealthiest families in town, and Farah grew up brushing shoulders with Georgia’s elite.

We squeeze through the crowd, past gyrating bodies, toward the bar. I climb up on a barstool, and she takes the one next to me. I don’t drink often, and I don’t
plan to go into my first day of work hung over, so I’ll have to take it easy tonight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t at least have one special drink. We order cosmos, and Farah holds hers up.

“To new beginnings.”

I clink my glass against hers, careful to keep from spilling the liquid. As I take my first sip, a guy with dark hair and broad shoulders takes the seat a few spots down from me.

He’s a sight for sore eyes, and I feel embarrassed for staring, though I can’t seem to turn away. With his chiseled jaw and kissable lips, this guy is the best-looking man I’ve seen in a long time. He glances our way and waves at

She waves back.

“You know him?” I ask.

“Yeah. He comes here a lot. I never caught his name, but I heard he just got back from
Dubai a few weeks ago. I heard his dad sent him there for being too much of a player.”

All the good feelings I had are quickly disintegrating. “So he just jumps from woman to woman?”

“Pretty much. I’ve seen it for myself. Flirting isn’t even legal in Dubai, so his dad thought he’d straighten up if he went there.”

I laugh. Serves him right. “So, did he learn his lesson?”

“I think we’re about to find out.” She sips her drink.

I turn and see him coming our way. The closer he gets, the better looking he is. His face is clean shaven, and he’s built like an athlete. He’s looking right at
me like I’m his next conquest, which is not something I’m used to.

But I don’t want any part of it. I’m too busy to date, and I’m sure not going to be some girl on a long list of women.

“Farah, you’ll have to introduce me to your friend.” He has a light Southern drawl that washes over me deliciously. Forget him and his stupid accent.

“This is my cousin, Ariana.”

He reaches out his hand. “I’m Kaison.”

I shake it, and he pulls my fingers up and kisses them in a smooth, sweeping gesture. On another guy, it might be cute, but I’m sitting here wondering how
many women he’s pulled the same stunt on tonight. I pull my hand away. I will not fall for this guy.

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

“It’s her first time,” Farah explains.

“Well, I noticed you staring at me from across the room, and I thought I’d come say hi.”

My mouth drops open, and my cheeks burn. “I—I wasn’t staring.”

“You were, and I’d go so far as to say you were checking me out. I can always tell when a woman is attracted to me.” He leans closer to me, his icy blue eyes on me, and I can smell his cologne, a woodsy, crisp scent. I fight to keep my eyes from fluttering shut while I just sit and breathe him in. I can see why women
fall at his feet. He’s gorgeous. “Don’t feel embarrassed,” he says. “The feeling is mutual.” His voice is husky, like our conversation is intimate and
private, like we’re alone and not in a packed room.

I refuse to get sucked in by him. I don’t play these games. I sit up straight and throw my shoulders back. “You’re right. I was attracted to you, but now I’m
not.” I smirk at him. “I’m not into guys who are full of themselves.” I turn to Farah. “Should we go dance?”

“You got it, girl.”

We set our drinks down, and I climb off the barstool, grabbing the hem of my dress and yanking it down to keep me decent. The motion throws me off balance, and my foot wobbles on the blasted stiletto. It’s all happening in slow motion, and I feel myself falling. I’m going to faceplant on the sticky floor and probably
end up flashing the room while I’m at it.

“Look out, Ariana,” Farah calls, but she’s still on her barstool and isn’t close enough to come to the rescue. That means I’m going down.

But then a sturdy set of arms reaches out and catches me. The aroma of the woodsy cologne is back, and I sense who has me. Let me say, being in his arms is not a bad thing. He’s warm and feels like he’s cut from stone, the muscles in his arms pronounced. I could stay here for a while. But I’d never let him know that.
No need to inflate his ego any more than it already is, right?

My head smashes against his chest, and his voice rumbles against my cheek when he
talks. “See? You’re falling for me already.”

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