Evening With the Enemy: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (#MatchMade Book 1) Read online

  Evening With The Enemy

  An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

  Emma Tharp

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Prologue- Seeking A Second Chance

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Emma Tharp

  One

  Lily

  I hold my breath and stare at my four best friends across the table. All the noise in the swanky restaurant is drowned out by the whooshing in my ears. Did bubbly, level-headed Savannah just say what I think she said?

  "For those of you that didn't hear me, I'll say it again.” Savannah clears her throat. “I'm starting my own business. You all know that my mother was a matchmaker, and my grandmother, and my great-grandmother before her. It's in the blood. And remember in college how we always talked about working together? Well, I want you all to be involved in my new venture!" she squeals and I blink in shock.

  Glancing around at my girlfriends, they're all nodding their heads and clinking champagne glasses, with the exception of myself and Vivi, who seems to be as baffled as I am.

  It's not that I'm not supportive. I know Savannah is going to be an amazing business owner. We all graduated from college together five years ago. Every single one of us is a high achiever, wildly ambitious. After all, some of us graduated together twice. I guess I'm just surprised that Savannah is going to use her MBA to open a matchmaking service—and that this is the first time I’m hearing of the idea.

  I set my mimosa down on the polished, solid wood table, and wait for the other shoe to drop.

  "And I would like to start by matching all of you," Savannah concludes, raising her perfectly arched, micro-bladed eyebrows.

  Swallowing hard, I look down at my half-eaten plate of raspberry cream crepes that suddenly churn in my stomach. It’s not that the food isn’t fantastic. It is. The chef is world renowned and his menu is inspired by food all around the globe. I should’ve known Savannah was up to something when she planned brunch here today. I bet she had to make this reservation a month ago to get a table.

  My concern with Savannah’s idea is that I don't believe in matchmaking or matchmakers in general. Hell, these days I'm not even sure I believe in marriage. Being a counselor who also writes a dating and relationship column in Enchant, a popular women's magazine, I suppose it was bound to happen. I see relationships at their very worst. Not to mention my epically shitty breakup with my last boyfriend two years ago. I have zero interest in being set up. “Count me out.”

  "Can't.” Delaney pins me with her huge blue eyes, letting me know how serious she is, which isn't very often. "She didn't tell you the best part."

  My knee bounces under the table and I bite at my bottom lip. What else could there be?

  Savannah sits up straighter and smooths her hands down her pink blazer. She's all business now. "We're all in this together. I want us all to be partners in this venture—while you all enjoy your own pursuits." She glances at Delaney and gives her a warm smile. "Delaney will do computer programming, Vivi, marketing." She points at Maren. "Maren will take care of the web and graphic design." Now, Savannah turns her brown-eyed gaze to me. "And you, Lily, my love, you’re the best therapist I know. We need you on our team."

  Well played, Savannah. Well played.

  My heart rate picks up because now, I’m starting to see her vision. After college, we all dreamed of working together, it just never ended up happening. Savannah is making our dream come to fruition, even though it’s in a business that’s completely foreign to me. But Savannah knows she has me. I'm the one who's always up for a challenge.

  “You won’t have to give up your job at the magazine. I know how much you love it. But we can’t do this without you. Say you’ll give us ten hours a week to start. We can reassess quarterly.” Her voice is steady and her eye contact is strong. “We need you.” Savannah places her hand on her heart. “I need you.”

  I wipe my mouth with my napkin and set it in front of me. How can I say no to her? She’s one of my dearest friends. I don’t want to disappoint her. Deep down, I know this could work. And if we’re all in it together, it has to be a success. I wouldn’t put my time and effort into this otherwise. "Okay, I'm in."

  All of my friends clap and start clinking their glasses together again.

  Waving my hand, I clear my throat. "Wait. I'm in for the business, but I don't think I need to be involved in being matched."

  Vivi leans in and nudges my shoulder. “What’s the big deal? I’ve gone on a lot of bad dates, what’s one more?” she whispers.

  Maren runs her fork through her egg, making an artsy design in the yellow yolk. “I don’t think I’m interesting enough for anyone to match me.”

  “Oh, stop it, Maren. You’re so creative and amazing. Savannah is going to find you the perfect guy. As for me, I can’t wait to see who I get matched up with,” Delaney says, giggling like we’re back in high school. “I bet Savannah is going to nail it. And if she does, it gives us a year or so to date, get married and have a few years to be alone and travel before kids, because who wants to show up at their graduation with a walker?” Her eyes glaze over and I can tell she’s envisioning a white picket fence. “Lil, you just need to give it a chance. It’s going to be fun.”

  Fun? Yeah, right. I shake my head. I can think of about a million things that sound more fun than going out on a date with some random guy, like stabbing my eye with a pen or coming home to a bat in the house.

  Even though I just rejected Savannah’s matchmaking services, she’s still in high spirits, wearing an ultra-white, toothy, huge smile. "It's a package deal. All of us are single, therefore we’re all being matched. And, it’s a smart business move, to prove we all have faith in the results—it’ll attract clientele. Plus, Lily, I thought you liked a good challenge."

  She knows me too well. That's what ten years of friendship will do. We met freshman year and all five of us got an apartment together the following year. We were inseparable during our college years at UNC Chapel Hill and we've all purchased homes within a few miles of each other. We've gone through so much together: boyfriends, heartbreak, first jobs, and so much more. I cherish each and every one of these women.

  "I only ask that you let me match you once. Three dates, like the company policy. If it works, great. If it doesn't, I'll never set you up again." She shrugs as if it's that easy.

  One match. Three dates. I guess it's worth it to have a lifetime of freedom from Savannah’s meddling.

  "Okay, I'm in."

  Even though I might regret it.

  Two

  Oliver

  After putting the finishing touches on my document, I email it to my editor. He's going to love this piece.

  Even though I don't need to work, I want to. Writing is my passion and I want to build something on my own, without my family's money.

  I worked my way up from freelance to small copyediting jobs, and when an entry-level position opened up at one of the largest women's magazines in the world, I applied for the job, never dreaming that
I would actually get it. Now, I'm the department editor of the travel section.

  Brantley Matthews, the editor-in-chief of the magazine, walks into my office. What’s left of his white hair is slicked back and he’s impeccably dressed, as always, in a navy blue suit. He takes the seat across from me with that look on his face, the one that tells me he's ready to make me uncomfortable.

  "So, there's a new start-up. It's an online dating company. I want you to check it out." He grins.

  I swear, Brantley lives vicariously through me. I've met his wife—I get it. "No can do, Bran. I have plans," I explain as I return my attention to my desktop screen.

  "What plans? You’re not traveling anytime soon.” His brows join angrily in the center of his face.

  "Mostly, I plan to never get married, which means no dating. Problem solved." I shrug. It all makes perfect sense to me. I don’t date much, but when I do, they don’t get very far because I’m upfront and honest. It’s pointless to give women the wrong idea. It only leads to hurting people, and that’s not my goal either.

  After watching my brother go through a nasty divorce, it solidified my opinion. They were so in love, until lies and cheating ripped them apart. Her lawyer fileted my brother, leaving him with no money, a jaded view of the world, and a new drinking habit. No thanks.

  Love? Marriage? Children? Nope, not for me.

  "Oh, well, plans are made to be broken." He chuckles like this is hilarious.

  I wait. Sales taught me that he who speaks first loses. I'm no loser.

  He sits up straighter, adjusting his cufflinks. "Since I'm your boss, you can do. You will do. You're doing this." He passes me a scrap of paper with information on it. "Sign up. Get matched. Then write about it." He leans in. “And this will be more than one date. Three minimum."

  Looks like I don't have a choice. "No problem."

  He crosses his arms over his chest. "With the same woman."

  Foiled again.

  Since I rather like my cushy job and I usually like the cushy perks, I decide they can't all be awesome assignments. "Like I said, no problem."

  Brantley gets up from the chair and nods. "The website is #MatchMade.com.”

  He spells it out. “Set up your profile. Today." And then, he walks out.

  Might as well get this over with. I open a new browser window and type in the #MatchMade web address. It's a beautifully done, high-end webpage. They have clearly spared no expense and hired the best graphic designer money can buy. Impressive.

  It's easy to start a new profile and I type in my basic information. When it comes to personal questions, I realize this is the perfect opportunity to be brutally honest. Maybe the website won't be able to match me with anyone and I'll get out of this assignment.

  Perfect.

  Are you looking for a committed relationship?

  No. Definitely not.

  Do you want children?

  No. Absolutely not.

  Describe your perfect date.

  Sporting event, then sex.

  What’s your passion?

  Work. Seven days a week. I travel all the time. I don’t have time for relationships.

  What are your thoughts on sex on the first date?

  It’s an absolute must. Especially if I pay for the date.

  I don’t necessarily believe that, but I add it in the hopes that it’ll put me in the “unmatchable” category, the nail in my coffin. Even the best matchmaker won’t be able to find me a date now. I’ve painted myself as the biggest jerk possible.

  Leaning back in my chair, I put my hands behind my head and my feet on my desk. Brantley thought he was going to push me into seeing someone for three dates in a row. Looks like I’ve gotten myself out of that mess. Too bad I’m going to have to disappoint him.

  Three

  Lily

  It's only been a month since the brunch when Savannah told us all about her plans, and we’re already settled in our new offices.

  The site has been up and running for a week and has already had thousands of hits. And even though we all have other jobs, we've been working overtime to make #MatchMade a success.

  Our headquarters are in an older section of Charlotte to save money. We’ve each done our best to liven up the space and make it our own. It needed a deep cleaning, so we all rolled up our sleeves and started scrubbing. We got together to paint the walls. A fresh coat of white really brightens up the place. Maren even made signs with each of our names on them and some other inspirational boards using her Cricut. With the addition of a few plants and a couple of bright-colored rugs, the office is amazing and it didn’t break the bank.

  Looking across the conference table at all of my closest girlfriends, my chest fills with pride at how far we've come in such a short time. Today's meeting is just wrapping up, and our efforts are focused on marketing. The buzz in the room is palpable. We’re all whirling with ideas on how to ramp up business.

  “Let’s think of ways to flex our writing muscles to bring in new clients with exciting and compelling blog posts. And let’s set up an email blast to really get things going. Oh, and let’s all use our social media platforms to bring in quality singles,” Vivi says, enthusiasm dripping from her every word.

  “Yes," Savannah agrees. "I love where all of this is going. Let's meet again next week, same time to go over new ideas." She closes her laptop, ending the meeting.

  I stand to leave and push in my chair.

  "Wait, Lily," Savannah says. "I have something for you."

  The rest of the girls clear out of the room and I make my way to Savannah.

  There's a glint in her brown eyes as she reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls out a big red envelope with a gold bow. "This is for you."

  "If this is a glitter bomb, I'll kill you," I tell her. I’ve seen those things and they make a mess all over the place. The last thing I need is thousands of pieces of silver sparkling material all over my new black dress.

  She giggles and hands me the envelope. "No, it’s not. Open it."

  It can't be. If this is my match, I'll be shocked. I made my profile so uninteresting, I figured I'd fool the computer into not finding me a single match. What kind of slack-jawed loser could she have found for me?

  Wiping my palms on my skirt, I grab the envelope like it's an explosive device and sit down next to Savannah. Tentatively, I open the thing and pull out the heavy cardstock.

  My stomach sinks.

  "How can it be? I know him. It's the snarky guy from work who teases me about my column.” He always asks me if I’m really a therapist or more like Ann Landers? He even had the balls to ask to see my diploma. In meetings, he likes to pick on me and ask me what important topics I’m working on.

  Savannah shrugs a single shoulder. “He’s your match.”

  "I can't date him." The jerk has always gotten under my skin. “It has to be a mistake. We aren’t compatible.”

  "The algorithms are solid. The computer put you together, and you said you would give it a try."

  My shoulders knot and I toss the envelope on the conference table. "You don't understand. Oliver VanDoren is my nemesis at the magazine. He's arrogant. Pigheaded! I can’t stand the guy." Even if he is kind of hot with his chiseled jawline, perfect dark hair, and chocolate-brown eyes. But I’d never admit that out loud.

  She smiles and even gives me a playful grin. "I thought you liked a good challenge, Lily. It's three dates. Teach him. Show him. Train him."

  “Train him? If I wanted to train a pet, I could go get a dog.”

  “Okay. Okay. Wrong word choice. You can do this. I believe in the process.” Her eyes implore me. “Give it a try, Lily.” Savannah stands and taps her finger on the card with Oliver’s name on it. "And if you don't fall for each other at the end of three dates, I'll never set you up again. Those are the rules."

  Three dates. One terrible man. Am I going to live through this?

  By the stern look on her face, I can tell Savannah isn’t going to let me off t
he hook. She’s serious about her new venture and expects us to all follow through on our end of the bargain.

  I breathe in, filling my chest with a deep, cleansing rush of oxygen. "Okay. I'll do it."

  Four

  Oliver

  I'm baffled. Stunned even.

  Somehow, someway, the #MatchMade dating site found me a match. I’ll be damned. Even after all my effort to make myself look like an ass, the site still found me a date.

  I keep staring at my computer screen and scratch my head.

  My match is Lily Beck. My co-worker, Lily Beck, whose dating column always has the best reviews and more hits than my travel column. It’s infuriating. Of all the people in Charlotte, how am I matched up with someone I know, and a co-worker no less? This has to be some kind of joke.

  Yes, Lily is beautiful and smells nice, but I’ve never looked at her as anything more than competition. How could I, when her fluffy romance column constantly gets more attention than my travel column does? Even when I pour my heart and soul into a piece, it doesn’t matter. Her column, where people write in about cheating spouses, money troubles, or lack of sex in relationships, somehow trumps stories of exotic vacations in Valley Church Beach on Antigua or the experience of a lifetime, standing amongst the limestone formations in Forest of Knives, Madagascar. Incomprehensible.

  There has to be a way out of this.

  Slamming my laptop closed, I storm out of my office and go directly to Brantley's.

  Rapping on the door, I peek my head in. "Do you have a minute?"