It was my downfall. Like in my worst nightmares, everything came crashing down within days. All our careful planning, the bribes, the extra work we'd put in—smashed to smithereens.

It started with Dean's presentation getting canceled when he called in sick.

Giselle stormed over to my office, literal fumes hanging over her head as she slammed the door. "He postponed the meeting," she seethed, lying on my sofa—as if I were her therapist and she was expecting a session.

"He what?" I stopped what I'd been doing—work on my presentation coming up soon—and flurried over to sit on the coffee table near her. "What happened?"

"He called in sick. He never calls in sick." She closed her eyes, head resting against the armrest cushion. She set a hand over her forehead. "Quel connard."

Connard—I knew that one, so I nodded. "So what does this mean?"

She released a trembling sigh. "That everything else is delayed, too. If he's sick, you'll have to do your seduction bit once he's back in the office...but give him a few days in case he's contagious."

It took a while to get Giselle out of my office and back to her own. She kept going over hypothetical scenarios where Dean had found out we'd messed with his presentation, and when he came back into the office, he'd slaughter us both.

As it turned out, the presentation wasn't canceled...only pushed to later that day, so he could share his proposal from home.

Giselle barged in after lunch, still seething, sweating, and fell onto the couch again.

"What now?" I'd eaten a heavily sauced meal and was still digesting. If she'd come with more bad news, I wasn't certain I could keep my food down.

"He had a back-up file at home." She glowered at the ceiling. "He did the presentation from there, with that back-up. A back-up that wasn't corrupted."

"Fuck." I couldn't move from my seat, and dragged my hands down my face, at the risk of messing up my makeup. I'd gotten extra dolled up in case today was the day to seduce Dean. "So that means..."

"He dodged all our hard work." She gulped so loudly I heard her from across the room. "He knew."

I shook my head. "No way. We covered our asses, remember? IT adores you; they wouldn't have betrayed us."

"No," her voice was hoarse, "but he knew. I don't know how, but he did. He's on to us."

At that moment, I didn't want to believe her. I couldn't believe her. We'd bent over backwards to ruin Dean's career, and there was no way he'd found out about it.

And yet...as the days passed and all our other plots were supposed to come to fruition, we watched in agony as none of them worked out as planned.

When a random office search was ordered—a regular thing at LeRouge - Paris, since last year when someone had been caught with illegal substances—and booze and drugs were discovered in Dean's office, he was at the ready with an excuse.

He blamed the cleaning staff. No hesitation, not an ounce of regret for throwing them under the bus. "They're playing pranks," he said, at the meeting we attended that same day, to discuss his situation. Monsieur Girard was furious—so much so that he refused to be there and sent Regina in his place.

But Dean had an alibi. He swore up and down that this was a regular joke from the cleaning crew. And when the crew members were brought in to affirm or deny this, they corroborated it.

When I related the whole thing to Giselle, she was furious. She stomped up and down my office, fists tightened, grumbling cruelties in French that she'd never bothered to teach me.

"They helped us plant all that crap!" Her French accent was more prominent in her anger; normally, there was a touch of British in her words, since she'd studied in the UK. But when irritated like this, her true nature, her French-ness, came through. "They provided some of the bottles, dammit!"

"I know," I said, keeping my distance. She was a rocket blaring back and forth and getting in her way might get me plowed. Instead, I observed her, half-afraid she'd snap and break something, and half-turned on by how hot she was when angry. "It was a low blow from them. I really thought they were on our side."

The cleaning crew had been among those I'd interrogated a few weeks back, when trying to dig up dirt on Dean. They'd been mostly cooperative, though never confirming any rumors; only clarifying that they disliked Dean King and wouldn't mind seeing him get in trouble.

So why had they come to his defense?

"Me too, especially since I paid them for this." Giselle puffed out a breath and when she looked ready to crumble, I lurched forward to catch her. "Out of my already meager finances. I had no choice—it was bribery, or they'd do nothing."

I gawked at her as I helped her settle onto the couch. "You paid them? You didn't tell me that."

She grimaced as she escaped my grip. "I knew you wouldn't approve."

I kneeled before her, hesitating to put my hands on her knees, to touch her at all. She was a ticking bomb; her fury on the verge of releasing and not sparing anyone in its way. She wasn't mad at me, but when Giselle lost herself, she lost herself explosively, regardless of who was with her.

I'd seen it that first time she barreled into my office, upset with Dean. This time was no easier for her, and if anything, she was more comfortable showing her deepest rage in front of me.

"Do you...need help?" I gulped; I'd offered Giselle money before, to help with her expenses, but she always refused. "I can reimburse you, and you can pay me back if you want to. You don't have to, but—"

"No," she said, setting a surprisingly gentle hand on mine. "It was my ordeal, so I'll fix it. Figure it out."

"Giselle." I peered up at her with pleading eyes. All I wanted was for her to let me help her, let me take care of her. She'd been so good to me, busting her ass to teach me French that I hardly retained, and LeRouge hadn't given her much more money for her efforts. "Please, it wouldn't be a problem—"

"I said no." She shoved me aside and got up, fixing her ruffled suit. "I need to get back."

"What do we do, then?" I watched her prowl up to the door, unable to not stare at her ass. The pants she'd worn curved around each cheek and accentuated its perfection. "What's the plan now?"

She didn't turn around; only shifted her head so I could see her profile, her pinching lips. The quick batting of her eyelashes. "You're the plan, Lucy. You're all that's left. It's time for you to enact your role in all this. As soon as possible."

***

The following day, Giselle kept leaving subtle hints for me—reminding me of what I had to do.

I hated to admit I was nervous about it all. What if it backfired? What if Dean wasn't into me, no matter how hard I tried to get his attention? He was a typical man, Giselle and Coop had both promised me. Cleavage, ass, puckered lips, a few suggestive comments, and he'd be dans ma poche. In my pocket.

I also hated to admit that I was still aroused by the entire situation. I craved a different kind of friction, some risk-taking, some adrenaline that wasn't induced by Giselle's skilled tongue. And I felt disgusting because of it.

But it had to be done. I'd consented, I'd decided, and I'd dressed for the part in a tight, tiny mini skirt with red stockings, a low-cut, slightly see-through shirt, and the thickest LeRouge mascara I owned.

It was late—past six o'clock—when I meandered over to his office to find him still there. Giselle had gone home, as planned. She'd promised me that the piles of work on his desk would keep him at LeRouge until well after eight. He'd be frustrated by it. He'd want some way to loosen his tension...

"Knock knock," I said, rapping my knuckles on the open door.

He stood near his desk, a file in his hands. He didn't look up but waved at me to enter. "What is it?"

I cleared my throat, hoping he'd bring his gaze to me. This scheme didn't work if he didn't see me. "Dean? Do you have a moment?"

He rolled his eyes as he shut the file and turned to me. "What's the—" He paused, eyes widening on me, my outfit. "Lucy? You're...still here?" I didn't miss how he zoned in on my breasts, long enough for me to know I'd made a dent in his armor. "And...coming to see me? Shocking."

"I apologize for the intrusion." I tried not to shift my voice too much—if I got all girly and flirty, he'd know something was up. For this to work, I had to remain myself, loathing him and not afraid to show it. "I've been feeling like shit all day and needed to talk to you."

He arched an eyebrow as he set the files onto his desk, then leaned against it, arms crossed. "Interesting. About what?" He licked his lips, then chuckled. "Have you been wearing that outfit all day?"

I felt myself blushing naturally—nice. He'd like that. "Oh, uh...I have, yes. Trying out a new style."

He nodded slowly. "I approve. As your boss, I shouldn't because it's a bit...sexy. But as me, good old Dean? I like it."

I tried not to snarl. Wow, that was...too easy, almost. "Right...well, I came to apologize for all your recent trials. I've felt guilty about it all...I don't want you to think I had anything to do with this nonsense." I gestured at his sofa, asking to sit; he consented. "We want the same job, but I'd never organize such crap to get it over you."

He joined me, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat. "I never would have pegged you for someone to play games, that's for sure." His voice was smooth, suave; seductive. Oh, shit. "Though if this is a game, you showing up here, looking like that...I'll bite."

Too fucking easy. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and gave him a shy smile. "No games. I mean it. You and I—we're not friends, we never will be, but I feel bad seeing everyone attempting to trip you, make you fail."

He got comfortable on the couch beside me—swerving to face me, body language open and inviting. Fuck, if he were anyone else...and if I wasn't so wrapped up in Giselle...

Focus, Lucy. He's your enemy.

"So strange," he said, his lopsided smirk actually making my heart skip a beat. Damn this horrid, vile man. Why did he have to be so hot? Why did he have to be so eloquent and classy? And at the same time, such a pig? "Because I'd have thought you'd be happy to see me fall."

"It's not like that, Dean, and you know it. I'm not that kind of girl, okay? I want the job, but I want to win it fair and square." I gritted my teeth behind my tight lips, praying he wouldn't notice my jaw clench. "No gimmicks or bullshit."

"No gimmicks." His eyes wandered once more, lingering a few extra seconds on my cleavage. I loathed how much it made me hot and queasy all at once; how gross his gaze was, and yet so arousing. The attention he gave me was deep, intense, luring me in. Tempting me into taking pleasure in this when I wasn't supposed to.

I remembered the phone in my jacket pocket—it was recording. Whatever I did here, Giselle would hear it.

We'd agreed to touching, kissing, but no fucking.

It killed me to realize I sort of wanted the fucking. He was awful, he was a pain in the ass, and he was a terror—but so incredibly delicious.

Behave.

"Fine." He leaned back and extended his hand, indicating he wanted to shake mine. "Let's agree to that. No gimmicks. Fair and square until the end."

I swallowed, then gave him my hand. "Agreed."

We shook, but his grip was tight, pulling me in closer. I didn't resist it; this was what I wanted, after all. For the sake of our plot, but also...

Shit, I was curious about him. About what he'd do, how far he'd go to seal this agreement.

He brought my knuckles to his lips and kissed them. "You know, I've been wanting to do this for a while."

I flushed, sucking my lips in, leaning into my role. "Dean...you bad boy."

"Are you single, Lucy?" He turned my hand, palm facing him, and began to slither kisses along my fingers. I shuddered.

"I am." I pretended to tug my hand away, as if in sudden fear. "But we shouldn't be doing this, should we?" I bit my lower lip, releasing it ever-so-slowly.

Bingo. He focused on my lips and his pupils dilated enough to tell me he'd taken the bait. The forbidden, enemies-to-lovers aspect of this encounter had drawn him in.

"No one will ever know." He wiggled his eyebrows and pulled me a little closer; his breath was minty, spicy. "I won't tell if you don't. It'll be like a signature, yeah? Sealing the deal."

My core clenched and I sensed moisture gathering in my underwear. Dammit, I wasn't supposed to be enjoying this, yet I was. To be the focus of his arousal, to be ogled like this—it was a weird fantasy I hadn't expected to like.

I'd discovered a lot of things about myself lately, and began to think none of these new aspects were weird at all. Just different from what I was used to.

I feigned hesitation, reflection. I pondered, bunching my lips side-to-side, fluttering my eyelashes.

"You definitely won't tell anyone?" I arched my spine, purposely poking my breasts out; he watched. He liked it. "I have a reputation to maintain, after all. If anyone finds out I fucked you though I pretend to hate you..."

"You can still hate me," he said, giving me one final pull, bringing our lips to touch. "And we can still fuck. And not tell a soul. I'm all in if you are."

I'm in. I didn't say it out loud, but he must have read it on my face because he pressed his lips to mine.

I wished he was a bad kisser, that he'd turn me off by not knowing how to use his lips, or with his tongue being slimy—but he was excellent. His lips were soft, tasting like peppermint; his tongue cautious and daring all at once, twirling with a deftness that made my legs shake.

His hands roved down my arms, gripping me at the waist—and next I knew he dragged me on top of him, straddling him. We continued to kiss, and I was breathless, utterly taken aback by his skills.

As I fully settled atop him, my skirt riding up to expose my lacy red underwear—and he noticed, the fiend, while our lips were still locked—I jolted upright at the girth beneath me.

His cock was thick and erect, shoving against my dampened panties.

And I wanted it, damn me—I wanted him.

I couldn't have him. I wouldn't. Not like this, not when he was enemy number one and had to be destroyed. Not when my feelings were directed at someone else.

I began to grind against him, rubbing up on his cock.

It's okay, Giselle knew I'd be doing this, I'm allowed to do this, it's part of the plan, it's not cheating, she and I aren't together—

As I pressed myself harder against him, something flew out of my jacket pocket.

Shit. I knew exactly what it was—but if I kept him distracted, he wouldn't see. I deepened our kisses, doing everything I could to keep his eyes averted—

He broke us apart, checking what had fallen from my pocket.

My phone. The screen black but not locked. A blinking red light at the top—proof of it being in record mode.

I expected him to throw me off him and scream at me, but instead...he chuckled. Cackled. Leaned over to pick up my phone and bring it to his mouth, talking directly into the speaker.

"If you think you're the first little missy to try to take me down, think again, sweetheart. This position is mine, and you can try to sabotage me all you want. You can act like you're the portrait of innocence and weren't behind all these attacks, but I know, darling. I know. All your attempts are futile, because I'll always win."

┴