Twisted Hate: An Enemies with Benefits Romance

sex. I cut off abruptly when Ava’s eyes widened with alarm. “You know.”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “I don’t, and I don’t want to know. I’ll never be
able to look at Josh the same.”
“You will one day.” Stella didn’t date much, but it wasn’t for lack of
interest from guys—she fielded suitors every day. Romance simply wasn’t a
priority. “Enough about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” Wariness touched her features.
“You’re the last woman left standing.” Mischief lit up my face. “Who’s
going to be the guy who sweeps you off your feet?”
“When you find him, let me know,” she said dryly. “In the meantime, I’m
just trying to survive Anya.”
Anya was her boss and the editor-in-chief of D.C. Style magazine.
While Stella told us about her latest photoshoot, which apparently
involved a hungover supermodel, a live python, and a gallon of baby oil, a
familiar photo drew my attention to the TV hanging over the bar.
Shock stole my breath from my lungs. Brown hair, blue eyes, stubbled
jaw, unsmiling face.
Max.
The volume was off, but the closed captions were on, so I could read
what happened.
“…body was found in a hotel room in Baltimore. The victim, Max
Renner, was stabbed multiple times and died at the scene. Renner was
recently released from prison for grand larceny and is believed to be involved
in an Ohio-based crime ring. Police suspect other members of the crime ring
are responsible for his murder, and the FBI…”
Max was dead.
All those years, all that heartache, he was dead.
I guess his associates finally caught up with him.
Other than a trickle of relief, I felt…nothing. Not even vindication after
what he did in the stairwell.
I’d truly put him in the past.
I dragged my attention back to my friends in time to see Stella’s face pale
at something on her phone while Ava and Bridget chatted about Bridget’s
upcoming diplomatic trip to Argentina.

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A seed of concern sprouted in my chest. “Is everything okay?” Stella
rarely looked that rattled.
“Yes.” She slid her phone into her bag and smiled, but it looked more
forced than usual. “Something came up at work, but I’ll deal with it later.”
“You should find a job that treats you better,” I said gently. “You’re
talented enough. You can even go full-time with your blog.”
Stella made a ton of money from brand sponsorships.
“Maybe one day.”
I took the hint from her subdued response and dropped the issue, though
my concern remained. Stella kept all her feelings and troubles bottled up. It
wasn’t healthy in the long run, but now wasn’t the time to get into it.
We rejoined Bridget and Ava’s conversation and eventually shifted topics
to Ava’s promotion at work. It was past midnight in Eldorra, but Bridget
stayed up with us to talk.
My chest glowed with warmth.
It felt like old times, when we would order pizza and talk into the early
hours of the morning in our dorm room.
We weren’t eighteen anymore, but we were still us. Even if one of us
lived on a different continent now, and we didn’t see each other as much as
we used to at school, our friendship was a steady rock.
It was comforting to know that no matter how much some things
changed, others will always stay the same.

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57

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JULES
“W
HAT
’
S
THE
SURPRISE
?” I 
BOUNCED
ON
THE
BALLS
OF
MY
FEET
, 
UNABLE
TO
contain my curiosity as we stepped into the elevator of a luxury Upper East
Side apartment building. “Tell me, please. I’m dying here.”
Josh had surprised me with a trip to New York to catch the last showing
of the Legally Blonde musical revival earlier that night, and he said he had
another surprise for me before we left tomorrow. I’d tried to pry the secret
from him during our entire cab ride here, but he’d refused to budge.
“Red, we will literally be there in a few minutes.” He pressed the button
for the penthouse, and my curiosity ramped up another notch. “Haven’t you
ever heard the term patience?”
“Patience?” I pretended to think. “Nope, never heard of it.”
I laughed when he swatted my ass in playful punishment.
I’d been floating on a high since Josh and I got back together. I caught
myself humming at the oddest times, like when I was loading the dishwasher
or waiting for the metro, and my cheeks ached from smiling so much. Even
stress over my looming bar results couldn’t dampen the weightlessness in my
chest.
Nothing turned a person into a bigger cheeseball than being in love, and I
wasn’t even mad about it. There were worse things than being cheesy.
Besides, cheese was a top tier food group.
When we arrived at the penthouse, a woman in a stunning white dress
checked our names off a list and waved us in with a smile. “Welcome to the
exhibition, Mr. Chen, Ms. Ambrose. The gallery is to your right.”
“Exhibition?” I took in the sleek, modern furniture and glass walls
overlooking Central Park. The place looked like a private residence, not a

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museum.
“Private collector. He’s hosting a party displaying his newly acquired
works.” Josh guided me to a long marble hall lit by a domed glass skylight.
Dozens of paintings hung on the wall in gilded frames, and well-dressed
guests circulated with champagne in hand.
I squeezed Josh’s hand again when his eyes lingered on a glass of the
bubbly golden liquid.
“And how did you score an invite to this exhibition?” I asked
suspiciously. Who could Josh possibly know in New York?
His smug grin rang a dozen alarms. “You’re looking at it.” He pulled me
further down the hall until we reached one painting in particular.
My jaw unhinged. “You’re joking. How is this possible?”
It was the atrocious painting from Josh’s room, the one that brought me
so much grief last month. Except now, instead of a Hazelburg bedroom, it
hung in a multimillion-dollar apartment between a Monet and a de Kooning.
“I sold it. I didn’t want whoever is after the painting to come after me
again, so I made the sale as high profile as possible. If they want to fuck with
the new owner…” Josh shrugged. “It’s on them.” 
“Jesus.” I admit, it was a genius move, though I still couldn’t fathom the
idea anyone this rich would pay to have such an ugly painting in their house.
Max was gone, but I was curious about who was intimidating enough that
it would deter whatever criminals he’d been running around with.
“Who’s the new owner?” I asked.
“I am.”
I turned at the rich, somewhat familiar voice, and my eyebrows flew up
when I saw who it belonged to. I’d only met him once, but I’d recognize that
glossy dark hair and beautiful olive skin anywhere.
Dante Russo smiled. “It’s nice to see you both again. I hope you’re
enjoying the party.”
So I wasn’t the only one who remembered our encounter in Christian’s
library.
“We are, thanks. Your gallery is beautiful,” I said graciously.
I made a mental note to Google Dante later. I’d heard his name
somewhere before, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Appreciation for beauty is part
of my family business. Luxury goods,” he said when my brow knit in
confusion. “Fashion, jewelry, wines and spirits, beauty and cosmetics. All

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