🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.16.

To distract from wallowing in my own self-pity, I spent the next morning reviewing handpicked portfolios from Braxton.

The campaign needed someone who gravitated toward the raw emotion behind a moment in time. I wasn't looking for flashy. These were real children and real lives that we were going to change with this project, and I wanted someone talented enough to capture that verity.

It was a tall order that none of the glossy photos in front of me really matched. 

Then, I came across a still of a heavily pregnant woman leaning over a tiny casket. The grief frozen on her face was visceral.

Stricken and moved at the same time, I flipped through a succession of shots in the artist's portfolio. There were no primped models or sleek cars or laughing teens with perfect bodies and beautiful teeth. They were comfortable capturing the fleeting essence of a moment, good or bad.

I tucked the portfolio under my arm to deliver it personally to Braxton.

"Ooh!" Rebecca cooed as we passed in the door of our office. "Why do you look so happy?"

To her credit, she didn't ask why I'd spent the night bawling my eyes out on her couch and stress-eating the Goldfish crackers I stole from her kitchen.

Instead, Rebecca silently fetched a glass of icy water to wash down my bloaty crackers while I used up an entire box of tissues blubbering incoherently. When I couldn't breathe without hiccupping mucus, Rebecca cradled my head in her bosom and stroked my gnarled hair.

She knew all about E-day, and she warned me that going alone would be like having a horse kick me in the crotch, but she never said, 'I told you so' (which I really appreciated).  

"I'm excited because Braxton actually managed to find a photographer I like," I told her in a hushed tone. "Look at this!"

I flipped the heavy black leather binding open to show off some of the shots inside. Rebecca's eyes bulged, taking in the haunting pictures one by one.

"Cool. What are you wearing tonight?" She asked, abruptly changing the subject while I snapped the portfolio shut.

I sighed and tucked the portfolio under my armpit and pushed my glasses up my nose for about the billionth time (too much crying made it damn near impossible to wear contacts).

Gray's stupid show had its stupid opening, and I didn't want to go to the stupid thing. The only reason I'd agreed to go was to help Rebecca get laid.

"This?" I glanced down at my baggy Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt knotted at the waist and the only clean pair of jeans I had.

"You can't wear that," she complained, scrunching up her nose. "You look like you're going back to nineteen ninety-seven."

"The nineties are in," I sang, walking away to deliver the portfolio to Braxton. "And I'm only going for the free booze and cheese."

"Fine, then I'm doing your makeup!" Rebecca called at my backside as I sashayed away.

All day, Rebecca complained that my scruffy top bun and my Magoo glasses weren't the right look for two single girls out on the town. I shrugged it off, happy that I was aiming for comfort over style. 

We both might be single, but I knew I was going home alone. For sure.

The more the day went on, the more dread seeped into my stomach to churn what little food I'd managed to eat for lunch. 

Gray probably wasn't going to be thrilled to see me again, and I was still really mad at him for being Elijah's willing accomplice, not to mention an asshat, for the past five years.

And I didn't even know how to face Grady or Bart. Those two loveable knuckleheads had been close friends of mine too, or so I'd thought. As far as I knew, they'd all been lying to me for Elijah, too.

At least I had a plan. As soon as Rebecca and Gray were flirting and I was tipsy from cheap booze, I was going to make my escape.

If Rebecca wound up boning Gray, I'd be there for her when he inevitably made her feel like crap. 

It was the least I could do.

As promised (or threatened, I never really understood where that argument netted out), Rebecca did a fabulous job on my makeup. Everything she shellacked on my face was waterproof and she kept the color palette fairly neutral for our night out.

The subtle smokey eye made me look like a wide-eyed grunge pop princess. Even better, Rebecca let me keep my topknot and glasses on the condition that she be allowed to pull strategic wisps of my hair out to frame my exhausted face.

After forty minutes of circling the block in Rebecca's car, we found a parking space and hurried through the wind. The city was cloaked in evening shadows, but streetlamps and windows dotted the skyline leading to the steam rolling off the freezing pavement.

Gray's show was in downtown Seattle near the waterfront and a few blocks from our office, which made it pretty easy to find.

Rebecca's sexy stiletto boots showed off her long, lean legs while her sweater dress hugged her apple bottom perfectly. She was exactly what I needed to distract Gray.

When we reached the door a mammoth bouncer asked our names and checked his list like he was guarding the Pentagon. 

Then, his tree-trunk arm swung the glass panel doors open and we waltzed inside, temporarily stunned by the bright lights bouncing off the blonde pine floors.

Somewhere close, a quartet of classical instruments played nineties rock hits. I almost nudged Rebecca in the ribs to prove my point about that decade, but instead, we headed for the coat check counter.

Rebecca unwrapped her plum-colored peacoat to hand it off to the attendants behind the kiosk while I politely opted to keep my woolen trench folded over my arm. That would make for a speedier exit.

"Oh, holy wow!" Rebecca had her back to me, so I spun around.

A few feet away from her sexy heels was the tallest photo I'd ever seen. Inside its thick black frame was the sepia photo of a woman's back.

The lower half of her skeletal figure was swathed in a white sheet that was tucked under her naked bottom. On the ridges of her prominent ribs were hundreds of healed scars and large crests of knobby flesh snaking over the bend of her spine.

"What happened to her?" I inhaled, unable to look away.

The woman faced away from the camera so only the line of her giant jawline showed, the rest of her face was veiled in the shadows.

I shuffled closer to study the negative space. The photograph was so huge, that I had to bend my head all the way back to take in the whole thing. 

"She was a victim of domestic abuse," a quiet voice supplied, making me jump.

I twisted around to find Gray watching us with a tantalizing Cheshire Cat smile tugging at his mouth.