You know, sharing a room sucks enough as it is. I’d been looking forward to this work trip because it meant I could finally get away from my insufferable roommate. But no—fate had other plans.

The economy’s shit. My job as an architect pays well, but not well enough to afford a reasonably priced apartment in NYC and save money at the same time. Being an immigrant from the prestigious United Kingdom—yes, the Great British Isles—hasn’t helped much either.

What’s worse than living with an annoying roommate? Being stuck in a hotel room with someone you want to punch in the face 24/7. I may or may not have told him that to his face. And that may or may not have led to disciplinary action, including but not limited to threats of job termination.

‘Well, there’s only one bed,’ he said, stating the bloody obvious. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might actually pop out.

He turned to look at me with those infuriating brown eyes that sparked oceans of rage inside me. His nearly-black hair was neatly styled—of course it was. I hate him. But I can’t deny he’s got a decent body. A jaw sharp enough to cut glass, toned arms, muscular legs, a tight arse. Probably abs too. Not that I’ve thought about them.

(He’s got a dark olive complexion too—annoyingly flawless.)

‘Someone’s gonna have to sleep on the floor,’ I said mockingly, because just breathing the same air as him already feels like suffocation. Now imagine trying to sleep while doing it.

‘I know. Poor you,’ he replied with the most snotty, condescending tone I’d ever heard. It made his face ten times more punchable. The idea of hearing the crack of my fist meeting his nose was… arousing, frankly. Sexually so.

‘Excuse me?’ I laughed, stepping towards him.

I may not work out as much as he does, but I do alright. Enough muscle across my body to make it clear—I can throw a punch, and I can defend myself. I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room. Blonde hair a mess. Eyes simmering with layers of frustration and loathing. The smirk I wore was just a thin cover for it all.

‘You heard me,’ he said. ‘Poor you.’

He emphasised the word poor, twisting the knife. Oh, tonight was not going to end well. Especially not for me. He’s a higher-up at the firm, so he’s got more strings to pull. More power. More protection. But I’m not one to back down that easily. I’m not a bitch.

I was exhausted. My body screamed for sleep, but all I could feel was my blood boiling just from looking at him. Whoever in HR set this up needs to be fired. No—shipped to Mars. And they can take Jake fucking Anderson with them. Useless, smug, unbearable little prick. A plague on humanity. I hate him so fucking much.

‘It’s alright, Matt,’ he said, and hearing him say my name was like poison. ‘We all have to make sacrifices.’

Then came that grin—those perfect teeth flashing like a damn toothpaste ad.

‘Listen, Jake,’ I said. Violence is never the answer, they say. But diplomacy clearly wasn’t getting us anywhere, either. Still, I gave it a try—for decency’s sake.

‘I’m tired, alright? I don’t want any drama tonight. How about you just let me have the bed, and we can ignore each other for the rest of the week?’

‘Give you the bed?’ he asked, eyes widening in mock surprise. ‘What do you mean by that?’

I sighed. He’s 40, for fucks’s sake. Doesn’t look it, sure—lucky bastard—but still acts like a damn child.

‘What I mean, Jake,’ I said, holding onto my last shred of patience, ‘is: please be kind enough to let me have the bed.’

‘Oh, you wanna… okay,’ he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘We can share the bed. If you wanna sleep next to me that badly.’

That was it. That smug, smug smile. The glint in his eye. The sheer audacity of this man.

I snapped.

With no further thought, I shoved him. Hard. He stumbled back and landed on the bed with a surprised gasp, his back hitting the white covers as he blinked up at me, stunned.

‘OKAY, WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?’ I shouted, praying I didn’t believe in that the walls were soundproof.