The battle line

Arman POV

I hadn’t recognized her immediately, but I knew Zoe looked familiar. I was sure I had seen that face before; one didn’t forget such beauty. However arrogant she might be, Zoe was breathtakingly beautiful.

I had seen the look on her face when she spotted me—how she looked me up and down with her eyes and huffed. I should have known to mind my business, but what could a man do when standing before a woman so pretty?

Zoe had ignored me, turning to ask M.J. for the phone she was already holding in her other hand. How else could a lady say she didn’t think I was worthy of a response?

I swallowed my pride and held my head high, keeping the annoyance from my expression; my signature bad-boy grin did not slip.

M.J. did the honors. “Arman, meet Zoe. Zoe, meet Arman. I’m sure you both have heard enough about each other.”

My heart froze immediately. What had she heard about me? I had no bad reputation nor scandal, but I knew not every piece of information about me in this circle was good. Had she heard something? Had my reputation made her hate me even before we met?

I said nothing, waiting for her to talk first. I had addressed her earlier and got ignored; I wouldn’t fall for that trick twice.

Seconds ticked by, and neither of us said a word. It was then I made my conclusion: Zoe Adams was an arrogant bitch. She knew how pretty she was and knew how to work it.

Did she practice her charm? I remembered how much I had to practice my signature grin in front of a mirror before it became part of me, but how could one practice such innocence as she displayed? The small smile, the fluttering eyes? Every part of her face was expressive, including her ears!

As Eloise—Dr. Eloise—spoke (fuck, I hadn’t even known Eloise had a Ph.D.), everyone lent her their ears, but Zoe had their eyes. Even the women could not look away.

M.J. was awesome, alright. I wondered how he snagged her. Zoe’s acting skills would have to be really bad for Eloise to reject her; such beauty was enough to make the movie a hit. I could bet my future kids that Zoe was born to be an actress. It would be easy for her, judging by how she kept her eyes on Eloise and avoided every other person in the room.

“Fish brain?” I teased after Eloise was done speaking.

Zoe had been jotting something down. She was the only one writing; no one jotted things down anymore. Finally, her eyes met mine.

“Tell me three facts about fish,” she replied.

“Woooooooooooo!” The whole desk cheered as all eyes turned to me. I froze. No words formed in my mouth as everyone anticipated my response; even Eloise was watching me.

“This is gonna be fun,” someone said at last, breaking the tension in the room. “Zoe: 1, Arman: 0.”

And just like that, the battle line was drawn. Zoe and I were not going to be friends.

She must have practiced her movements too, because in breathtaking slow motion, Zoe picked up her book, pen, and phone, and followed M.J. out of the conference room. Sparing me no words. Again.

“Hey, Sexy,” Jude said, gripping my shoulder. He always called me that; he was our videographer and said my body was made for the camera. “You should watch out for that one. Heard she’s smart as fuck!”

It was then I realized the second thing Zoe had done today. She had called me stupid. Anger constricted my chest, and my throat tightened, but what was more annoying was that my heart also raced.

It was annoying because I knew that the hearts of half the men in this room were racing as well. Zoe would be our undoing.

“Are you okay?” Bridget asked me.

Fuck. I had forgotten she was here as well.

I nodded, sparing her no words. I was still trying to pull myself together, to shake off Zoe’s grip on me, yet the words that came out of my lips betrayed that. “Bri? Do you think I am stupid?”

Color drained from her face immediately. “What? No! Is this about Molly?”

Double fuck! I hadn’t even spared Molly a thought since I laid my eyes on Zoe. What kind of man did that make me? I shrugged for Bridget's benefit, leaving her to think whatever she wanted. “Never mind.”

I left the conference hall with no particular destination in mind. I was not ready to go home, so I considered driving around for a little while. It was then I saw her again. She had been handed her script. Zoe.

I saw her do it: slip a pencil out of her purse and then twirl it around her hair, gathering each strand together in what would have been a ponytail but turned out to be a mass of curls. Yet, by some magic, it worked, and her hair stayed in place, apart from the few short strands that fell to the front.

It was then it clicked. The student doctor from Canada. It was her. It hurt more now that I knew who she was. Zoe had ignored me more than twice. She ignored me then, and now she was doing it again.

It looked like the battle line had been drawn. I had been hit with three strikes. I would not wait for a fourth. Others might think the score was 1-0, but it was 3-0.

Zoe would not see me coming.