My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 5 (edited chapter)

🖤Sam's POV🖤

I looked down at the young woman clinging to my leg, her arms and legs wrapped around me like a child throwing a tantrum. The sight was ridiculous-almost comical-but I couldn't ignore the way my body reacted to her presence, especially when her chest pressed against my knee.

**How did I end up in this mess?**

This was not the plan. The plan was simple: avoid Fiona. The beautiful, stubborn, and undeniably captivating daughter of my business partner. I had jumped at the chance when Josh, her father, offered to meet me privately after some charity event he was hosting. No Fiona, no awkward run-ins. Just business. Simple.

Or so I thought.

But now here she was-sitting on my foot, clutching my leg with an iron grip, her determination matching the fire in her wide, defiant eyes. And damn if that fire didn't stir something in me I had no business feeling right now.

**Seriously, Samuel, has it really been that long since you've been with a woman?**

"Please, don't cancel the meeting!" Fiona's voice cut through my thoughts, a mix of urgency and childish whining that should have been annoying but only added to the strange magnetism of the situation. "I know I can handle this project. I know my dad is just trying to put me down in front of you-he does that all the time. But this time, I won't let it go. You're going to let me manage this project. End of story!"

Her pout, a blend of innocence and defiance, was almost too much. How could she look so oblivious to the effect she was having on me?

I cleared my throat and took a slow, calming breath. "The answer is still no, Miss Fiona. Now, could you please let go of my foot?"

She shook her head, tightening her hold. "No, not until you say yes to my request!"

I tried to wiggle my leg free, but she held on, clinging tighter. "Let go!"

"No!" She clung like a monkey, her legs wrapped firmly around mine, even when I lifted my foot off the ground.

This was getting ridiculous. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You're acting like a child!" I growled.

Her eyes narrowed defiantly. "Well, you already called me one, so I might as well act like one!" She puffed her cheeks out in mock indignation.

I puffed out an exasperated breath and looked down at her again-only to immediately avert my gaze. In my attempt to free myself, her skirt had ridden up, exposing purple lace panties that left little to the imagination.

**What kind of sh*tty, f*cked up day is this?!**

I needed a plan. Fast. Something to get rid of this... this maddening woman who was driving me crazy in every sense of the word. Then, inspiration struck.

"Alright," I said slowly, as if offering a peace treaty. "You can handle the deal."

Her reaction was instantaneous. "Yay!" She shouted, throwing her hands up in triumph. The brief moment of celebration was all I needed to pull my leg free from her grip and back away as far as the room would allow.

She stood up with a satisfied grin, brushing off her skirt like nothing had happened. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she squealed, taking a step toward me.

"No! Stay where you are!" I shouted, my voice betraying the hint of panic I felt. She stopped mid-step, her eyes wide with confusion.

"What?" she asked, lips forming a pout that only made me more unsettled.

"You didn't let me finish. There are conditions," I said, watching her expression shift from triumphant to skeptical.

"Conditions?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "I'm going to do my job right, so what's with the extra drama?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. Now I had the upper hand, and I intended to enjoy every second of it. "Well, for one, you'll be attending the charity event with me as my date."

Her face twisted in disbelief. "Let me stop you right there, Mr. Fox. I don't do parties."

Ignoring her interruption, I continued, "And... you'll be available for any other events I deem necessary. Whenever I need you, you'll show up. And... I get to choose your outfits for these events, down to the last detail. No arguments."

Fiona's jaw dropped, her hands instinctively resting on her hips as she stared at me in disbelief. "You have got to be joking."

I leaned against the desk, my grin growing. "You're free to reject the offer and run back to Daddy. It's just one project after all." My tone was laced with sarcasm, hoping she'd walk out and make this easier for both of us.

"You're a psycho," she shot back, grabbing her bag and stomping toward the door.

I let out a triumphant sigh. **Finally. Goodbye, Fiona.**

But instead of leaving, she stopped, turned on her heel, and marched back to my desk. Without a word, she snatched up a pen and a notepad, scribbled something quickly, and threw them at me.

"What's this?" I asked, catching the paper before it fluttered to the ground.

"My phone number, dress size, shoe size, and address," she replied with an air of finality, crossing her arms.

I blinked, stunned. "Wait... You accept the conditions?"

She flashed me a smile-an infuriatingly confident one. "Yes, I most certainly do. See you around, **Sammy**."

I stared at her, my mind trying to process what had just happened. "You're... a size twelve?"

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm a size eight. My butt and boobs don't fit into an eight, so I go for twelve. Does that satisfy your judgmental curiosity?"

I let out a low whistle. "That just gives me more ideas."

Her glare could have melted steel. "Don't you dare."

With one final, deadly look, she turned and finally-**finally**-walked out of my office. I watched her go, my eyes trailing after her swaying hips until the door closed behind her.

Only then did I let out the breath I'd been holding. The room felt strangely empty without her, but I had no time to dwell on that.

**I am in deep trouble.**

Her name was now etched into my life-Fiona Bruckner-and I had no idea how to escape the tangled web I had just walked into.

But instead of coming up with a plan to get rid of her, I found myself-against all better judgment-spending the next few hours searching online for dresses that would fit a woman with an eight-size waist and the curves of a twelve.

And, of course, matching shoes.

**I'm such a mess.**