enemies to lovers with jack schlossberg slowburn asf

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"What are the odds you're a CIA agent too, Olivia?" Harriet's voice slurred the question as she sank her head onto your shoulder, her breath warm and damp against your neck. Her face, flushed from the alcohol as she rested into the curve of your shoulder, making her words come out in a mumbled.

Her friends erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the room like a chorus.Their voices intertwined, rising and falling with theories and jokes, each more outlandish than the last. You became the center of a discussion based upon what you were.
You chose to remain silent, biting back any words you wanted to say. It was becoming increasingly clear that they were having fun at your expense, their laughter  had been growing louder and more absurd by the minute. This obsession with your life seemed childish.
The only person you could blame for this behavior was Harriet. You had no idea what she had been saying to everyone about you. For all you knew, she was probably spreading ridiculous stories, like you had bombed a terrorist or something.

You found yourself wondering why they cared so much about what you did for a living. Yes, you had partially lied about your job, but who didn't embellish the truth occasionally to navigate awkward social waters?

Then, you couldn't shake the thought that you might have missed your Uber. What if the driver had been waiting outside the whole time? You wanted to pull out your phone to check, but Harriet was deep in a drunken rant about avoiding technology and 'connecting' with people in the moment. It was the kind of philosophical nonsense that only seemed to come out after a few too many drinks.

A new voice cut through the chatter in the kitchen. "Who's a CIA agent?" it asked, clearly intrigued.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself from saying something you might regret or snapping at everyone. Instead, you opted for a safer route, mumbling under your breath, "Oh, piss off." The only person who heard you was Harriet, still leaning heavily on your shoulder.

Her reaction was a soft giggle.

After her giggle, Harriet instantly perked up. She sprang from her barstool with surprising agility and hurried over to greet the newcomer, Theo. With a smile, she enveloped him in a tight hug, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed her body against his. She began planting a series of drunken kisses on his cheeks and lips, her affection sloppy. Theo, clearly used to Harriet's tipsy displays, returned her kisses with a grin, holding her just as tightly.
You turned your head away, uninterested in their public display of affection.
Then the sounds of more people entering made you turn your head toward the kitchen entrance again.

It was Theo's friends, all dressed in suits and ties.

You could immediately tell that they were part of a different social sphere, one that didn't particularly interest you.
They gave off strong finance or lawyer vibes, their suits and confident postures screamed pretentiousness. Just like everyone else in the room, they seemed to have this certain arrogance, as if their presence alone demanded attention and respect.
They got the attention they were looking for, though. Soon after their arrival, everyone was greeting them.

A murmur of excitement spread through the group as the door swung open, and in walked Schlossberg. He raised his hands in mock surrender, claiming with a grin that he had gotten locked in the bathroom. The story was clearly a lie, but it didn't stop the crowd from reacting with laughter and applause.
Seriously, did you honestly believe that an ex-addict would just be locked in the bathroom, doing absolutely nothing? Watching him, you shook your head.
You couldn't help but find the whole scene somewhat absurd. The way everyone seemed to hang on his every word, laughing and cheering at every little anecdote.
People quickly abandoned their previous conversations and flocked toward him, eager to make their introductions and gain his favor. Schlossberg navigated the room with a practiced ease.