My Sweet Enemy
by Jenny Hartwell
Copyright © 2021 by Jenny Hartwell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Charlotte Beecher was having chocolate for breakfast. Again.
She bit into a still-warm truffle. Her eyes slid shut as she chewed the caramel enrobed in dark chocolate with a sprinkle of sea salt flakes dusting the top, the perfect balance of sweet and briny. God, this is delicious. It was a concerto on her tongue. It was manna from heaven. It’s better than sex.
No. Scratch that. The last bit was ridiculous.
Charlotte finished her truffle, washed her hands, and expertly transferred the rest of her morning’s creations to a little plate. She set the chocolates in the middle of her small, scarred kitchen table right next to the reason for her choice of breakfast this morning.
Her student loan statement.
A weight that had become all too familiar these last few weeks pressed against her just by looking at the paper.
Charlotte drew in a deep breath of chocolate-scented air until her lungs stretched and her diaphragm pulled tight. She exhaled slowly through her mouth.
Chocolate in, negativity out.
She closed her laptop with the ninth version of her résumé up on the screen and cleared the table to lay out place settings for two. The fruit salad she’d made earlier would balance out the chocolate, giving her and Beth a balanced meal. Fruit and chocolate—the breakfast of champions. Wheaties would be out of business within the year.
A knock sounded, followed by a familiar voice. “Rise and shine, bitch face.”
Charlotte opened her apartment door. “Good morning!”
She grabbed Beth in a tight embrace, and her friend tolerated her anaconda squeeze for a few moments, resting her chin on top of Charlotte’s head. Ah, the joys of being five foot one with a friend the size of an Amazon warrior princess.
“I just saw you two nights ago,” Beth said, wriggling away. “Being by yourself every day has turned you into a stage-five clinger.”
Charlotte pulled a face but didn’t argue. Beth wasn’t wrong.
Her friend hauled two grocery bags into the kitchen and started unpacking. “I’ve got pastries, I’ve got your favorite bubbly—whatever’s on sale—and I’ve got juice. And”—Beth waggled her eyebrows—“I brought ingredients for a homemade hair treatment.”
Charlotte groaned. The last time she’d agreed to one of Beth’s concoctions, her hair had smelled like mayonnaise for a week.
Beth grabbed two mismatched glasses from a cabinet. “So, you’re getting cabin fever with no job to go to?”
“Yeah, it turns out that I’m a people person. Who knew?”
Beth snorted. “What a surprising plot twist. Charlotte Beecher, confirmed optimist at the ripe old age of twenty-two and ray of sunshine to all she encounters, does not enjoy being alone for three weeks.”
“Does not enjoy being out of work for three weeks.” Charlotte gave all her attention to arranging pastries on a plate.
She hated this. She hated the stress of job hunting. She hated what was happening to her savings account, which had been rather anemic to start with since she’d only graduated from culinary school with her baking and pastry arts degree last year. And she especially hated how she hadn’t felt like herself—her real, cheerful self—since she’d left her job at Rick’s Chocolates.
“Are you so desperate for human contact that you’re even missing your asshole boss, Rick the Di—”
“No.” Charlotte threw up her hands. “Don’t speak of my ex-boss or his bits. I’d have to bleach out my ears.”
Beth smirked. Pouring two generous mimosas, she said, “Well, the guy has more than earned his nickname. Still no responses to your job applications?”
Charlotte cleared her throat, then cleared it again against a stubborn lump. “Nothing yet. I guess he really did do it.”
Beth swore, loudly and viciously. Hopefully Mrs. Paxton in the apartment next door wasn’t wearing her hearing aids.
“I can’t believe that lazy sack of shit actually made the effort to contact every other chocolate shop in the city to get you blackballed. You were totally justified to quit. He never hired replacements when the other employees quit. He hadn’t given you a day off in weeks. And he refused to pay you for all those overtime hours.”
Charlotte listened to her friend rant. She’d second-guessed her decision to quit a hundred times, but hearing Beth lay it all out like that confirmed Charlotte had made the right call. It put her dream of becoming a world-class chocolatier in jeopardy, but Rick’s refusal to give her the promised day off for her mom’s fiftieth birthday party had been the last straw.
“He still hasn’t paid me for my last week in the shop,” Charlotte murmured, setting the plate of pastries on the table.
“What?” Beth glanced around the kitchen, her eyes narrowing. “Where’s your dullest spoon? I think today’s the day I finally make good on my threat to perform a DIY castration on good old Rick the Dick.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together, not wanting to encourage Beth, but laughter, loud and free, bubbled forth. Oh god, it felt so good to laugh. She used to smile all the time. Her dad’s nickname for her was Sunshine. And her mom…well, her mom relied on Charlotte to cheer her up. It’s what she did. It’s what she’d always done, since—
“Okay, goofball, it wasn’t that funny.” Beth frowned at the time on the microwave. “Hey, do you mind if we eat breakfast on the couch?”
Charlotte exhaled, her body feeling lighter after her laugh. “I already set the table in here, but we could—”
“Terrific.” Beth started stacking the plates and silverware. “There’s a show I want to watch on TV, and it’s about to start.”
“A show? On TV?” Charlotte tilted her head to the side in mock confusion. “I believe I read about this in a history book once. Does it have a thing called commercials?”
“Streaming has made us soft. Come on.” Beth led the way into the living room.
Before they set down their breakfast, Charlotte rushed to clean the cluttered coffee table. A sad microwave-dinner container lay forgotten on top of her brightly colored coasters. Charlotte sighed at the symbolism.
Beth pulled her legs up onto the couch. “Remote?”
“We’re probably sitting on it.” Charlotte fished between couch cushions.
Beth did the same and emerged with the remote control. She tapped a few buttons, and a national morning news show came on the TV.
Charlotte frowned. “We’re going to watch professionally groomed people in New York talk about the weather for the entire country and interview some woman whose cat is YouTube famous?”
“Not everything can be the Great British Bake Off,” Beth chided, filling her plate. “You’re too judgmental.”
“Moi?” Charlotte spooned fruit salad onto her plate, then added a few truffles to counteract all that healthiness. “You’re the one who refuses to watch anything starring Kate Winslet.”
Beth slowly rotated on the couch, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Kate knows what she’s done.”
Charlotte played along. “And what’s that?”
“There was room for Jack on that door. She didn’t have to let him freeze to death.”
“Beth, I say this with love, but I think you’ve watched Titanic too many times.”
“I love Jack, and true love never dies.” Beth heaved a dramatic sigh and picked up her mimosa. “To true love.”
Charlotte clinked her glass against Beth’s. “And chocolate.”
She paused, the glass at her lips. The day she’d quit her job as head chocolatier—the only chocolatier after all her coworkers had sensibly quit—she met up with Beth at their favorite cocktail bar downtown. Charlotte had proceeded to drown her sorrows in martinis and didn’t even remember getting home that night. After the worst hangover in history, she hadn’t had another drop of alcohol.
“Drink up,” Beth ordered. “Angels weep when champagne is left to go flat.”
Charlotte sipped her mimosa. “Thanks for coming over today. How lucky that your department won an extra day off of work.”
“Um, yeah.” Beth shoved a giant bite of pastry into her mouth and grabbed the remote control to turn up the volume.
“And in our next segment, the founder and owner of Simone’s Chocolates will be visiting us in the studio. Stay tuned.”
Charlotte leaned toward the TV. “Oh my god, Simone Foster of Simone’s Chocolates! I want to be her when I grow up. We studied her in culinary school last year, and her chocolates are masterpieces. They’re seriously the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
Beth’s eyes gleamed with wicked delight.
Charlotte groaned. “Don’t say it.”
“The best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth? It’s like you’re begging me to make a dick joke.”
Charlotte just rolled her eyes. After years of friendship, Beth’s salty humor no longer fazed her.
“Is the Simone Foster interview why you wanted to watch this show?” Charlotte glanced at her friend, but Beth chose that moment to take another giant bite of her pastry.
“Because that’s really sweet,” Charlotte continued. “Arranging for me to watch this interview with the most famous chocolatier in the entire country. I’ve been feeling pretty blue lately”—she paused to clear her throat of another lump of emotion—“so thanks for cheering me up with this.”
Beth nodded and continued to chew.
After a laundry detergent commercial, a yogurt commercial, and a tampon commercial, the morning program’s logo flashed back on the screen. Two anchors sat at a desk with coffee mugs. The woman was young, slim, and perfectly styled in a fitted sleeveless top. The man was middle aged, with silver at his temples and a bit of extra weight filling out his gray suit.
Charlotte huffed at the blatant double standard.
“And now,” the male anchor announced, “the segment we promised you earlier: the reveal for Simone’s Chocolates.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “Are they revealing a new product? You know, I’ve always thought they’d make a killing if they partnered with an ice cream company.”
Beth gave a noncommittal hum in reply.
The female anchor said, “Henry, I wish I could have applied for this new internship program at Simone’s Chocolates myself.”
Henry turned to his partner. “Aren’t you a little old to be an intern, Kate?” He chuckled.
Kate’s returning smile was so stiff it could have been peeled off her face like a sheet mask.
“What a jerk,” Beth grumbled, finally finished chewing the world’s largest bite.
“Do you know anything about this internship program?” Charlotte asked.
Beth shoved in another massive bite and gestured to her full mouth, so Charlotte returned her attention to the show.
The anchors invited Simone Foster to join them. The middle-aged woman who had revolutionized the chocolate industry with her gourmet treats took a seat behind the desk with the show’s anchors. Her gray hair was styled in a sensible bob, her clothes were bright and cheery, and there was a certain sparkle in her eye.
Charlotte clasped her hands together in excitement. Was this how some people felt when they saw the pope? Or their home team’s quarterback?
Or Beyoncé?
“Her chocolate factory is so cutting edge,” Charlotte said. “She actually processes the cocoa beans on-site.”
Beth shushed her. “We don’t want to miss anything.”
The anchors asked Simone to tell them about her new internship program. She talked about her son’s idea to increase Simone’s Chocolates’ profile on social media. “We’re on the Twitter now,” Simone explained solemnly.
Beth snickered. “The Twitter.”
Simone continued, saying they’d opened a contest for five internship positions, with thousands of people posting videos online for why they should be selected. “It was very hard to choose only five,” Simone said, shaking her head. “There are so many talented and ambitious people out there.”
Charlotte groaned. “How did I not hear about this until now? I would have applied.” She closed her eyes and lay her head back against the couch cushion. “Yet another casualty to my terrible work schedule. I had no free time, not even to scroll through social media. God, the zombie apocalypse could have come, and I wouldn’t have known.”
“Just watch,” Beth said, her voice an octave higher than usual.
Charlotte’s eyes popped open. She was about to ask Beth if everything was okay, but the male anchor introduced the first winning video entry.
It was short—only half a minute or so—and clearly shot on a phone, with hashtags listed below. A Latina woman in a lab coat squeezed liquid from a dropper into a beaker. She spoke about her passion for food science, healthy nutrition, and bringing the latest innovations to the chocolate industry.
The next video showed a young man with slicked-back hair, wearing a navy suit. He strutted past the bull statue on Wall Street and bragged to the camera about how he’d helped countless companies shed bloat and become “lean, mean, money-making machines.” His video ended with a close-up of his confident grin as he made finger guns at the camera.
Charlotte winced and grabbed a pastry. “This guy? I was bummed I hadn’t applied, but now I just feel sorry for the other interns.”
Beth cleared her throat.
The third video began, showing a tan, blonde woman in a revealing red dress, walking down a beach while her voiceover discussed the importance of a dynamic social media presence for growing companies. She ended her video by saying her experience as an influencer and reality television personality would be an asset to the chocolate company.
“Maybe if they’re trying to up their Kardashian quotient,” Beth muttered.
Charlotte smiled. She appreciated reality television as much as the next person, but this woman was definitely giving the E! network a run for its money.
The fourth video played.
A man with clear-blue eyes behind dark-framed glasses stared at her, gaze intense, through the TV screen. Charlotte stopped breathing for a moment. The lean planes of his face were countered by full lips. His brown hair was swept back from his forehead, and he wore a crisply ironed dress shirt and tie.
“I’m Luke Wells.”
His voice was pure chocolate, deep and rich. Charlotte stared unblinking at his image on the television screen.
“Mr. Wells can dip his bucket into my well, if you know what I mean.” Beth’s comment yanked Charlotte out of her reverie.
The man continued to speak directly into the camera. “My MBA studies at Yale focused on supply chain logistics. I can convert my expertise into sustainable improvements in contract negotiations with suppliers and transportation for Simone’s Chocolates.”
His full lips moved over straight white teeth while he spoke, and she suspected his smile would be devastating if he ever unleashed it. Something fluttered low in Charlotte’s belly.
“Hot and smart?” Beth said. “Let’s hope he has a bad personality, otherwise life just isn’t fair.”
Charlotte gave a distracted nod and took a bite of her pastry.
The man continued to talk about finding efficiencies by partnering with suppliers. Unfortunately, he didn’t smile once.
“One more to go,” Beth said when his video ended, her voice oddly strangled.
“And here’s the last finalist for our internship contest,” Simone said to the two hosts on the show. “This video entry came in at the very last minute, just making the application cut off. But I’m sure you’ll agree there’s something special about this one.”
A video rolled. The only sound for a moment was muffled laughter and muted conversation. The shot was poorly lit, with a shadowed figure in the foreground and a dim, fuzzy background showing people—were they holding cocktail glasses?—seated at high tables.
Beside her, Beth made a strange squeaking sound.
Charlotte squinted. The woman in the video had pale hair and wore a blue V-neck shirt that reminded her of a top in her own closet.
The back of Charlotte’s neck prickled.
“Why do you love chocolate so much?” Beth asked.
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply. But…her friend’s voice hadn’t come from beside her on the couch.
It had come from the television.
Charlotte’s breath seized. Her pastry slipped from her fingers.
“Chocolate’s the best thing in the world,” the video figure responded in a very familiar voice. Her head tilted to the side, chin-length blonde hair mussed where she leaned on her hand. The other hand gestured with an almost-empty cocktail glass.
Charlotte blinked, leaning toward the TV screen. Had Beth spiked her mimosa with absinthe and now she was hallucinating?
“It cheers you up if you’re blue,” the dreamy voice continued. “Chocolate makes any celebration twice as special. It’s like a hug in each delicious, creamy, rich bite.”
Charlotte’s chest felt squeezed like an overstuffed pastry bag, preventing her from drawing a full breath. She’d had a lot to drink at the cocktail bar the night she’d quit her job, but surely she would remember being recorded?
“When I make chocolates,” her screen self continued, “everything in my life is better. My worries fade as I temper the chocolate for truffles. Calm flows through my fingers when I sprinkle the sea salt on top of caramels. My troubles melt away as I stir the ganache.”
Charlotte’s hands clenched. A vague moment from that night came into focus. Beth fiddling with her phone, asking Charlotte why she had remained at the chocolate shop despite her terrible boss. And Charlotte spouting a disjointed ramble about the glory of chocolate as she’d drained another drink.
Oh god.
And here was her disjointed ramble.
On network television.
For the entire world to see.
Charlotte closed her eyes, taking a couple of slow breaths. When she opened them, she was still on the TV screen, giving a Mona Lisa smile into the middle distance while waxing philosophic on the deeper meaning of cocoa powder ratios in various dark chocolates.
The video finally came to a blessed end.
“So those are the five interns you’ve selected?” the female news anchor asked.
“They’ll begin next week,” Simone said, smiling at the TV camera. “Our new interns get an all-expense paid trip to our headquarters in Seattle, where they’ll be staying in a loft near our factory for the duration of the contest. After a series of challenges, one of them will be chosen to remain on in a high-profile role at Simone’s Chocolates with a very healthy salary, benefits, and a title that begins with chief.”
“Chief?” the male anchor asked, frowning.
Despite the faint buzzing in her head and the urge to scream into a pillow, Charlotte still glared at the screen. Did this clown think that only old white men could be CEOs and the like?
Simone answered, “Chief of marketing, chief financial officer, chief of food laboratory, chief of supply chain management, or”—Simone paused, tapping her chin with her forefinger—“chief of chocolates.”
The anchors asked Simone a few more questions, but Charlotte couldn’t make out the words over the whoosh of blood rushing through her body.
Chief of chocolates.
She grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. Charlotte leaned back against her worn leather sofa, breathing deeply. She wouldn’t faint. She wasn’t a heroine in a Regency romance novel. No duke was about to fetch her smelling salts. Or loosen her corset.
Although the corset loosening didn’t sound half-bad, come to think of it.
“So…” Beth said.
Charlotte jerked in her seat. She’d entirely forgotten about her friend. Charlotte swiveled to face Beth, plucking up her dropped pastry from her lap.
“Beth, what the hell—”
“Listen,” her friend interrupted, holding out her hands in supplication, “I know this is totally wild. I had no idea if you’d be selected as one of the five interns. I called in sick to work today so we could watch this together, and I’m sorry to surprise you like this, but I didn’t want to tell you I’d submitted that video and get your hopes up, especially since…”
Beth waved her hands about, presumably gesturing to the entirety of Charlotte’s recent stint as an unemployed, anxious, and increasingly impoverished person.
“Why didn’t you talk to me about it that night in the bar?”
“I only saw it on my phone after we’d already started drinking I-quit-my-job cocktails. The application deadline was midnight that night, so I just went with my gut and got you to ramble about chocolate.” Beth smirked. “Which wasn’t hard at all, by the way.”
“But Beth…” Charlotte twisted her hands together. This was outrageous. Totally and completely wild.
Right?
Her friend had filmed her and submitted the video to a contest without checking with her first. Her face and rambling monologue—drunken rambling monologue—about chocolate had been broadcast on national television. She was going to have to compete with four random people—including one very handsome, stone-faced MBA—on some sort of bizarre Charlie and the Chocolate Factory–type of contest.
And there was a chance—just a tiny, little chance—that she could become chief of chocolates at one of the most famous chocolate shops in the country.
Charlotte snatched up her mimosa from the coffee table and gulped down the last few swallows. She plunked the glass down and gave Beth her sternest look.
“That was the weirdest, most intrusive thing anyone’s ever done to me,” Charlotte said, her tone hard as steel.
Beth flinched.
Charlotte held her friend’s gaze. Beth gulped. Right when Beth opened her mouth—doubtlessly to apologize—Charlotte allowed her stony expression to slip away.
“And I am so grateful.” Charlotte launched herself at her friend, engulfing her in a bear hug.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Beth said, laughing and squirming to loosen Charlotte’s tight squeeze.
“And you’re the best friend ever.” Charlotte relented and pulled back. She stood and reached out a hand, hauling Beth up beside her.
Beth quirked a questioning brow. “What now?”
“We’re going to do that hair treatment. After all, I’ve only got a week for the stench to wear off before I go wow the pants off Simone Foster.”
