Gu Cheng was the sworn enemy I marked out on my very first day at the job. Same hiring batch, same team, fighting over the same projects, the same clients — right down to the last cup of coffee in the break room. He was cocky and handsome, sharp-tongued, and infuriatingly good at his work, which made my teeth itch. But I had to admit — every time we went head to head, I inexplicably felt a little rush.
That day we argued in the conference room over a proposal, right down to the wire. Everyone had left, yet he blocked the doorway and would not let me pass. “Su Wan,” he said with a wicked grin, backing me step by step against the coffee machine, “have you ever noticed that every time you fight with me, your eyes light up?” “Do not flatter yourself.” I glared at him, but my back met the cold surface of the machine. He braced a hand beside my ear, caging me in, his breath washing over my face: “Then let us make a bet — whoever falls for the other first loses. Do you dare?”
“Fine, bet it is. Who is afraid of whom.” I stuck out my neck and agreed, sneering inwardly: with what, exactly, you? But the words had barely left me when he suddenly leaned in, his lips almost brushing mine, then stopped at the last moment and chuckled low: “So right now, with your heart pounding this fast, have you already lost?” Only then did I realize my breathing had gone ragged. “You — you cheat!” I shoved him, but he caught my hand and, neither rough nor gentle, pulled me even closer.
From that day on, this bet became a new battlefield between us. He started teasing me in every way he could think of: brushing my hand “by accident” when he brought coffee, pressing his knee against mine under the table during meetings, murmuring numbers into my ear in a breathy voice while we worked late. Refusing to be outdone, I teased right back. We were both betting the other would fall first — yet neither of us noticed that this game itself was, from the start, all the proof of a heart already stirred.