Author's Note: Please note this is NOT related to any of the previous one-shots in this book. This idea popped into my head randomly and then I got obsessed with it. This one is slightly different from the other fics I've written in this fandom, but a style I've loved and used a lot in other fandoms, so I am excited to see how y'all like it!

Summary: In the high-stakes world of PearTech, Murtasim Khan and Meerab Ahmed are top executives who can't stand each other. But beneath their heated arguments and sharp exchanges lies an undeniable tension that's about to explode. As Murtasim grapples with his growing obsession for the woman who drives him mad, he faces a crisis of epic proportions: how do you keep your cool when all you can think about is the one person you can't stand?

Note: This chapter contains mature subject matter; mostly fantasies and masturbation. Read at your own discretion!

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Meerab Ahmed hated Murtasim Khan.

It was a deep-seated, visceral loathing that seemed to bubble up from some ancient, primal part of her brain. She had tried to rationalize it, to understand why the mere sight of him made her teeth clench and her pulse race, but it was a mystery. All she knew was that of all the companies in the world, Murtasim Khan had to end up at PearTech.

PearTech, the crown jewel of consumer electronics, was not just any company. It was a global leader, known for its sleek designs and cutting-edge technologies. The stock options alone were enough to turn an ordinary employee into a millionaire within a year or two. There was no better place to be, and that was the problem. Because of all the people in the world, they had chosen him for the role of Chief Innovation Officer.

It made sense, of course. Murtasim Khan was sort-of brilliant, innovative, and had a reputation for pushing boundaries. PearTech wanted the best, and he was undoubtedly one of the best. But that didn't mean Meerab had to like it.

No, she hated it.

She hated him.

Why did he have to join this company out of all the companies out there? It was an irrational, juvenile response, and she knew it. She was a smart woman, a capable professional, and she should have risen above it. She should have refused to let him get under her skin.

Yet, despite knowing all that, she couldn't help it. Khan drove her totally and completely crazy, and he had from the minute they met.

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Meerab had arrived an entire hour early to the first day of orientation at PearTech, nerves and excitement swirling within her. The Board of Directors had recently fired the CEO for overlooking government regulations, leading to a significant shakeup. Multiple senior-level positions had opened up, one of which was hers – Chief Legal Officer. It was a monumental leap in her career, and she was determined to make the most of it.

She felt a mix of excitement and nerves as she stepped into the sleek, ultra-modern conference room. The walls were lined with minimalist artwork, and the table was a glossy expanse of polished wood. She smoothed down her navy blazer, feeling the weight of this new responsibility settle on her shoulders.

Everyone had arrived on time, and while she was introducing herself to the group, he walked in.

Murtasim Khan, the new Chief Innovation Officer, was eighteen minutes late. He breezed into the room with an effortless grace, looking as if he had just stepped off the pages of a high-end fashion magazine. His outfit screamed old money, every detail meticulously curated to project an air of casual luxury.

"My apologies, it turns out that finding parking takes longer than 10 minutes," he said, flashing a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He raked a hand through his thick, luscious hair, the gesture so practiced it bordered on theatrical.

The entire female half of the room drew in an audible breath at the sight of him, and Meerab couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation at their collective reaction. She prided herself on her honesty, and she wasn't about to deny that she, too, had found him undeniably attractive in that moment.

Meerab could hardly be blamed. He was tall, impeccably built, with a sharp jawline that was accentuated by a rugged yet well-groomed beard. His big, brown eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief and intelligence. He was, in a word, hot.

And he knew it.

But it did nothing for her.

Khan swaggered into that meeting just as he did every other, leaving a trail of swooning admirers in his wake. It wasn't just the women; even the men seemed to regard him with a mix of envy and reluctant admiration. He was rich, young for his position, and undeniably smart. His track record was impressive, though Meerab couldn't help but think hers was better.

He had a charm that she couldn't deny, a social ease that allowed him to effortlessly network and build relationships. He played golf with the other senior executives, had a bustling social life, and always seemed to arrive at company events with a beautiful, flustered young woman following him. He would arrive late, flashing that infuriating smile, and leave early in his sleek black Range Rover – the most unreliable of cars - always on his way to the next glamorous engagement.

And then there was the matter of his wardrobe. Head-to-toe in Brunello Cucinelli, he exuded a level of pretentiousness that made Meerab's skin crawl. She was certain he had family money; there was no other way he could afford such luxuries, even with PearTech's generous salary and stock options. While the rest of them were clawing their way to millionaire status, Murtasim seemed to belong to a different echelon entirely.

She hated him.

Meerab wanted desperately for him to be stupid, to be just another rich man coasting on his connections. But he wasn't. He was competent, and that infuriated her even more.

She had known all of that in the moment she first saw him, watching him charm the room, she had felt a surge of determination. This was war.

He interrupted her perfect introduction and stolen her thunder after all.

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They had disagreements since that first day—heated disagreements.

But there were disagreements and then there were wars.

The first major charge in the war—dubbed the Ahmed-Khan War—commenced on a bright sunny day in California just three months after the orientation. The conference room at PearTech buzzed with a low hum of tension. Around the sleek, oval table sat the company's top executives, each tapping away on their devices or flipping through presentation slides.

At one side of the table stood Khan, the Chief Innovation Officer, his eyes blazing with excitement and impatience. For some reason, she always sat opposite him, her expression cool and composed, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing in her mind.

Khan was all for dramatics, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis as he spoke. "We need to launch this new wearable tech by next quarter to stay ahead of the competition! This device is revolutionary, and we can't afford any delays."

Meerab leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "While I understand your eagerness, Khan, launching without ensuring compliance with all of the health and safety regulations means that we could face massive recalls and fines. We need more time for a thorough legal review. Your timeline is way off."

His voice rose, eyes flashing. "Time? Ahmed, time is a luxury we don't have! Our competitors are breathing down our necks, and this wearable tech could give us the edge we need going into the Fall."

Meerab clenched her jaw, her tone icy, as she tried not to yell. They had gone through this—multiple times—yet he still chose to present it as a possibility at a meeting, expecting her to not say anything, well he thought wrong. "And what good is that edge if we get sued into oblivion? We've already seen the preliminary reports. There are potential issues with the device's radiation levels."

Murtasim leaned across the table, his face inches from hers. "Preliminary reports are just that—preliminary. Our engineers can fix those issues. We need to move forward, not drown in endless legal red tape."

The tension in the room crackled, a palpable force that made the other executives shift uncomfortably in their seats. The normally composed boardroom felt like a battleground, the clash of wills playing out in front of an audience too terrified to intervene.

Meerab felt her pulse quicken, a mix of anger and something else she didn't want to name tightening her chest. She met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down, knowing his proximity was just a power play men seemed to love.

She spoke, her voice steady but dangerously low. "Drowning in red tape is better than drowning in lawsuits. If we don't ensure every aspect of this device is compliant, we are setting ourselves up for disaster. I won't let that happen on my watch."

Murtasim straightened up, eyes locked onto hers. "Your naivety is shining through. You lack experience in the field, or you would see that—"

Meerab stood up, slamming her fist on the table, her anger getting the better of her.

She HATED him.

"Lack of experience? I finished my J.D. at 22 and my LL.M. at 23. I have six years of work experience in top tech firms, not counting my internships! Just because it took you longer to get here doesn't mean I'm inexperienced, Khan!"

Murtasim also stood, his voice rising, "Book smarts don't mean you understand the business, Ahmed! This isn't just about knowing the law; it's about understanding the market and the pace of innovation!"

Meerab stepped closer, eyes blazing. "Maybe if you stopped dismissing regulations as obstacles, you'd understand that the market can't thrive on innovation alone! It needs a foundation of trust and compliance!"

Murtasim was yelling, louder than her, "Trust and compliance are important, but they can't be used as excuses to stall progress! If we don't innovate, we die!"

Meerab shouted back, "And if we don't comply, we get shut down! You think you're the only one who understands urgency? I've seen what happens when companies ignore the law—they crumble!"

The other executives sat frozen, eyes darting between them, the air thick with tension.

Murtasim's voice dropped, low and intense as he leaned closer. "You know what's really going on here? You're pissed because deep down, you know you still have a lot to learn about the real world outside your textbooks."

Meerab was not one to back down, her eyes unwavering. "And you know what your problem is? You're threatened by the fact that I got here faster and am just as capable, if not more."

Their faces were inches apart now, breathing hard, eyes locked in a battle of wills. The room was silent, the other executives forgotten. The tension was almost unbearable, a palpable force that seemed to throb in the air around them.

The CEO, Stuart Works, intervened cautiously, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Alright, let's take a step back. We need both innovation and compliance. Murtasim, Meerab, can you both work together to find a way to expedite the process without cutting corners?"

Murtasim grudgingly said, "Fine. But we need to move fast."

Meerab nodded coolly. "Agreed. But we do it right."

As the meeting adjourned, the tension in the room slowly dissipated, but the animosity between Murtasim and Meerab lingered, a declaration of further clashes clear. They both knew this was far from over. This war was just beginning, and neither of them was ready to back down.

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"What the fuck is the meaning of this?" Murtasim spat out as he threw open the door to Meerab's office.

"Gee, thanks for knocking." Meerab said, not bothering to look up from her standing desk as she typed away on her computer. She had already heard from the rumor mill that he wore a nice tan Brunello Cuccinelli sweater and slacks today. She refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.

"Ahmed, I am not playing." His voice was taut with anger, but that was nothing new.

"I am not either, Khan. If you want to talk, you request a meeting. Out," she dismissed, her fingers never pausing on the keyboard.

He slammed the door shut. "It's an emergency."

"And I don't have an open-door policy, so get out, Khan," she snapped, her tone icy, still typing away.

"Why the fuck did you deny this?" he demanded, throwing the papers for the biometric data collection he had suggested onto her desk.

"I didn't know you couldn't read, how did you get so far in life? I think my comments were quite clear. You've completely overlooked the privacy implications," she said, her eyes glued to her screen, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed, exasperated. "Why does it always feel like you just do shit to block progress?"

Meerab sighed, rolling her eyes. "Blocking progress? I'm protecting this company from your reckless drive to push things through without proper checks."

Murtasim yelled, his frustration boiling over. "Reckless? Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with every tiny regulation, we'd actually get something done around here!"

Meerab finally looked up, her eyes blazing with fury as she shouted back. "Obsessed with regulations? Those 'tiny regulations' are what keep us from getting fined or shut down! Maybe if you had a shred of responsibility, you'd understand that! You saw what happened with Isung – the result of what you were suggesting with the wearable tech!"

Murtasim groaned, his exasperation palpable. "You know what's really going on here? You're afraid of taking risks. You're hiding behind your regulations because you're scared of what might happen if you actually let go for once."

The air between them crackled with tension, their voices reverberating in the otherwise quiet office. Meerab's heart pounded in her chest, her anger mingling with an unspoken frustration. She was not going to let him undermine her authority or her decisions.

Meerab stepped around her desk, her voice a deadly whisper, "And you know what your problem is? You think charging ahead without considering the consequences makes you brave. But it doesn't. It makes you reckless, dangerous, and stupid."

Their faces were inches apart now, breathing hard, eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"Dangerous? You love to exaggerate, don't you? We're securing the data, using encryption and everything." He scoffed, his tone dripping with condescension.

Meerab replied, her voice sharp and unwavering, "Encryption isn't enough! This data is incredibly sensitive. Heart rates, blood pressure, glucose levels? What happens if this data gets hacked? Or worse, misused?"

He stepped even closer, the heat of their argument matching the proximity of their bodies. "Why must you always think of the worst-case scenario?"

"As your Chief Legal Officer, it's my job to ensure that our future isn't mired in lawsuits and regulatory shutdowns. Your proposal doesn't even mention GDPR or HIPAA compliance!" she snapped, her frustration mounting.

Murtasim's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke, "Oh, here we go with the regulations again. Do you ever think outside your legal box, Meerab?"

She snapped back, her eyes blazing, "Do you ever think about the consequences of your 'innovations,' Khan? Just because something is possible doesn't mean it's ethical or safe."

Murtasim groaned, his exasperation evident. "There's no fucking winning with you."

"You're right, there isn't. This is going through rounds of revisions and meetings with stakeholders before you even think of rolling it out," she snapped, her determination unwavering.

"We'll see what Stuart has to say!" he retorted, turning on his heels and marching out of her office, his expensive leather-soled shoes clicking against the floor.

"Asshole," she muttered under her breath.

That infuriating, beautiful, arrogant asshole.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Meerab felt a mix of satisfaction and frustration. Satisfaction because she had stood her ground, frustration because dealing with Murtasim was always an exhausting battle. Her heart was still pounding from the confrontation, her mind racing with the implications of his reckless proposals.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The man was insufferable.

The door opened again and Belinda, a lawyer that worked with her, stepped in, a fire extinguisher in hand. "Where's the fire?" she asked, her tone light and teasing.

Meerab gave Belinda a pointed look, her eyes still blazing from the confrontation. "Very funny, Belinda."

Belinda grinned, unfazed. "We all had our ears pressed against the wall, wondering when you two were going to kill each other or give in and kiss, and then fuckkkkkk." She sang the last part with an exaggerated lilt, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"When hell freezes over!" Meerab snapped, crossing her arms defensively.

"Oh, touchy touchy. What'd he do this time?" Belinda asked, leaning the fire extinguisher against the wall and settling into one of the chairs opposite Meerab's desk.

Meerab exhaled sharply, her irritation not entirely abated. "Is Stuart back in?" she asked, referring to their CEO, her voice clipped with urgency.

Belinda nodded. "I think Murtasim was—"

Before Belinda could finish her sentence, Meerab bolted out of her office, racing past her startled colleague. There was no way she was letting Khan get to Stuart before she did. Her heels clicked loudly against the polished floor as she navigated the maze of corridors, her mind a whirl of anger and determination.

As she neared Stuart's office, Meerab saw the door was slightly ajar. Without pausing, she pushed it open and stormed inside, determined to make her voice heard.

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Meerab Ahmed drove Murtasim Khan absolutely crazy.

She had driven him crazy since the first time he had laid eyes on her, although the nature of the crazy had changed slightly. When he had walked in late on the first day, her pretty face was the first one his eyes had seen, causing him to trip over his words.

He wasn't blind—she was gorgeous, with features that were perfectly proportioned, her skin pale yet glowing, and her eyes huge, like those anime girls that used to be his desktop background in his younger years. She had her hair down and straight that day, tumbling loose and dark around her shoulders. Now he knew that was unusual for her—her hair was always up in a messy bun or ponytail, sometimes even held up by pens. But that first day, it was down, and it was captivating.

He had noticed all of that, and the fact that she was glaring at him.

She was always glaring at him, and as luck would have it, her role put her at loggerheads with him often. She was fierce, driven, and confrontational—and scary, in that most people were scared to piss her off—the CEO included, but not him.

She was so damned argumentative! She had to argue about every goddamned thing, every detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Secretly, he suspected that she resented not being right about something and not getting her way. Stuart spent most of his time refereeing their arguments instead of actually making decisions.

And whose fault was that? Not his. She always started it.

Well, almost always. Sometimes it was fun to throw stuff at her just to get a rise out of her; to watch her start sputtering and flushing. He loved it when she wasn't a little know-it-all.

And Meerab really wasn't a know-it-all, she got a lot of things wrong—like the fact that she had categorized him as a manwhore, but he was far from it. It wasn't his fault women flirted with him, impressionable young women who quickly deduced that he was both young and powerful.

A few of them had put him in the difficult situation of explaining that he wouldn't date a colleague, but they thankfully tended to avoid him after that. While Meerab thought all he wanted was a pretty face, he wanted a lot more than that—intelligence, confidence, passion, humor.

She'd made up her stubborn little mind about him and there was no changing it.

Not that he cared. He didn't. At all.

She was just annoying. She always got in the way of the things he wanted to accomplish!

He replayed their latest argument in his mind, feeling a mix of irritation and something else he couldn't quite name. Her dismissive attitude, the way she glared at him, the fire in her eyes when she was passionately making her case—it all infuriated him. But damn it if it didn't also make him respect her a little. Just a little.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing his office.

She was infuriating. He'd seen the way Stuart's eyes glazed over whenever they started bickering, and he knew their CEO was growing tired of playing referee. But he couldn't help it. Something about Meerab brought out the combative side of him, made him want to push her buttons just to see how she'd react.

He sighed, sitting and leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. Meerab Ahmed was a thorn in his side, a constant source of frustration. But she was also brilliant, passionate, and unyielding. And that made her a worthy adversary.

He just wished she wasn't so damned beautiful.

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Murtasim's office had become too much of a social hub, so he ventured to the top floor to the meeting room that was rarely used when Stuart was traveling. The large, sunlit room with its sleek, modern design and panoramic view of the city was usually a sanctuary of quiet productivity. He had been looking forward to getting some work done—that is, until he saw her.

Meerab, hunched over a stack of papers at one end of the long conference table, looked as focused as ever. He groaned to himself and for a minute, considered going right back out. But then her head snapped up, and she swiveled around to look at the door. Her hair was piled up on her head and speared with two pens, giving her an unintentionally quirky look. She had her reading glasses on, and they'd slipped down her nose, so she had to tip her head all the way back to see him through them.

It was kind of cu... stop! She was not cute.

She was hot, yes, but the hotness was completely negated by her personality.

The minute she registered it was him, her lip curled up in a sneer, and she turned back to her work, deliberately ignoring his presence.

"Greetings, Ahmed. How are you? I am good, Khan, and how are you," he muttered sarcastically, circling her end of the conference table and taking a chair at the far end on the opposite side.

She rolled her eyes but ignored him as he settled in, clearly unimpressed with his attempt at mock politeness. He could almost feel the waves of irritation radiating off her, and it was strangely satisfying.

It was silent for a while apart from his typing and her flipping through papers. But the silence got to him. Every sound she made was amplified tenfold in the suddenly cavernous room. Every little sigh, every hum made him look towards her. Her constant movement, the rustling of papers, the occasional click of her pen—it was all so maddeningly present.

Nothing seemed to bother her though. She was completely absorbed in whatever it was she was reading, her brows furrowed in concentration. It was infuriating. She was like a human fortress, impervious to his presence.

His eyes kept drifting to her, her face scrunched up in concentration, lips moving slightly as she read. She was always so focused, so driven. It was annoying how nothing ever seemed to faze her. It was like she thrived on conflict, on being a thorn in his side.

He tried to focus on his own work, typing away on his laptop, but his attention kept slipping. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with one of those pens, the way she tapped her finger on the table when she was deep in thought—it was all distracting.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, he broke the silence. "Do you always have to be so loud?" he snapped, more out of frustration with himself than her.

Meerab didn't even look up. "Do you always have to be so annoying?" she shot back, her voice calm and cutting.

He rolled his eyes and went back to his work, but the tension in the room was palpable. He could feel her presence, an invisible force that kept drawing his attention no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

The silence stretched on, filled with the sound of his typing and her flipping through papers. Every little noise seemed to amplify the tension between them. Murtasim sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to her.

He looked at the papers she was so engrossed in, wondering if his proposal was in there—she sometimes printed things out when her eyes were strained from using the screen. "What is that?" he asked.

She visibly jumped and looked towards him. "Papers," she muttered shortly.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"It's the case against Isung that was filed by the DOJ." She muttered.

He arched his eyebrow. "That's not in the public domain yet, Ahmed."

"I have my ways," she shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"You little fraudster!" he teased, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

"Shut up, Khan," she groaned, clearly annoyed but not entirely without humor.

"Who knew that you know how to live on the edge," he continued, enjoying the rare opportunity to see her slightly flustered.

"You know nothing," she muttered, her focus already shifting back to the documents in front of her.

"What are you planning to do with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She rolled her eyes as she reached up to fish one of those pens out of her hair, and the whole precarious mess came tumbling down. She made a growl of annoyance, twisted it around her hands a few times, then tossed it back over her shoulders in defeat. He couldn't help but notice how the loose strands framed her face, making her look almost... no, he wasn't going there.

She began to make faces and highlight things as she read, her expressions shifting from concentration to irritation to satisfaction.

"Good stuff?" he asked, unable to resist the jab.

"You are so..." she started, eyes narrowing at him.

"Handsome? Intelligent? Insightful?" he offered, ticking off his fingers with each word.

"Annoying, actually," she shot back, her lips twitching in a reluctant smile.

He chuckled, the sound filling the quiet room. "You know, for someone who claims to hate my guts, you sure do spend a lot of time thinking about me."

"Thinking about ways to thwart your reckless plans, yes," she replied, her tone dry as she continued to scribble notes on the papers.

He watched her for a moment, admiring her determination even as it clashed with his own. She was pretty—such a vicious little package inside such beautiful wrapping.

She stood up and made a show of organizing her pile of stuff. "I was trying to get some work done."

"What work?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"The mess you're going to create with this stupid AI integration you won't give up," she snapped.

And there she went again.

Murtasim groaned inwardly. "This AI integration is the future, everyone is using it, it's revolutionary!"

She retorted, "The only thing it's going to revolutionize is our legal problems, that's what! Do you even realize the risks involved? Data breaches, privacy violations, discrimination claims—all because we're diving headfirst without thinking! If our algorithms discriminate, even unintentionally, we're looking at massive lawsuits."

Murtasim groaned, "We're using diverse data sets to minimize bias. And the benefits outweigh these hypothetical risks!"

Meerab rolled her eyes, "Hypothetical? These are real, documented issues with AI! Companies have been sued for less!" she said, holding up the stack of papers in her hand.

"Are you serious right now? What's to stop our competitors from outpacing us while we're bogged down in details?" he snapped, frustration lacing his voice.

"You're honestly the most annoying man I know, it's like everything goes in one ear and out the other. What pisses you off more? That we're going to be behind or that I am right?!" She snapped as she got up.

"I'm not pissed off, I just think you're always too cautious," he snapped back, the tension in his voice rising.

"Liar! You're pissed because I challenge you and you hate to lose, but you do, every time." Her eyes were blazing with defiance.

"You give yourself too much importance," he shot back, his anger barely contained.

She scoffed. "Do I? How many fires have I put out for you, Khan? Let's count."

"That's your job!" he retorted, his patience wearing thin.

"My job is to look after the company's legal matters but I spend ALL my fucking time trying to stop you from doing stupid shit, fixing the stupid shit you've done, or dealing with the stupid shit you did." She yelled, her frustration boiling over. "You're so fucking annoying!"

Murtasim saw red. He was furious. His vision blurred momentarily as his temper flared. The words hung in the air, thick with anger and unresolved tension. He clenched his fists, trying to reign in his fury, but it was a losing battle.

"Do you even hear yourself?" he snapped, his voice dangerously low. "You act like you're the only one holding this company together. Newsflash, Ahmed, you're not the savior you think you are."

She glared at him, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "And you're not the visionary you think you are, Khan. You're reckless, and one day it's going to cost us all."

Murtasim saw red.

Meerab was standing, leaning over the table, her hands braced against it while he sat, staring at her. Both of them had been yelling, their eyes bright with anger, the room filled with just the sound of their heavy breathing as they glared at each other.

She was so annoying. Every single thing that came out of her little mouth was annoying.

All of it.

Every sarcastic comment, every pointed retort, every maddeningly clever argument. Even the way she sighed could drive him up the wall. How did someone so infuriating manage to exist? It was like she had a PhD in driving him crazy.

And that's when he felt it; a sudden awareness coursed through his body.

He was hard.

As a rock.

His cock was fully, painfully erect. For Meerab.

No! Not for her! he told himself. This can't be happening.

He blinked, momentarily stunned. This had to be a joke. Maybe he had walked into some alternate universe where sexual attraction was a form of cruel punishment. He looked down, half expecting to see a neon sign pointing at his crotch with the words "Really, dude? Now?" flashing brightly.

This was a disaster. A catastrophe. The Titanic of inappropriate erections.

This was a crisis of epic proportions. His body had officially betrayed him. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and not just from the argument they were having. No, it was pooling somewhere far more south. Every inch of him screamed with the embarrassing, undeniable truth: he was turned on by the very woman who was hell-bent on ruining his sanity.

He was hard for Meerab. For his arch-nemesis. For the woman who, at this very moment, was probably plotting his professional downfall with that annoying little smirk on her face.

No! Not for her! Not for her!

What kind of masochistic madness was this?

His mind raced, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from their fight. Yeah, that had to be it. A simple case of misdirected energy – his brain was thinking angry, but his body was thinking sex Nothing more. His brain was just confused, mistaking his irritation for arousal.

But as he glanced back at her, he knew he was lying to himself. It wasn't just adrenaline. It was the way her hair fell over her shoulder when she leaned forward, the way her eyes flashed with fire when she was angry, the way her beige tuxedo dress clung to her body in all the right places and gave him a glimpse of her cleavage with the way she was learning over.

Holy hell, he was in deep trouble. His body was reacting to Meerab Ahmed in a way that defied all logic and sanity. He tried to shift in his seat, hoping to alleviate the pressure, but it only made things worse. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he bit back a groan.

How was he supposed to focus on anything when all he could think about was bending her over the nearest piece of furniture and—

And shit. His mind was flooded with images.

Of Meerab. Naked. Laid out on the table, that dress completely unbuttoned, her body on display.

Or with her bent over the table, with him behind her, pushing that dress over her hips and pounding into her until her nails were dragging into the desk and she was screaming his name.

No, no, no.

That couldn't be happening to him—he hunched over, willing his cock to behave, but it was even harder. Images of his hands on her luscious legs as he took her—

No. He felt like a fucking teenager. That kind of shit didn't happen to him. It hadn't since he was a stupid little hormonal teenager.

She was still standing there, arms tightly crossed, glaring. And it wasn't helping. How the fuck did she manage to look so hot when angry?!

"Are you even listening to me?!" She snapped.

Had she been talking?

He forced himself to meet her gaze, praying she couldn't see the turmoil raging inside him. "Yes, Ahmed, I'm listening."

Her eyebrows were knitted together and she looked concerned suddenly as she looked at him. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He was supposed to snap at her, but he couldn't speak. He couldn't get over the fact that he was hard under the table and he still wanted to fuck her on the table.

This was absurd. He was supposed to be an adult, a professional, and here he was, hiding an erection like some high schooler with a crush. He needed a cold shower or a swift kick in the head. Maybe both.

He remained silent.

She picked up her things, and he wondered if her tits had always been that fantastic. He watched, captivated, as she gathered her papers, her movements precise and brisk, her irritation clear.

She stormed out, her ass moving so perfectly when she walked. Had her legs always been that long?

He groaned as the door closed.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

This was Meerab Ahmed, the bane of his professional existence, not some pin-up fantasy. He buried his face in his hands, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

He looked down at his cock straining against his slacks, "what the fuck dude?!" he hissed.

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Murtasim was almost scared to see Meerab again, sure there would be a humiliating repeat of the conference room incident. He told himself his state that day had nothing to do with her; it was just what she called a brain-fart. His brain had been stupid.

He was not attracted to Meerab Ahmed.

She was gorgeous. Of course she was. Everyone knew that.

But she was horrid. The worst. She had no redeeming qualities.

Perhaps she was smart, and also...nice to everyone except him.

But she hated him.

No!

They hated each other.

He hated her too!

He was just sexually frustrated.

He groaned, turning off his computer in his home office. He had planned to get things done and had accomplished nothing, being too busy thinking about her and his lack of attraction to her.

He headed over to his bedroom, falling across his bed. He had changed into his pajamas earlier but had been unable to fall asleep.

He still couldn't sleep.

He was exhausted. His brain hurt. He had gone to the gym to work out whatever it was out of his system, so his body was exhausted too, yet he couldn't fall asleep.

His brain wouldn't shut up, he needed something to wipe him out, to ease the tension.

His brain flashed an obvious answer - you could jack off.

He groaned, wondering why that was the thought that came to him. It was so utterly teenage behavior to jack off in bed. He was a grown man with a respectable job and a mortgage, for crying out loud. Besides, it was much more efficient to jack off in the shower—wash away the evidence and all that.

But the thing with jacking off was, once you thought about it, you couldn't not think about it. And his cock was already perking up in anticipation, like a dog that heard the treat bag rustling.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the familiar ache of arousal settling in his groin. It was like his brain and his body were conspiring against him in the most frustrating way possible. The more he tried to ignore it, the more persistent it became. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that wouldn't remind him of the throbbing need between his legs. Spoiler alert: there wasn't one.

He sighed, giving in.

Murtasim threw an arm over his eyes, hoping to hide from the sheer ridiculousness of his predicament. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. But desperate times called for desperate measures. With a resigned groan, he let his hand slide down his abs, under the waistband of his pajamas. His fingers closed around his cock, already half-hard just from the thought of being touched. It took just a couple of strokes to get him fully erect – clearly, it had been a while.

Usually, this exercise took no longer than two minutes for him. There was never a reason to hold back unless he wanted to. But minutes of stroking later, he felt even more frustrated than when he had started. He was nowhere close to an orgasm.

He sped up, wondering if that's what he needed, but his body refused to comply. There was seriously something wrong with him. His brain had malfunctioned, getting his cock hard around Meerab of all people, and now his cock wasn't working.

One little thought of Meerab had images flashing across his mind – of her in that meeting room, her hair speared with pens, glasses slipping down her nose, the way her beige tuxedo dress had hugged her curves, her perfect tits, her plump ass, and those fucking legs. The vivid imagery had his back arching off the bed, his hand fisting around his cock tighter.

He groaned again, louder this time, the sound of a man in complete and utter torment. "Don't go there, Murtasim," he warned himself. He couldn't jack off to the thought of her. There was no going back from that. That was a one-way ticket to Awkwardville.

His mind, however, was not listening to his logical pleas. It was too busy replaying every tantalizing detail of her—her hair cascading over her shoulders, her lips pursing in that infuriatingly sexy way when she was deep in thought, the soft curve of her neck that just begged to be kissed.

This was absurd. He was a grown man, not some hormone-riddled teenager. He was the Chief Innovation Officer of one of the leading tech companies in the world, not a boy with a schoolyard crush. But here he was, having a full-blown crisis while jacking off, desperately trying not to picture his colleague naked. His colleague who, for all intents and purposes, wanted to throttle him most days.

But no matter how hard he tried to fight it, the image of Meerab kept flashing in his mind. The way her lips had curled into a sneer, the fire in her eyes as she argued with him, the curve of her cleavage as she leaned over the table...

It felt so good. His balls tightened as he thought of her, letting images flood his mind. He let himself go there – picturing her naked, picturing her under him with his hand over her mouth to shut her up as he fucked her, imagined her on top of him, riding him, her long hair brushing his thighs as she leaned back, imagined his lips on her perfect little body.

"Don't Murtasim," he groaned, louder this time, feeling his willpower crumbling. This was not happening. He couldn't let it happen. He couldn't jack off to Meerab and then look her in the eye tomorrow during their inevitable argument about... well, anything and everything.

He pumped his hand faster, the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His breathing grew ragged, his hips lifting off the bed as he chased his release. He could almost hear her voice, taunting him, challenging him, driving him wild.

He could see her naked, beneath him, her back arching off the bed as he thrust into her, her nails digging into his shoulders, her voice breathless and pleading. Maybe she would even say his name – Murtasim – she had never called him that, only Khan.

He imagined her naked on his bed, her legs spread wide, beckoning him to take her. Of her on all fours, his hands gripping her hips as he drove into her, her moans filling the room. His mind was a whirlpool of lustful thoughts. Meerab, her eyes blazing with defiance, her body writhing beneath him, her voice reduced to needy moans. The fantasy of her mouth, warm and wet around him, her lips stretched around his cock, was what sent him over the edge. Her pretty little mouth that talked way too much around him.

His cock twitched violently, a gasp escaping his lips as he came, long and hard. He spilled over his hand, his whole body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

He lay there panting, his breathing was ragged, his mind still hazy with the remnants of his orgasm.

But as the euphoria faded, reality came crashing back in. He stared at the ceiling, his hand still wrapped around his now-softening cock, and groaned again, this time in mortification.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He was fucked. Truly and utterly fucked.

He felt a mix of satisfaction and dread. Satisfaction because, for the first time in a long while, he felt a release so intense it bordered on spiritual. Dread because that release was tied to Meerab Ahmed, the woman who infuriated him more than anyone else in the world.

His chest heaved as he tried to calm himself down, the realization of what he had just done settling over him like a heavy blanket. He had jacked off to the thought of Meerab. That was a line he had never intended to cross.

He groaned, covering his face with his arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Murtasim?" he muttered to himself. His brain buzzed with residual desire and frustration. He knew he couldn't let this happen again. He had to get a grip, had to maintain control. But as he lay there, the lingering sensation of his release still warm in his veins, he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

Meerab Ahmed had gotten under his skin, and now, under his fantasies. He was caught in a web of his own making, and there was no clear way out.

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Murtasim was so screwed.

So, so screwed.

Every time he saw Meerab, his cock stirred in his pants, a relentless reminder of how he had touched himself to the thought of her. It was like his body had betrayed him, aligning his physical desires with his most frustrating adversary. The constant frustration meant he was consistently jacking off to the thought of her every night—because the fantasies wouldn't leave his brain now. Every moment he saw her at work turned into a sexual encounter in his brain when his hand was wrapped around his cock.

Over and over again.

She was taking over his brain.

In his head, he had fucked her in every way a man could fuck a woman. And then he tried to walk into the office and act like he hadn't spent the night fantasizing about bending her over every flat surface in sight.

He was hyperaware of her actions, like what time she arrived at work, like when she was near—and the fact that she smelled like fucking cherries and vanilla.

He had even become like a creepy stalker, trying to figure out what perfume she wore, staring as she took a little bottle out of her purse and sprayed it on her neck on warm days. He had never wanted to bite a neck so badly.

Fucking Tom Ford Lost Cherry—even the name of the perfume had conjured up images of a naked Meerab feasting on cherries and holding them up in front of her perfect tits while giggling.

His life had become a series of torturous encounters. In the office, he tried to focus on his work, but his eyes would drift to her desk, watching her as she went about her day, oblivious to the chaos she was causing in his head.

She'd flick her hair, and he'd imagine burying his hands in it as he pulled her close.

She'd chew on the end of her pen, and he'd think about those lips against his.

It was becoming unbearable.

One morning, he was in the break room, trying to get a cup of coffee without his usual mental barrage of filthy thoughts, when she walked in. The scent of cherries and vanilla hit him first, followed by her voice, cheerful as she greeted a colleague.

He gripped the edge of the counter, willing his body to behave.

"Khan," she said, her tone neutral but polite.

"Morning, Ahmed," he replied, his voice strained.

As she moved past him to get to the coffee machine, her shoulder brushed against his arm. The brief contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he had to bite back a groan. He could feel his cock twitching in his pants, a traitorous reaction to her proximity.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, completely unaware of the turmoil she was causing. He watched as she took a sip, her lips wrapping around the rim of the cup, and his mind spiraled into another fantasy—this time, of her lips wrapping around something else entirely.

Fuck. He needed to get a grip.

He fled the break room, his coffee forgotten, and headed straight for the bathroom. Locking himself in a stall, he leaned against the wall and tried to calm his racing heart. But the scent of her perfume lingered in his nostrils, and he couldn't shake the images from his mind.

He was losing it. Completely and utterly losing it.

Back at his desk, he tried to immerse himself in work, but it was useless. Every spreadsheet, every email, every damn document seemed to blur into meaningless lines as his thoughts drifted back to Meerab. He wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking about him too—though he doubted it. She probably wasn't plagued by intrusive, X-rated fantasies about him.

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. How had it come to this? How had he, a composed and successful professional, been reduced to a hormone-addled mess by Meerab?

It didn't help that every interaction with her seemed to feed his fantasies. The way she argued with him, fire in her eyes and passion in her voice, only fueled the images in his head. He imagined silencing her with a kiss, feeling her melt against him as he took control.

He was screwed. So royally screwed.

He needed to get her out of his head, but he didn't know how. Every attempt to push her out only made her presence stronger, more insistent. And the more he tried to resist, the more his fantasies took over.

It seemed like Meerab had decided to make his life even more torturous lately. She was suddenly dressing better—or maybe it was just warmer outside—but she wore dresses almost every day now. Easy-access dresses, where all he would have to do was bend her over a table, push the hem up, and slide into her.

It was torture.

Especially during meetings when she tied up her hair, her tits sticking out as she did. He found himself wanting to pull on that hair as he fucked her, picturing it in vivid, frustrating detail.

He was obsessed.

It was getting out of hand.

She still hated him—fought him constantly, on every little thing. He fought back, because as much as he wanted to fuck her, she drove him absolutely mad. But he always ended up back in his office, hard as a rock, desperate for relief.

He needed her.

Maybe he just needed to fuck her out of his system.

That was it. Just once and done.

Would she be agreeable to that? Perhaps? Maybe? He was good-looking. Clearly, they had passion between them.

He watched her even more closely, trying to decipher if she would rip her clothes off if he asked her or if she would rip his head off.

The problem was that he seemed to be an exception to her rules. She had a few friends, and they all seemed to love her—she didn't seem to get on anyone else's nerves but his. All the other senior-level staff loved her, thought she was nice.

And she was.

He had witnessed her helping a crying junior staff member out of a breakdown, patting her back and telling her she'd be fine, that everyone messed up. She had stayed late at nights to help a team that had nothing to do with her work navigate a crisis, even though he knew she had work piling up too. She smiled at colleagues, and sang "thank youuuuu" at those who brought her back coffee—always iced, creamy, and sweet.

She was cute. It was annoying.

Murtasim couldn't get her out of his head. Every little thing she did seemed to embed itself in his brain and play on repeat. Like the way she adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose or how she bit her lip when she was concentrating. It was driving him to the brink of madness.

He watched as she walked past his office, her dress swishing around her legs, her perfume wafting in the air behind her. It was like a Pavlovian response. His cock stirred, and he groaned inwardly. Why did she have to smell so good? Why did her perfume have to have a name that conjured up the most deliciously inappropriate images?

He imagined her naked, cherry-red lipstick on her lips, biting into a cherry and letting the juice drip down her chin. Or better yet, lying in bed with him, cherries in hand, teasing him, driving him crazy.

He was losing it.

Maybe he just needed to fuck her and get it over with. Just once. To exorcize these demons. He entertained the fantasy of walking up to her and proposing it bluntly. Would she slap him? Would she laugh in his face? Or would she grab him by the tie, drag him into an empty office, and give him what he so desperately craved?

And would once be enough? Or would the real Meerab be like fantasy Meerab - a drug that he couldn't get enough of?

He feared it was the latter.

Because she was no longer just hot.

She was cute.

Adorable even.

She wiggled happily after her first sip of coffee, her eyes closing briefly in bliss—and he found himself grinning at the sight. It was like watching a rich white kid on Christmas morning. Who knew someone could look so damn happy over a cup of caffeine?

She chewed on her lip when she was confused, her brows furrowing in concentration, and her cute little nose twitched when she disliked something she read – and he wanted to fucking kiss her nose. Who kissed noses? No one. But he wanted to kiss her cute little fucking nose and hear her giggle.

She glared at papers as if they had personally offended her, and it was hilarious how seriously she took it—he wanted to lay his head on the papers and smile up at her, just to see her reaction. He imagined her trying to maintain that stern look while fighting a smile.

As she walked through the hallways, she hummed softly, a tune that he couldn't quite place but found oddly soothing—he wanted to hear it as he hugged her, like some kind of personal soundtrack to their embrace.

She gasped happily whenever someone brought their dog to the office and would spend forever petting them, her face lighting up with pure joy—and he fucking wanted a dog with her. A dog. He could barely remember to feed himself when he was busy with work, but suddenly he was planning for a furry companion because it would mean she would come over and pet his dog.

During lunch, she stuffed her food into her mouth as she worked, chewing with chipmunk cheeks, unfazed by anyone watching—and he wanted to squeeze those fucking cheeks and kiss them. Seriously, who found chipmunk cheeks sexy? Apparently, he did. Great.

He was screwed. He was so screwed.

He was down bad. Dead really.

For the past month, he had jacked off to thoughts of her every single day. And now, he found her cute, found himself smiling at the little things she did. He was done. Absolutely done.

It was like his brain had been hijacked by a rom-com and he was the hapless hero, falling head over heels for the quirky, adorable heroine. He could almost hear the cheesy background music playing as he daydreamed about their future dog and nose kisses.

How did this happen? When did he go from wanting to strangle her to wanting to...well, strangle her, but with love? He was in deep, deeper than he had ever been, and there was no lifeline in sight.

One night, he worked late, trying to catch up on the mountain of tasks that had piled up because he was too busy thinking about Meerab all the time. As he headed back towards his office, he noticed her light still on and the door slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of him, and he pushed the door open quietly.

There she was, asleep at her desk. She was resting on her arms, her hair spilling over like a dark, silky waterfall. Her breathing was soft and even, her lips slightly parted, looking more relaxed than he had ever seen her.

His heart did a funny little flip in his chest. All he could think of was her, all soft and sleepy in his bed, her hair spilling over his pillows. The image of her waking up next to him, all warm and disoriented, sent a surge of heat through his body.

Fuck, he was so done.

He stood there, staring at her like a creep, unable to tear his eyes away. She shifted slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, and he felt his chest tighten. How had he gotten to this point? How had she managed to get under his skin so thoroughly?

Murtasim knew he should wake her, tell her to go home and get some proper rest, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to prolong this moment, to bask in the rare sight of Meerab at peace. He wanted to memorize every detail, from the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks to the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

This was it.

He was done for good.

He was completely and utterly fucked.

There was no denying it anymore. Meerab had taken over his mind, his fantasies, and now, his heart.

His heart! The last bastion of defense had fallen, and she had stormed through the gates like an adorable, coffee-loving, dog-petting conqueror.

He was done for good, and there was no going back. It was like he had been hit by a runaway train of feelings, and that train was driven by Meerab in a cute dress, humming her little tune.

How did this happen? When did he become the star of his own tragic romantic comedy? One minute he was the tough, unshakeable Murtasim Khan, and the next he was doodling "Mr. and Mrs. Murtasim Khan" in the margins of his notes. Okay, maybe not that far, but still.

She had invaded every corner of his existence. His mind was a hostage, his fantasies were hijacked, and his heart—his traitorous heart—had jumped ship and joined Team Meerab.

There was no going back. He couldn't un-see her wiggling happily with her coffee or un-feel the urge to kiss her cute little nose. He was stuck, marooned on an island of sappy, desperate longing, and Meerab was the only inhabitant.

Done for good.

This was his life now. Trapped in a rom-com, starring the world's most infuriatingly adorable woman and her hapless, hopeless co-worker who couldn't keep it together. He sighed, resigned to his fate, knowing there was no escape from the clutches of Meerab now.

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A/N: I am obsessed with this for reasons unknown to me, so I would LOVE to know what y'all think? What was your favourite part? Favourite line? And what do you think will happen in Part 2? Hehehehe.