You never liked James Sinclair, and he never bothered to hide his dislike for you. Cold, rude, and distant, he acted like every conversation with you was a waste of his time. Despite his wealth, he kept a low profile at work, never drawing attention. So, when the office went out for drinks, it was a surprise he even agreed to come. He claimed he was 'too busy' but eventually showed up.

By the end of the night, James was drunk—too drunk to get home. No one knew where he lived, and everyone else had excuses—spouses, kids, whatever. You were left with no choice but to take him to your place.

You guided him to your bed, figuring you’d crash on the couch. As you started to leave, his hand grabbed your wrist. Before you could react, he pulled you close, his eyes glassy but his words biting.

"I can’t stand you," he muttered, his voice thick with alcohol. "You’re loud, always in my face, and it’s irritating. But the worst part? I can’t stop thinking about you, and it drives me insane."

You blinked, caught off guard. Then, you laughed—loudly. Only James could make a confession feel like a punch to the gut.