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    In Love With the Enemy
    In Love With the Enemy
    In Love With the Enemy
    Ebook147 pages2 hours

    In Love With the Enemy

    By Kholo Matsha

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    About this ebook

    After a hectic morning of getting her two adorable nieces ready for school and appearing in court, Basetsana Tefo goes to work at the offices of Mogale & Mogale, a prestigious law firm in Pretoria. Colliding with a handsome stranger seems a welcome change to the morning’s madness, until the charismatic stranger introduces himself as Nare Ramathe – opposing counsel on the big case Basetsana is working on. Resisting the attraction to Nare is soon a full-time job for Basetsana, but she must stand her ground if she is to have any chance of being made partner at the law firm. And raising her late sister’s twins doesn’t leave her much time for romance anyway. But will Basetsana really be able to resist Nare, even when he offers her his heart – signed, sealed and delivered?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKwela
    Release dateDec 15, 2011
    ISBN9780795704116
    In Love With the Enemy
    Author

    Kholo Matsha

    KHOLO MATSHA has been writing since the age of sixteen. She fell in love with acting because it turns the drama she has in her head into real life. After completing a degree in Drama at the University of Pretoria, she decided to study Environmental Sciences though Unisa. Originally from Limpopo, Kholo now lives in Pretoria, and loves reading romances. Shades of Love is Kholo Matsha’s third novel. She has had two other romances, In Love with the Enemy, and The Reluctant Princess published by Sapphire Press.

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      Book preview

      In Love With the Enemy - Kholo Matsha

      cover.jpgtitle.jpg

      To the ladies in my life -

      thank you for believing in me and reading my manuscripts without complaining.

      1

      Basetsana Tefo woke to the sound of her alarm announcing the arrival of another day – Monday. It was half past five, and the January sun was already sending hot rays through her upstairs bedroom window.

      Basetsana’s left hand shot out to slam the clock to silence. She groaned. She’d slept for about . . . she quickly did a mental count . . . only three hours. Last night she had almost pulled an all-nighter, because she needed extra hours put into the legal case she was solely in charge of. Today the opening statements were being presented to the court. She felt ready for that; the long hours would definitely pay off.

      She knew that the best way to impress her boss was to win cases, and win them convincingly. That was what she’d been doing for the past five years – putting in long hours and suffering every morning when she had to wake up.

      Hard work, Basetsana thought while burrowing under the covers, that was what had got her where she was today. After completing her bachelor’s degree in law at the University of Pretoria thanks to NSFAS’s financial support, she had served her articles, then got her dream job at the most prestigious black-owned corporate law firm in South Africa, Mogale & Mogale.

      With her first pay cheque she had spoilt her mother and sister senseless, commissioning builders to refurbish and extend her mom’s four-roomed RDP house, which they did with style. She’d paid them off within nine months of getting her job. And then it was her turn . . .

      Now, five years later, she was lying in bed in her own two-storey house in Brooklyn, Pretoria. She opened her eyes to look at her room. It was elegantly furnished and decorated in ethnic colours. The house suited her with its elegance and ethnicity. It was amazing to think that all this belonged to her, Basetsana Tefo, an ordinary girl from one of the many rural villages of Limpopo.

      Hard work, that would get her a partnership. That was her dream now. If it were to come true, she’d be the youngest partner in the firm at twenty-eight. Her dream was but a moment away, she blissfully thought, sinking in further under the covers. She would rest her eyes for a few more minutes.

      Aunty Basi, are you up yet? a young voice asked through the door.

      You said to wake you if you didn’t come out in five minutes . . . We counted, another voice added.

      Shoot! The girls! Basetsana jerked up, flung the covers off her and shot out of bed. Have you bathed yet? she called, her hands frantically but systematically straightening the bed.

      Every morning the same rush . . . How do I do it, juggle a career and two young girls?

      Naledi, Ngwedi, have you bathed? she asked again, opening the door. The small faces looking up at her were adorable. Seven years old, and they had claimed her whole heart.

      No, you know we need help, Naledi said, looking at her sister for affirmation. They were identical twins, but even though they looked like each other, they had different pieces of Basetsana’s sister within them. She was still mourning her sister’s passing two years ago; her death had been sudden and inexplicable. One minute she had a minor headache and the next minute she was gone.

      Basetsana’s sister had steadfastly refused to tell the twins who their father was or where he lived. Because of this, Basetsana had applied for sole custody of the two little girls after their mother’s death – to prevent any surprises, as the father could easily appear and claim the children, since that was in his right as the surviving parent.

      Being an instant mother to two five-year-old girls and juggling a career at the same time had proved to be a very thorough test of her character. But with the help of an all-round housekeeper and nanny (Tina was heaven-sent – a plump, motherly woman who would always come through for Basetsana), she had managed to achieve a manageable routine, fitting in the girls as well as her demanding job.

      For two years now she had built her career and striven to create a secure home for the twins. She would fight tooth and nail with anyone who threatened that world, which had almost happened when the phantom that was the girls’ father made an appearance at her office. He had walked in, looking polished in his military regalia.

      Pitso Tsamaya, he’d simply said, extending his hand politely. He tried to explain himself and his presence. He said he hadn’t known of the twins’ existence, or else he wouldn’t have left. Late 2004, before the girls were born, he’d joined the African Union troops and had been deployed to Burundi and Sudan during the ceasefire.

      Basetsana didn’t want his explanations. All she wanted to know was what he wanted. Pitso had quickly put her mind at rest. He just wanted to be part of his girls’ lives. They had gained a mother in her, and he was happy with that.

      What a relief!

      Forcing herself back to the present, Basetsana walked to the bathroom across the hall to run the girls a bath. Giggles followed her, mingled with the sound of her cellphone ringing.

      Bring that phone and yourselves in here! she called.

      Here, Naledi said, preparing to get into the bath, her sister close behind.

      Basetsana looked at the caller ID and answered. Hello, Ayanda.

      Morning, Basi. I just called to make sure you’re awake. Ayanda’s sweet voice sounded half asleep.

      Thanks, but the girls beat you to it, Basetsana answered with a chuckle.

      They’re young, wait till they turn twenty-something. The body goes downhill from there. Anyway, that’s me mourning my youth. Are we doing lunch this afternoon?

      The Cook-Out, Basetsana said, already knowing the answer.

      Yes, Yandi will have our heads if we don’t make an appearance at her restaurant. You know how she can get.

      Don’t start on her Black Consumer Theory. I’ll see you then; right now I have to bath these babies and get myself to work.

      You work too hard. I don’t know how you do it.

      Once I’m made a partner it won’t be so bad, Basetsana said, knowing that was true.

      You better move it. I’m tired of having to wake you up, Ayanda teased. And I’m tired of seeing your single status on Facebook. I can’t even double-date with you.

      Sizwe doesn’t mind, and Thabo hasn’t said a word about it. Basetsana smiled while thinking back. She hadn’t been in a serious relationship since . . . wow . . . since varsity. And what was that guy’s name again?

      Sizwe is my boyfriend, so I speak for him . . . We mind. And Yandi’s boyfriend is too nice to say anything.

      Be serious, Ayanda. And don’t start on the man subject, I have a full plate in front of me. Basetsana looked at the two girls playing in the bath. She wouldn’t put them through that – men have a tendency to come and go, which is unhealthy for everyone concerned.

      Don’t make the girls an excuse. You know you need someone . . .

      Ayanda, let me get ready. I’ll talk to you later, okay?

      Fine, see you then, came the reply before Ayanda hung up.

      Basetsana looked at the silent cellphone for a second and shook her head. Silently, she reached for the bar of soap and started to wash the kids.

      Aunty Basi, came Naledi’s voice.

      Mmmm?

      When are we going to see Grandma?

      I don’t know. Do you want to see her?

      Ngwedi nodded

      Then we should visit her soon. If we’re lucky, we’ll still find mangoes on her trees. Then we can eat until our tummies explode, Basetsana said, tickling their tummies. Peals of laughter sounded as the girls tried to escape her fingers.

      * * *

      Thirty minutes later Basetsana stood in front of the mirror, inspecting herself. This was a ritualistic moment she had set out for herself to prepare for the day ahead. The early, hot sunrays that had filtered through her lace-curtained window had dulled to a depressing grey, promising rain. She switched on the lamp on her dressing table, which was cluttered with make-up and jewellery knick-knacks.

      Objectively she viewed herself in the mirror. This morning she was wearing an above-the-knee sky-blue pencil skirt that was moulded to her hips with a matching jacket and a crisp white shirt with a Chinese collar and ruffles, finished off with patent leather courts. Even she had to admit that she looked stunning. Basetsana was a little on the thin side, so almost everything suited her.

      As a last-minute touch-up she ran a small comb through her short, springy hair. With very light make-up and medium-sized hoops for earrings the picture was complete. Basetsana had an ethnic beauty that was arresting and made her seem unapproachable. She had a small nose that was balanced by voluptuous lips and large, eloquent dark-brown eyes that were an asset in the courtroom.

      Most men described her

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