Page 4 of The CEO Enemy

Ufff. Thank goodness.

When I glance back at my neighbor, he still has that serious expression he’s been sporting since he opened the door. But I notice his shoulders slump and some of the tension leaves his body.

“See?” I say with a grin, lifting my other leg over. “Ha! Piece of cake. Told ya!” I shrug, waving it off like I’ve been doing this all day, every day. “Call me Lockout Queen by day, and Balcony Spider-Woman by night,” I joke.

I’m too focused on my triumph to notice that my towel has become loose. The next thing I know, I’m standing on my balcony all right, with my towel on the floor and everything on display for a complete stranger. Yes. I’m talking tits and delicate lady bits, officially making their debut. A balcony drop and a towel flop! Way to keep things interesting, life.

Seriously, though: piece of cake, my ass.

My neighbor’s eyebrows shoot up.

For the first time since we’ve met, that surly exterior cracks. His face maintains its stern expression, but there’s a subtle uptick at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I can see a piece of something,” he rumbles, rubbing the stubble along his jaw.

Blushing? Check.

Unforgettable? Yep.

Embarrassment? Absolutely nailed it.

“Well, at least we’re even now,” I say, picking the darn towel up and hurriedly clutching it to my chest. My cheeks are hot with embarrassment, but I try not to make a big deal of it. There is no need to make this moment any more memorable than necessary. Also, thank goodness I shaved this morning.

“Can you hand me my pancakes?” I ask, because: priorities.

The serious expression is back—so quickly that I think I might have imagined the other look. He picks up the bag of food and moves toward me. There’s a pause before he reaches across the gap to hand me the pancakes.

“You know,” he says, “you could’ve left the food in front of your door and circled back to it.”

Yeah, and risked locking myself out again? But I don’t say that. “Thanks,” I say politely. “Nice meeting you.”

“I don’t know about nice,” he grumbles. “We’ll say it’s been eye-opening.”

Desperate to end this interaction and figuring I have wasted enough of this guy’s time, I hurry back into my apartment (kinda angling sideways to spare him from any accidental ass exposure). I’m shaking, but I’m not entirely sure it’s from the little Spider-Woman stunt I just pulled.

It isn’t until I close the balcony doors behind me that I realize I didn’t even get his name.

Nothing like walking in on a naked man and then accidentally flashing him without even knowing who the hell he is.

He looks like a Gideon. Or a Roderick. No, wait, he could be a Damian. In no way is he a Peter (you know, as in Peter Parker, the civilian identity of my ultimate hero Spider-Man—the always-friendly neighborhood guardian).

From his cage, Pippin squawks and flaps his wings. Sometimes, he’s such a little grump, too, and that’s honestly one of the many things I love about him. But right now, it seems as if he’s laughing his ass off, having watched the whole thing. His cage is right by my balcony so he can look out when I’m away. Double-checking the balcony doors are closed, I walk over and open it, putting my hand in so the rescue parakeet can hop onto my finger. Sometimes he nips it, but not this time. Oh, no. This time, he happily complies, and I pull him out.

Petting him instantly puts me at ease. I’m good. Everything’s fine. I made it back inside safely. He will forget this happened. Just like me. Pippin lets me stroke his head a few times before half-flying, half-hopping onto my shoulder. His wings are partially clipped and still in the process of growing back out, which means he can’t go far. It’s the only reason I let him roam free at times.

When I got him, the woman from the rescue pet shelter, Rose, had warned me that he hadn’t warmed up to anyone. He just needed time. As surly as he can be, he can also be a sweetie. Not many people think birds can be as loving as cats or dogs. I know better.

“You are not going to believe what I’ve been just through,” I tell him. “I met a guy grumpier than you.”

2

SEAN

That was not how I expected my morning to go.

I didn’t expect to be interrupted. I had already torn off my sweaty clothes on my way to the shower after my daily intense exercise routine when someone started banging on my apartment door. Normally, I would have ignored it. But when a frantic voice from the hall asked for help, I reacted before I could throw some clothes back on.

I don’t know why I let her in.

After all, I only moved in a week or so prior, and the last thing I needed was my neighbor falling from my apartment.

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