Page 48 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHLOE

Why is it whenever I momentarily lose control over my life, it’s always because of a man? Marcus, who I thought would be the Mr. Corporate to my Ms. Corporate, until he backstabbed me. James, my boss, who has been grooming me to be a partner in his company and who has never seen me as anything less than the perfect business associate, witnessed me lose my cool with his brother. In his office, no less. I’ll be lucky if I have a job to go back to tomorrow, and I know I can kiss that partnership good-bye.

And then there’s Paynter. I don’t even know what to think about him. I want him, I probably could have had him, if not for that scene with Marcus. I thought he’d seen me at my worst when he caught me hanging laundry on my clothesline, but to him, watching me give my ex a dressing down while wearing one of my power suits is far, far worse.

Because it reminds him of his ex and the reasons they aren’t together anymore.

I swipe at annoying tears and then flip on the wipers to clear away the raindrops battering the windshield. I’m almost home. In a few minutes I can slip inside my second-best house and lock the doors and turn off all the lights and drown myself in a bottle of wine and a two-pound bag of peanut M&Ms. I might just add a bag of Sour Patch Kids to the mix. Sugar always makes me feel better. At least until the stomach ache hits, but right now, I don’t care about consequences. I just want to disappear, be alone, wallow in my misery for a while. Reality will still be here tomorrow. Unfortunately.

Damn it, I hate crying. I brush away more tears and sniffle, and then I dig around in the console, searching for a tissue or a napkin, something to wipe my dripping nose. I guide the car down my street and then glance down when something stabs my palm. A pen. Not going to help get the waterworks under control.

Shifting my focus back to the road, I let out a shriek as I clench the steering wheel and slam both feet against the brake. The car skids to a stop, but I feel it anyway. A bump. Ohmigod, I hit something. Please tell me it was a squirrel or a raccoon or a mongoose or better yet, a rat. An animal I have no concern for whatsoever.

But as I scramble out of the car, practically falling on my ass on the wet pavement, I know it was not a rat. Whatever hopped out in front of my vehicle and then stopped and stared, mesmerized, was too big to be a rat. It was brown with floppy ears and a big white spot on its head.

It wasn’t a rat.

“Please tell me this is not happening.” Now I’m talking to myself. “This day has been bad enough, but this, this will definitely be the pinnacle. This will—oh no, it is!”

Spot is lying on the pavement, one leg twisted at an odd angle. She looks up at me and shakes her head, sending water droplets everywhere, and then she lets out this pitiful bleat that is nearly my undoing.

When she tries to stand, I drop to the ground and gently lift her into my lap, cradling her like the injured animal she is. She strains her neck and gives my face a swipe with her tiny pink tongue and somebody makes a sobbing noise. Shit, that’s me. I’m crying like a baby, bawling because I’ve just hit my goat with my car and I don’t know what to do now. I’ve never taken care of anyone but myself, and clearly I’ve done a lousy job at that, if my current predicament is any indication. So how am I supposed to fix this goat that I broke in the first place?

I hear the rumble of an engine over the sound of the rain splattering the ground, and it grows louder, indicating a car has turned down the street. I duck down, my wet hair slapping against my cheek. Burying my head against Spot’s sopping coat, I hope whoever it is isn’t a Good Samaritan and just keeps going. I don’t want to deal with any of my neighbors right now. I don’t have the strength to explain that yes, this is a goat in my arms, and yes, I hit it with my car, and yes, I’m crying because damn it, I didn’t mean to hurt her.

“Chloe? What are you doing down there?”

Of course it has to be that neighbor, although I’m actually relieved. Although I’m not thrilled that he’s seeing me sitting on the ground with wet hair, a ruined suit, and black mascara that’s probably streaking down my cheeks.

On the plus side, he seems to have a decent amount of goat knowledge, so maybe he’ll know what to do about Spot’s injuries.

He crouches and peers at me through rain-speckled glasses. “Why are you sitting on the ground in the rain? What’s wrong with Spot?”

“I hurt her.” I practically wail the words, the last one catching on a sob. Another escapes and then another, and then I’m a snivelling, snotty, soaked mess. So maybe Paynt hasn’t yet seen me at my worst. Until now.

“How?” he asks, not sounding fazed in the least over my pitiful crying.

“I-I-I...” I can’t even get the words out. “Tissue. Console. Wasn’t looking. Wh-what was she doing in the road?”

“Did you run her over?” He jerks out a hand to touch her fur, letting out a sigh when he feels her sides rise and fall with her breaths.

“Slammed on the brakes. But I think I-I t-tapped her or something. Her leg.” I finally sit up enough that he can bend over and inspect the animal, who seems perfectly fine with all the attention and especially seems to like the lapel of his coat, which she starts munching on until he leans out of reach.

“We should take her to the vet. I’m worried her leg might be broken,” he says.

“The vet?” Of course. I’m such an idiot. Even a dog and cat veterinarian would know how to inspect a baby goat for damages, I would think. “We?”

He shakes his head and hooks his hand under my arm, pulling me up with the goat clutched to my chest. “Yes, Chloe, we. As in you and I. Together. As a couple. A couple of goat parents.”

I half laugh, half sob. “I’m no goat parent. I can’t even take care of myself.”

“According to Garrett, they don’t give out manuals when the kid is born, and unless you want to listen to the advice of a thousand people—all of whom will tell you something different—you’re pretty much going to have to wing it.”

I don’t think he’s talking about goats.

“Come on,” he says, guiding me toward his vehicle. “Let’s get you out of the rain. I’m sure we can figure this out together.”

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