Page 7 of Necessary Roughness

“It’s my boss’s house,” he said. “I’m aiming for a promotion, so I’m housesitting for the summer to curry favor. I’m not a richassholewho lives in a monstrosity of a home just so I can feel important.”

Okay, that was definitely a dig at me. Brett was clearly a bona fide prick.

“Hey!” I rebuffed. “I’m not some jerk who needs to feel important. I don’townthis house; my agent screwed up and rented a huge mansion for the summer when I asked for a small cottage.”

Why the hell do I feel the need to explain myself to this man?

“Guess we’ll be spending the summer next to each other then,” he said.

Why does that not bother me as much as I thought it would?

“If I may make a request,” Brett added with a smug tone, “please launch your hot air balloonsawayfrom my general direction.”

Never mind,I thought. I hate this man with all my heart.

“It wasn’t my balloon! It was Leonard’s.”

Brett frowned, and I wasn’t sure if he believed me or not.

“Who?” he asked.

Suddenly, Leonard came barreling down the street on a bike, cape flowing behind him as he shouted incoherently about his experiment on the loose.

Brett seemed embarrassed. That was something I hadn’t expected to see from him. It was almost… humanizing, in a way.

From his biting words and general ridicule of me, I’d assumed he’d be an absolute monster, a social climber, just looking to take down innocent people and ruin their careers.

But here he was…embarrassed. An impossibly human thing.

“I didn’t realize it was your neighbor’s fault,” he stuttered.

Not quite an apology, but it’s something. I guess.

“It’s just that my speakers were knocked over,” he added, “my microphone was chipped, and I’m worried that my laptop screen might be cracked. I’ll need to talk to him about this.”

I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll make it right.”

He mumbled something but I couldn’t hear. The perplexed expression on my face must have clued him in.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For making the assumption that you were to blame.”

And how about for insulting me? Are you sorry for that? Because you’ve done it today and you’ve done it relentlessly over the past few months. You’ve altered the course of my life, and not in a good way!

I wanted to say everything to him, but I had to bite my tongue to ensure that I didn’t curse him out.

What kind of sick joke was this? Living in a huge house I didn’t want, next door to a man I hated. This entire summer was going to be hell.

I realized I hadn’t said anything for a few moments, and the expression on Brett’s face made it clear that he could feel my unspoken, seething rage. My mother had always told me that I was no actor; I was completely incapable of hiding the emotion on my face.

“I’ll let you get back to your evening,” he said.

I wanted to respond. For some reason—and I’m not quite surewhy—I genuinely wanted to say something that might make him feel better. Even though the man was a parasite. Even though I hated him.

Screw it, I wasn’t going to say anything at all.

Awkwardly, Brett turned and walked away from my front door. The driveway was long, and Brett’s retreat was painfully silent. I almost felt an ounce of sympathy for him with his ruined equipment and his boring job housesitting.

Then again, it was a gorgeous beach house, so not exactly a chore to housesit. And I felt pretty confident that Leonard would reimburse him for his equipment, considering that Leonardwas a wealthy man. Brett’s frustration would be addressed and resolved, but I wasn’t so sure about my own anger.

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