Page 17 of Tempt Thy Neighbor

Free from that world.

Well, as free as I can be.

The other night after running into Holland Evans in that damn diner that’s turned out to be fucking delicious, I shot off a text to my buddy who works at Evans Inc., asking what was up with Holland being in Harristown. He told me she walked out of her dad’s company a couple weeks ago and moved in with her brother, who has been on their dad’s shitlist for years. Security had to escort her out and everything. Apparently it was a whole scene.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course anything involving Holland would be a scene. That’s just who she is. She’s a firecracker, and anyone standing too close to her is bound to get burned by her sparks.

I would know.

I’ve been burned by them before.

But since today is about starting over, the last thing I want to do is sit here and stroll down memory lane rehashing all my mistakes.

It’s pointless anyway. It’s not like I’ll be seeing Holland again anytime soon.

A text comes through on my phone, and I grin at the name on the screen.

Aunt Alma:Good luck today, favorite nephew. Can’t wait to hear all about it later this week.

I checkthe time on my watch: fifteen till.

I look around the parking garage that’s beginning to fill up and try not to laugh at how much my car sticks out. The one thing I wanted since I was a kid was a blue 1969 C3 Corvette with a red interior, and much to my father’s dismay—because it’s not “classy enough,” whatever the fuck that means—I bought it the day I turned twenty-five as a birthday present to myself. It took another year before I could drive it, making some modern modifications, but now she’s purring. She’s old and feisty as hell, but she’s my baby and I love her.

I check my watch again: ten till.

Showtime.

I reach into the passenger seat and grab my jacket and the notebook I brought. I honestly have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to bring with me today. I never really had to do the first-day-of-work thing. I’ve always worked for my father. Hell, even before I was able to legally work, I was there in the office with him learning the ropes of what it takes to make the Barnes empire run like a well-oiled machine. So a notebook and pen it is.

I step out of my car, lock her up, pull on my suit jacket and smooth my tie down, then head for the elevator.

Except I don’t get far.

A loud screech echoes off the walls of the garage as a little Lexus comes to a halt just a foot away from me.

The driver is bent over the steering wheel, her long strawberry blonde hair disheveled and covering her face as her knuckles turn to white with her grip on the wheel.

I’m in shock, unable to move as I stare into the car at the person who just almost killed me. My heart races, trying its damnedest to jump out of my chest as adrenaline courses through my body.

Then the driver pushes her hair away from her face, and I can’t help but laugh at the person staring back at me, especially when I see her anger take over.

It’s clear Holland doesn’t like me, and the feeling isn’t far from mutual.

Even when we were competing at everything in high school, I liked her tenacity, even if she was a cold bitch.

And I definitely liked her when I had my hands all over her body and my tongue in her mouth.

I was wary of the women I spent my time with, making sure to not give them any ideas of a future.

But with Holland, I would have considered it. We lived in the same world. She understood me.

Then I overheard her talking to her mother about how big of a trophy it’d be to snag a Barnes, and I realized she was after nothing but my money and what my family name could do for her.

After that, I hated her.

I’ve been used enough in my life. I wasn’t about to let her use me too.

“Of fucking course it’s you,” I say loud enough for her to hear me, running a hand through my hair, trying to hide my shaking.

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