Page 36 of Neighbor from Hell
I stare at her. Fascinated by the way she stands out, like a wildflower in a manicured garden. Every woman is drapedin couture and diamonds, but she’s in leather and a miniskirt. Defiant and utterly out of place.
My pulse quickens with curiosity and desire. What’s she doing here? My first thought is the noise—she’s come to complain, to chew me out for the music, the cars clogging her lane. The idea sparks a grin, amusement curling in my chest. She would storm in, all fury and resentment, wouldn’t she?
I excuse myself from the mogul, barely hearing his reply, and weave through the crowd, drawn to her like gravity. Her eyes dart around, wide, nervous, and I slow my steps, drinking her in. She’s a spark of realness in this sea of polish, and I need to know why she’s here.
“Lauren,” I say, reaching her.
Her wild gaze snaps to mine, and for a second, I’m back in the orangery, her lips under mine, soft and fierce. I shake it off. “What’s wrong?”
She hesitates, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag, worry etching her face. “I’m sorry to barge in,” she says, voice almost swallowed by the sound of violins drifting in from the quartet. “I have an emergency. My house—it’s flooding from a burst pipe in the bathroom. I just got home from the pub and found water in the hallway. It’s bad. It’ll ruin everything. I tried calling a plumber, but he’s not free until tomorrow. I can’t wait until then, so I thought… um… do you know anyone who could help? Right now?”
I’m instantly protective, a reflex that catches me off guard. Why do I care this much about her cottage flooding? I should be happy. It’s the best way to get rid of her. But her eyes—pleading, vulnerable—pull me in. “Don’t worry,” I say, firm, stepping closer. “I’ll handle it.”
She blinks, a flicker of relief softening her tension, and I’m struck by her faith in me, how she trusts me. It’s heady. I guide her to a nearby table, my hand hovering at her elbow, nottouching but close enough to feel her warmth. She sits, tugging her skirt self-consciously, and I flag down one of my staff—a sharp-eyed server named Thomas.
“Get me Knox right away,” I order.
“Yes, m’Lord,” he replies and hurries away. A few minutes later, Knox comes over. I speak to him. He nods briefly and pulls out his phone, scrolls through it and calls a number.
“Harry’s number is engaged, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be at your service.”
“Thank you. Text me his number and I’ll keep trying,” I say.
As a quiet ping sounds on my phone, he says, “Will there be anything else, m’Lord? Only I’m in the middle of decanting the claret for the after-party toast.”
“No, that will be all. Thank you, Knox. You return to your decanting.”
He hurries away after a quick glance at Lauren.
I pull out my phone and dial Harry’s number. He responds on the second try.
“Harry,” I say briskly, “It’s Hugh Montrose. There’s a problem at Sweetbriar Cottage. A pipe in the bathroom has burst, and it’s flooded the house. I need you there as soon as possible.”
“I’m so sorry, Lord Montrose. You know, I’d love to help, but I’m tied up on another emergency job across town, so I can’t leave right now. But I’ll be more than happy to look in tomorrow morning or in a couple of hours and?—.”
“If you can’t get here within the next ten minutes, you’re of no use to me. But if you do get here, I’ll make it worth every second of your time, and you can name your price. I don’t care what it is.”
He pauses, a low grumble of someone else rumbling through the phone, the sound of a man weighing inconvenience against a paycheck.
“Ten minutes?” he says, skeptically. “I’m halfway across town.”
“Then drive fast,” I say, firmly leaving no room for debate. “This can’t wait. Whatever it takes, Harry.”
“Alright, I’m on it. Ten minutes, maybe twelve. I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” I say, and hang up.
I turn to Lauren, her eyes fixed on me, wide, something like awe shimmering in them. It catches me, that look, like a hook in my chest.
“He’ll be at your place in ten,” I say, my voice almost gentle. “Or as close as he can get, but rest assured, the problem is under control.”
She exhales, a slow, shaky breath, her shoulders easing as the tension drains from her frame. The sight of her relief—it’s like warmth spreading through me, thawing a place I’ve kept frozen.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if suddenly shy, her gaze flicks away. She glances around, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. “I… I should head back to wait for him.”
“There’s nothing you can do at your place. Stay and enjoy the party.”
Her eyes wander, drinking in the ballroom—the gilded ceiling, the long tables covered in crisp linen, the silver trays gleaming with delicate canapés and the flutes of golden champagne bubbling without a care in the world.
