Page 43 of Neighbor from Hell
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice tight with apology. “I reached Raye’s manager. She’s booked for a show in the States Saturday coming—in fact, she’s already flown out early for rehearsals. The earliest she’s free is two weekends from now.”
Disappointment hits sharply like a deal gone sour. “That won’t do,” I say, my voice low, iron beneath it. “When’s her U.S. show exactly?”
“Saturday evening,” Athena says, her voice quickening.
“Then it’s simple,” I say, leaning forward, the desk’s edge biting into my palms. “Get her for Friday night at The Vellum. We’ll fly her to the States on my jet right after—plenty of time for her Saturday gig.”
Athena pauses, processing. “That could work, but… she’s got rehearsals. Her team might not agree to the back-and-forth.”
“I don’t care what it takes,” I say, each word deliberate. “If she needs to bounce between the U.S. for practice and London for this, make it happen. Offer flights, a stay in Claridges, limos, whatever she wants. Double her U.S. fee—triple it if you have to. I don’t know a celebrity who didn’t get out of bed for money. Get it done.”
“Yes, Sir,” she says, and I hear the upbeat shift in her tone. That’s why she’s the best; she doesn’t pry, she just executes quickly and efficiently. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Good,” I say, end the call, and toss the phone onto a stack of papers. I rub my jaw, staring at the ceiling, and let the question I’ve dodged creep in: Is Lauren really worth this? The money’s nothing—I’d spend ten times that without blinking—but it’s what this says about me. I’m bending over backward, pulling strings for a woman who’s fighting me at every turn. It’s not just the land anymore, though I’m still pretending to myself it is. That cottage—I want it, sure, but it’s her I’m chasing, her door I want to open and walk into.
I lean back, biting into the apple. It’s normal, I tell myself. Attraction’s a game—hot and all-consuming, until its gone. I’m indulging, that’s all, letting myself revel in it because it’ll fade, and when it does, I’ll have what I want: her surrender and her land. Raye, the plumber, the lamp—it’s just pure strategy, moves on a board only I see.
I’ll play them well, keep her close, and win.
Satisfied with my own explanation for my baffling behavior, I dive back into work, emails flying, calls scheduled, but she lingers, a pulse under everything. On a primal level, I know I’m in deep, deeper than I planned, but for once, I don’t care to pull back.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
LAUREN
The bathroom’s dim light flickers as I lean into the mirror, my burgundy lip liner trembling slightly in my hand. Sandy’s face fills my phone screen, propped on the sink, and her video call is my lifeline to sanity.
“I don’t know, I guess I’m a bit concerned,” I say, tracing the curve of my lips, the color bold against my skin. My voice carries a waver I can’t quite hide. Underneath my nerves are buzzing like static.
“Concerned about what, exactly?” Sandy asks, her brow furrowing, her apartment’s sunny chaos visible behind her—plants, an open milk container, a half-eaten bagel on the counter.
I pause, switching to red lipstick, the tube cool in my grip. “He told me the bar’s in London, but he sent a text asking me to be ready by seven. Seven, Sandy! It takes hours to get to London from here. I’m confused.” I cap the lipstick, meeting her eyes on the screen, my stomach twisting. “What’s the deal?”
Sandy tilts her head, her curls bouncing. “You gotta be careful with him, babe. I have no experience with Dukes, but aren’t they like entitled pricks? Does he know you’re only going because of Raye?”
“Yes, I think he does.” I frown suddenly. ‘If he thinks this gets him into my pants, he’s delusional.”
“That’s right. You tell him,” she says forcefully.
I point at the phone like she’s in the room. “I’m on guard all night. Goal’s simple: see Raye, get home, no drama. But what if he’s banking on it getting late and tricking me into staying over in a London hotel or something?” I step back, checking my reflection—red dress, tight to my calves, thin straps barely holding it up. My boobs look… healthy. I tug at the neckline and can’t help but feel slightly insecure. I turn to face the phone. “Is this too revealing, Sandy?”
“No, you look like a million bucks,” she says loyally.
“Anyway, if it’s too late, I’m finding my own hotel room to crash. Nothing’s happening.”
Sandy laughs, waving a hand. “You’re overthinking. Just let it play out. Stop planning every second.”
I curl a loose tendril of hair that’s escaped my updo. “You think I should fall for his sophisticated charm? Be another notch on his bedpost?”
“If you can have fun and keep your head, what’s the harm?” she asks, grinning. “Take what you want, let him think he’s winning. Equal exchange.”
I snort, amused despite myself, her logic so very Sandy—bold, unbothered. “That’s not how it works,” I mutter, but I’m smiling as I check my appearance one last time. The updo’s sleek, curls cascading just right, and the dress shimmers under the light, hugging every curve. “Are you sure this is not too much?” I voice my concern again. I turn so that she can see it. “I mean, is it too… inviting?”
“Nope,” Sandy says firmly. “You’re a knockout in it. It’s perfect—and yes, it’s like you’re daring him to try but you’ll know he’ll crash and burn so what’s the harm? Torture him a little. He deserves it and it will be fun.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works either,” I say, but she makes me laugh. I smooth my hands down the dress. “I’ll get Raye to sign something for you too, okay?”
