Page 44 of Neighbor from Hell
“Deal,” she says., as my phone buzzes, a call cutting through. My heart lurches—him?
I end Sandy’s call with a quick, “Gotta go,” and see his name: The Duke of Beauclerk. I’d saved it as a joke, poking fun at his stupidly grand title, but now it feels too real. I answer, my voice as fluttery as a teenager on her first date. “Hi.”
“Hello,” he greets so smoothly it’s like warm chocolate pouring down my back. “Are you ready?”
Yes,” I say, glancing at the clock—6:55. “Will we make it to London on time?”
“Less than an hour,” he says casually. “Come outside—the helicopter’s landing in a few.”
I freeze, my breath catching. “Helicopter?” The word feels foreign, absurd. “You’re… serious?”
A pause, then concern in his tone. “You’re okay with flying, right? I should’ve asked.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, my mind spinning. “Helicopters are… fine.” I end the call, staring at the floor, the reality sinking in. A helicopter. Not a car, not a train like normal people. That’s why seven o’clock. London in an hour, his world of wealth bending time itself. My pulse races, half-excited, half-terrified.
I re-dial Sandy, my fingers shaky. “Sandy,” I say the second she picks up, “you won’t believe this. We’re going to London in a chopper.”
Her jaw drops on my screen. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” I say, and she screams with excitement.
Right then, a low thrum grows outside, the unmistakable churn of blades.
“That’s it—it’s here.”
I hurry to the window facing Hugh’s estate, the vast lawn stretching out, and there it is: a sleek, jet-black helicopter descending, his initials glinting on its side. The grass ripples in wild waves, the air alive with its furious power.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, and Sandy’s voice cuts through, giddy.
“Quick, turn the camera. I wanna see!”
I laugh, flipping the phone’s lens, showing her the beast touching down on what I never realized was a landing pad. The roar softens as the blades slow. A pilot in uniform and another figure step out, and my phone buzzes again. Hugh, probably. My cheeks burn, excitement bubbling over, drowning my caution. I turn the camera back to Sandy, her grin infectious.
“You’re gonna have a blast,” she says. “But don’t look too impressed out there—he’ll know he’s got you.”
“Okay,” I say, straightening, forcing my face to look neutral and cool despite the thrill humming through me. “I’ve got this.”
I end the call, slip into my heels—black, strappy, a touch daring—and grab my small purse. My heart’s pounding, the helicopter’s hum lingering in my bones. A knock at the door stops me cold, and I expect one of his staff or some polished assistant to fetch me.
But when I open it, it’s him.
My breath catches, sharp and involuntary. God, he’s devastating—darker than the night of the party, his suit midnight-blue, tailored to emphasize every line of his frame. His hair’s a touch wild, his eyes catching the porch light, is piercing. I swear, he’s unreal, like he’s stepped out of one of my grandmother’s novels. For a few seconds, I can’t even speak, my throat is so tight with excitement.
A smile tugs at his lips. “Our ride’s here.”
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice a ghost of how usually is. “I… heard it. Saw it.” My eyes flick to the helicopter, its blades still now, a sleek predator on the lawn.
He smiles wider, and my heart, traitor that it is, skips like a baby deer.
“Shall we?”
“Yes,” I say, too quickly, then catch myself. “Yeah, I’m ready.” I clutch my purse, stepping out, the night air cool against my bare shoulders. He’s close, not touching, but near enough I feel his warmth. I’m torn—half-wanting to run back inside to safety, half-thrilled to follow him into the sky.
Chapter
Thirty
HUGH
