Page 32 of Neighbor from Hell
“It’s not just that,” I explain quietly “I’ve met hot guys in Chicago, and they never affected me like this. Maybe he slipped something in the tea?—”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“No,” I admit reluctantly.
“So no drugs to blame,” she says, half-teasing. “Just you and him.”
“Yup,” I mutter. “That’s why I’m calling. I need someone to blame, although I know it’s just me being… weak.”
“You’re not weak,” she says fiercely. “You’re human and you’re all alone in strange surroundings. Maybe it’s also because he’s the only hot guy around, you know? Small village, big impact.”
I roll my eyes but consider it, grasping for any explanation. “Maybe,” I concede. “But I need to move past this. It’s not happening again. I’ll have to stay far away from him.”
“Sure,” Sandy says skeptically. “But will he stay away from you?”
I groan, the truth of it stinging. “You’re not helping.”
“Okay, hear me out,” she says, her voice brightening. “Maybe the way to solve this is for you to meet other people. This intensity? It’s probably because he’s next door, the only guy you’ve really met. Didn’t you say you met some folks in town?”
“I did,” I say, thinking of Annabel. “A girl invited me to a pub. She said there’d be guys there.”
“You hate pubs,” Sandy points out, laughing. “I always had to drag you.”
“I do,” I admit. “But after losing my mind over one kiss, maybe I need to meet other men. Remind myself he’s just… a guy. Even if he smells better and looks better and?—”
“Not helping yourself,” she teases.
I laugh, the sound easing some of the weight.
“Fine,” she continues confidently. “Take that girl up on her offer. Go out, have fun. You’ve been working nonstop—moving, fixing that cottage. You’re wound tight, Lauren. A night out could reset you, shake this off.”
She’s right. The idea clicks, like a key turning in a lock. A night out, new faces. It’ll ground me, pull me back to myself. “Yeah,” I say, nodding to the empty room. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“Good,” Sandy squeals. “And keep me posted. I’m stuck with kids all day—I need this drama. You’re my entertainment now.”
I smile, tension draining. “I promise. Thanks, Sandy.”
Outside, the sun is sinking low, painting the walls gold. It’s too early for bed, but the thought of tackling paint cans or sweeping floors is unbearable. I curl up on the sofa, pulling ablanket over me, and grab my phone again. Annabel’s number is there, saved from our chat in town. My fingers hover, then type:
Hey, I’m free this weekend. If you’re still up for that pub night, let me know. I’d love to come.
I hit send. The message is a small act of rebellion, a step toward reclaiming myself. My eyes drift shut, heavy at last, and I let the world fade, determined to leave the Duke of Beauclerk behind.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
HUGH
Istare at the contracts strewn across the table, but my thoughts are a tangle, snagged on her—the taste of her lips … the heat of her trembling body.
For fuck’s sake.
I grab the first folder and flip it open, determined to drown in numbers and clauses, anything to escape the ghost of that kiss—sweet, dizzying, still lingering like a bruise.
Focus, Hugh. You’ve built an empire on focus.
I force my eyes to scan the text, each word a lifeline to normalcy. The agreements are dense—asset allocations, management terms, the usual dance of billions. I read carefully, pen in hand, marking discrepancies with sharp, deliberate strokes. But it’s futile. Her moan echoes in my skull softly shattering my equilibrium, and my pen falters, ink bleeding onto the page. Damn it. I lean back, scrubbing a hand over my face, and try again, slower, willing the numbers to hold me together.
