Page 42 of Neighbor from Hell
“Friday coming,” he says, watching me closely.
I bite my lip, torn. Every warning—Cecilia’s gossip, the whispers about his reputation—screams at me to say no, to stay safe in my little cottage. But Raye… and him, standing here, not pushing, just offering. “Let me think about it,” I say cautiously. “I’ll let you know if I can make it.”
“Sure,” he says easily, then pulls out his phone, his fingers quick. “I think that it’s time we traded numbers, though. So you can update me.”
My stomach twists, reluctance flaring. Giving him my number feels like handing over another piece of myself, anotherstep toward losing control. He’s outsmarting me, inch by inch, and I know it—everyone’s warned me, his charm, his conquests. This tug-of-war between wanting to trust him and fearing I’ll fall is exhausting, but I’m stuck. “Okay,” I find myself agreeing quietly. I rattle off my number and he types it in. I feel the balance tip, him gaining ground.
“Well, goodnight,” he says, pocketing his phone. “Enjoy your reading.”
“Thanks,” I say, managing a smile. “I will.”
He turns and strides off, his silhouette tall and rugged against the night. I watch, my chest aching as my greedy eyes helplessly drink in his confidence, the easy swagger. He’s gorgeous—too gorgeous—and I’m a fool for noticing.
I shut the door and, leaning against it, scold myself, “Oh my God, Lauren, you’re a mess.” A light slap to my cheek doesn’t help either for I’m giddy with excitement and tangled in my own weakness. Irritated, I shuffle back to the couch, grab the book, and open it, the words blurring as my mind stays on him.
It would appear he is dangerous and inescapable.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
HUGH
I’m up early the next day, too wired to sleep in. I spend a couple of punishing hours in the gym, and after a cold shower, I stride through the hall, phone in hand, as I dial Athena.
“Athena,” I say, walking down the corridor.
“Good morning, Sir,” she replies crisply, the faint tap of her keyboard in the background even though it’s only seven in the morning.
“Good job on your research on Miss Hutton,” I say. Her report on Lauren’s hobbies, tastes, and that obsession with Raye was pure gold. It sure tipped the scales last night.
“Thank you, Sir,” Athena says, a smile in her voice. “I hope the information was useful.”
“It was,” I admit, pleased with the effort she put into her report. “But now we need Raye to perform at the Vellum on Friday.”
Silence stretches, a rare crack in Athena’s composure.
“The Vellum Club, Sir?” she repeats.
“That’s the one.” The Vellum is a fortress of exclusivity—black marble, velvet ropes; a haunt for tycoon billionaires, European royalty, and the playboy sons of Arab princes.
I know it’s a tall order—Raye, last-minute, at a venue that books months out, but the delicious incredulity on Lauren’s face when I dropped Raye’s name makes the order non-negotiable. Until I dropped Raye into the mix, my willful neighbor had managed to dodge my pull, and had us both circling each other with excuses—invitations to tea, lamps, plumbers, but I can see now that a night out with Raye is my angle, a lure she can’t resist. I’ll use it to draw her closer, to crack that stubborn shell.
“I’ll get on it right away and make it happen,” Athena says.
“Thank you,” I say, hang up, and head to the kitchen. The clatter of pans and buttery steam greets me as the staff preps breakfast. They freeze when I appear—me in the kitchen is rare enough to startle.
“Good morning,” I greet their wide-eyed faces.
Their greetings are hurried and tentative as I grab an apple from a bowl and pour black coffee into one of the clean mugs on the table.
“Carry on,” I call cheerfully over my shoulder as I slip out. The apple’s crisp bite is pleasant as I head over to my office.
My desk is littered with notes from the party, new clients waiting to be courted, billions in play. I’m supposed to be on vacation, a break from London’s grind, but even the idea of me taking a break is laughable. Disconnecting feels like letting my world teeter, and I thrive on control—emails, calls, deals that keep my world humming like a well-oiled machine. Besides, work has always been a refuge, especially now, when Lauren, under that Tiffany lamp, keeps sneaking into every pause.
I settle into my chair, the coffee’s heat seeping through the mug into my palms, and remember her. And she comes instantlyand vividly—her face soft in that warm light, engrossed in her book, ethereal, untouchable. What was she reading? She’d dodged the question, her cheeks pink, and it nags me, a mystery I want to unravel. I glance at my phone, her number glowing in my contacts, tempting. No good reason to text, not yet, and it pisses me off, this ridiculous need for an excuse. I’m Hugh Montrose. I don’t wait, don’t hesitate. But with her, I have to tread carefully, and it’s maddening.
My phone buzzes, and Athena’s name flashes up. I answer, leaning back against the cool leather of my chair. “What’ve you got?”
