Page 45 of Neighbor from Hell
The red dress clings to her like a second skin, every curve a quiet dare. Her strawberry-blonde hair, swept up with soft curls framing her face, glows under the porch’s naked bulb. I’ve been half-mad imagining how she would look, but this… this is something else. She looks glamorous and fierce, and I feel desire surge and coil tight in my gut, too fast to tame. I want to charm her with the usual lines that work on women, telling them they look lovely, but my throat locks and I can’t utter those trite words. All I can do is mutter something about our ride being here.
She glances past me, eyes wide at the chopper, its black hull gleaming on the lawn. Yes,” she says, “Yeah, I’m ready.”
I fall into step beside her, my hand finding the small of her back—light and casual, but my pulse is pounding like I’m a boy again. Touching her, even in this small way, keeps me anchored. Without it, I’d unravel, lost in how she moves, how her dress shimmers with each move her body makes. My fingers graze herarm as we cross the grass, her skin warm, and even that simple contact sparks and heat flares through me like a current. I’m enamored, helplessly caught, and I don’t care to fight it.
I help her up the steps of the chopper, my hand steadying her as she climbs in. She fumbles with the seatbelt, and a soft laugh escapes her. She’s embarrassed. How sweet? Wordlessly, I lean close and click the straps into place.
Her eyes meet mine, close enough I see the flecks in them, and I want to say it—you’re beautiful—but the words choke me, too real, too raw. I smile instead, hoping it’s enough, and she smiles back, shy and warm, and something deep in me twists. I nod at the pilot and attendant at the front, and we lift off, the world tilting below. Ahead, London’s waiting.
The city’s lights are a glittering promise as we descend. I’ve gained back some composure by the time we land, enough to talk without betraying myself, though her presence is still crackling next to me like a live wire.
We land on the helipad on top of my office building, and my driver waits for us on the street below. I wanted to overwhelm her, and I think I have. At The Vellum Club, I guide her through the black marble floors, velvet drapes, and the air thick with wealth and whispers. Our table’s front and center, reserved for the best view of the stage. Suavely, I pull out her chair, my hand brushing her shoulder, and ask, “Drink?”
“Yes, please,” she says, settling in. “A glass of white wine would be nice.”
I signal the waiter, ordering a bottle of their best, and glance at her. “Food?”
She shakes her head, smiling faintly. “No, I’m good. I couldn’t eat if I tried.”
We lapse into silence, the space between us charged but cordial. The club pulses on, and soon enough, faces I know appear. A hedge fund titan, a gallery owner, a politician and hiswife, all stopping by to shake my hand, but I keep it short, my focus on Lauren, not wanting her to feel sidelined. They drift off, but I catch her watching curiously.
“Sorry,” I say, leaning closer, voice low over the music. “It’s what happens when you get the middle table. Didn’t mean for you to get swarmed.”
“It’s okay,” she says, her smile easy, disarming. “I get it. You’re a big shot.”
I laugh and relax, grateful for her grace, and we slip into talk, the kind that feels like stepping onto new ground.
“Besides coming here and hogging the best table,” she asks, her eyes searching mine, “what do you do for fun?”
I pause, considering. “Other than refurbishing the manor, I love riding, playing polo, and hunting with my birds of prey. The city is mostly for business. Where I earn money to pay for my other pleasures.”
She nods, like she finally understands what makes me tick. Then I turn it back. “What about you? Besides reading, what keeps you happy?”
Her laugh is soft. “Honestly? I don’t know. Back home, I was a sales manager, grinding away to pay the bills, so it was… friends, going out on the weekends. But something was missing. Like I hadn’t found me yet. Chicago was all pressure, no space to breathe. Here…” She glances down, fingers tracing the stem of her glass. “No one knows me. Things are slower. I can figure out who I am.”
I lean closer, drawn in. “Is that why you won’t sell the land?” I ask, the pieces clicking. “You want to stay. It’s your chance to build a new life.”
“Yeah,” she says, meeting my eyes steadily. “Exactly.”
I nod, something shifting in me, respect overtaking ambition. “I get it now. I’ll stop pushing you to sell. You need this—not the money, but the place and the time.”
Her smile is warm, genuine, like sunlight breaking through. “Thank you,” she says softly, but it carries a whole world of meaning. “I’m glad you understand.”
“I do,” I say, and I mean it. “This adventure will change you. Helicopter to London.” I gesture around us, teasing lightly. “Not every day, right?”
She laughs, bright and free, the sound loosening something in my chest. “No kidding. I’d only seen one in movies before tonight.”
“I hope this is the beginning of a very good experience,” I say, watching her, hoping she feels it—the thrill of the night, maybe even me.
The lights dim, the crowd hushing as the MC steps onto the stage, his booming voice announces Raye. I glance at Lauren, her face lit with anticipation, and feel a quiet victory—not just for the night, but for her, here, sharing this night with me.
Chapter
Thirty-One
LAUREN
The Vellum Club’s lights pulse softly, the crowd a low murmur as the MC’s voice cuts through, sharp and electric.
