Page 50 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

“Anyway, Marcus was also successful but with plenty of opportunity to grow in his career. My career. We did the same thing. Do. We’re both in corporate real estate, both hungry, eager to make the next sale. We both like to see our names in the trade magazines. ‘Most Successful Under Forty.’ ‘People to Watch in Name-Your-Year.’

“We made a plan. We deliberately selected this neighborhood, your house—”

“My house?”

I nod. “I wanted your house. I’ve walked through it two dozen times, attended every single open house. I remember the chandelier that was there before you bought it.”

“If you wanted it so badly, how’d you end up next door?”

“Because I couldn’t afford your house without the promotion I was up for. That I knew I’d get. I knew it.”

“I assume we aren’t talking about my brother’s company here.”

“No. His biggest competitor, actually. And I trusted my boyfriend so much that he was able to steal my promotion from under my nose, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Except, of course, quit both him and the job. Which I did.”

“Don’t forget your chance at future happiness.”

I don’t contradict him. That hadn’t been my plan, of course, but I’m beginning to fear it’s worked out that way. “I didn’t want to get hurt again. And I didn’t want to fail again.”

“You didn’t fail. You got screwed. Big difference. And frankly, that guy’s a raging asshole, so you should consider yourself lucky you didn’t get saddled with him.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He practically barks the word as he guides the car into a parking space in front of a house that has been converted into a veterinary clinic. “You know what I’m sick and tired of, Chloe? Your lack of confidence. Even when you’re wearing those sexy little suits and walking around like there’s a stick up your ass, you’re still just waiting for someone to come along and knock you down a few pegs.”

He slams out of the car, and for a minute I think he’s going into the clinic without us, expecting me to hurry along behind him. But then the passenger side door is pulled open and he’s standing outside under an umbrella, holding the door and waiting for me to climb out.

Is he right about me?

Cradling Spot in my arms, I carefully exit the vehicle and we hurry toward the building. When we step inside, the reception greets us with a smile and a, “Who do we have here?”

“I’m Chloe and this is Paynter—”

“Not you, silly. Who’s this adorable creature in your arms?”

I look down at the animal, who I swear is preening. “Spot,” I supply. “She’s-she’s a goat.”

“She’s a cutie,” the bubbly woman corrects me. “We don’t see many of these guys. Lucky for you, though, our doctor not only did his residency on a farm, but he grew up on one, too. In fact, the only reason he’s here taking care of cats and dogs instead of out in the country, helping to birth calves and foals, is because his wife insisted she needs to be close to shopping.” She laughs at her own snarky comment while Paynter and I glance at each other and arch our brows at the same time.

“Come on, let’s get you into a room and I’ll let Dr. Benedict know you’re here.”

The room is maybe four by four square, with a sink and small counter in one corner and a stainless steel platform jutting into the middle of the space. Two well-used chairs are parked next to the wall. I seat myself on the one farthest from the door and try to contain a squirming Spot, while Paynt drops into the chair next to me.

“Every animal I’ve ever known has an inborn sense about the vet,” Paynter says casually, as if we haven’t left our previous conversation unfinished. “They always get agitated here.”

“I do have confidence,” I say, because I can’t stop thinking about what he said in the car. “I’m damn good at my job. Apparently, I’m good at picking out non-expensive boots that still look good. And I know how to do all the right things to make sure I’m pleasing to others.”

He glances at my legs. “Those the boots? Because they do look damn good on you. I wouldn’t mind seeing what you look like in those and nothing else.”

I feel my cheeks heat as a man with a head full of white hair steps into the room and clears his throat before introducing himself as Dr. Benedict. “What’s going on with our little fella today?” he asks as he extracts Spot from my arms and carries her over to the stainless steal platform. A woman wearing blue scrubs steps into the room, ready to assist with whatever he plans to do with my goat. Paynter’s goat.

Our goat?

He pokes and prods Spot, checks her ears and inside her mouth, bends and twists the three legs that are not obviously broken, and then sticks a thermometer up the kid’s butt, which causes her to bleat pitifully. I wrap my arms around myself to keep from reaching out to the poor animal, which is looking at me with accusation in her eyes. I can’t believe I ran over my own goat.

Our goat.

I glance over at Paynter and we lock gazes. He’s staring at me while I’m watching the goat. Is that accusation in his eyes, too?

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