Page 8 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

CHAPTER THREE

CHLOE

He lives next door? Tall, Dark, and Practically Homeless from that evening at the bar lives in my prestigious, two-year-waiting-list-to-get-in neighborhood? It’s a Stepford neighborhood, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t fit in here in a million years, and that’s beside the fact I cannot fathom how he has enough money to actually afford that house.

My dream home. The one I had my eye on when Marcus and I were still together. I could have afforded it only if I’d gotten that promotion. His selfish, underhanded act had not only ended our relationship, it had forced me to purchase a significantly smaller house.

Bastard.

Just like my neighbor. I can’t believe he’s living in my house. How the hell did he get past the approval committee? I barely passed inspection, and I’m the epitome of who they want living in this stuck-up neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Paynter doesn’t look like he works. He sure as hell isn’t a doctor or a lawyer. I would have known ten seconds after meeting him. Men in those professions don’t hide it. Everyone is a potential client, after all.

Maybe he’s a business owner. But what kind of business? He did look like a construction worker or lumberjack that night I met him. Not that I have fantasies about those kinds of men. At least I didn’t before I met Paynter.

I bet he won the lottery. He looks like the type who blows half his paycheck each week on lottery tickets, hoping for the big win so he never has to work again. The kind of guy always looking for the easy way out. He’s probably like that in bed, too. Doesn’t even focus on his partner, just wants to get his rocks off and fall asleep. He’s got selfish and lazy written all over his five o’clock shadowed not-quite-pretty-boy face. Although if he shaved, that smooth skin, those sexy glasses, and those gorgeous blue eyes sure would be pretty. With the whiskers, he’s more... scruffy, sexy in a, well, a lumberjack sort of way.

What am I doing? That stunt with the stripper earned my hatred. I came home that evening and had a rather spectacular date with my vibrator, and then I’d lain in bed and imagined all the ways I would get my revenge, if I ever had opportunity to see the guy again.

And now he’s my neighbor. I will potentially see him every single day. Never mind that I can no longer be myself in my own backyard—none of the other people living in this stuffy place ever use their yards, so I’d thought I was safe in my sweats and ponytail and no makeup.

I have to get him back now. I seriously cannot remember the last time a guy saw me in the middle of the day without makeup. I don’t even answer the phone on the weekends, let alone the door. Just in case. In case of what … well, that’s between me and my therapist.

After hiding in my house all weekend, the idea comes to me while I head into work on Monday morning. The ad. The wording. That bit about the ironing, that’s pretty damn genius, if I do say so myself. James always shuts down the office early on Fridays, unless we have a big project due, so I set the time in the ad for 4:30. I don’t even mind that I’ll have to remain in my suit instead of change into sweats as soon as I arrive home. It will be worth it.

When the first vehicle pulls up and parks at the curb in front of Paynter’s house, I spare a moment to worry that the homeowners’ association will get upset, but a line of cars comes tooling down the street, so it’s too late now.

Paynter’s house looks quiet, like there’s no one home. But I know he’s there, because I saw the light flip on in his kitchen a short time ago, caught a glimpse of his torso as he’d passed a curtainless window. His shirt was as wrinkled as ever and he’d pushed his glasses onto his head and was rubbing his eyes as if he’d just woken up. He probably did sleep all day.

I’ve never watched that bachelor show on television, but it can’t possibly be like this. It’s far too popular, so there must be cattiness and drama. These girls, however, are all sweet as pie, polite and considerate, making friends even as they each hope to be the luckiest of the bunch by the end of the evening. They’ll all be let down eventually, and probably I shouldn’t have gotten them excited like this, but I wasn’t thinking about anything but getting Paynter back when I’d logged into my Paypal account and sent the funds to pay for the ad.

The sky is dark and the air is thick with humidity and it’s probably going to rain soon, but I’ve put enough hairspray on my tresses to ensure they don’t frizz. I need a front row seat for this show. And I want him to see me, of course. That’s the most important aspect of this prank. He needs to know exactly with whom he is dealing.

For a moment, I worry he won’t answer the summons, but soon, four of them are rapping their knuckles on wood and the yappy dog across the street is going nuts behind his own door.

And then Paynter is standing there, staring out at the sight of a row of women, all dressed for a date, all watching him with hopeful gleams in their eyes. I drink deliberately slowly while his gaze rises over their heads to catch mine. I am about to burst out laughing, which is so not me, but what the hell? This situation calls for it.

One of the girls must say something, because he shifts his focus to her and then... Wait, why are they walking into his house? Each and every one, thirty-two women in all, are stepping across that threshold like he’s just invited everyone to a party.

That is not how this is supposed to play out. What the hell is going on?

As the last one titters past him, Paynter glances up and catches my eye again. And smirks. And waves. And then the door is closing behind him.

Oh no. No, no, no. He will not win this one. That is not how it works. I scramble to my feet, wine sloshing over the side of my glass as I make my way across his front lawn in my $140 spiked heels and narrow skirt. Why I didn’t take two steps to the right and use the sidewalk, I cannot say. That man makes me do crazy things. Like burst through his front door like I own the place.

Hell, I’ve been in this house so many times when it was for sale, I know it almost better than the one I settled on. Except, wow, that chandelier wasn’t here before. Paynter had that installed? Never in a million years would I have pegged him as quite so pretentious. That thing is even too gaudy for my standards. I cock my head to the side. As long and narrow as it is, it sort of looks like a...

“Hi there. Are you here about the ad, too?” A cheerful redhead greets me like she’s a hostess. “What are you drinking? I’ll get you a refill.” Does she think Paynter wants a maid? Is that why she’s acting like the hired help?

“I doubt he even has wine in the house, let alone the kind I like.”

“You’d be surprised,” the man himself says, walking toward me, looking as rumpled and sexy as he did the night we met, and holding—for the love of God, is that really a Malbec in his hand?

I lift my glass, allow him to top it off. “Are you spying on me? It cannot be coincidence that you have a Malbec waiting.”

He laughs. “Sorry, sweetheart, it really is pure luck. Although I have now noted your preferred choice of beverage, should we ever find ourselves sitting down by the lake, enjoying a sunset and actually getting along.”

“Not on your life.” I love sitting down by the lake, enjoying the sunset. Especially at this time of year, when the weather is cooler and the trees put on a spectacular show of color. I’ll probably never do it again, now that I know I might run into him there.

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