Page 39 of Neighbor from Hell
I hesitate, wanting to, but my cottage—my mess—calls louder. “No, I need to be there. I’m renovating alone, and it’s… pure chaos. Paint cans, tools, my grandma’s old stuff everywhere. I have to see what went wrong.”
He nods, understanding, but adds, “Fine. I’ll have staff send food over. It’ll be temporary whatever he does. So you shouldn’t cook tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” I say, and the words feel small for how much I mean them. He’s been… kind, and it’s disarming. Then his hand grazes my arm lightly and sparks flare. It’s as if my skin becomes alive under his touch. Our eyes lock, and his gaze is deep, pulling me in. Just like that, I’m back in that kiss, drowning. His hand lingers, my breath catches?—
“Hugh!” someone calls across the room.
And it shatters the spell. I blink and step back. Embarrassment burns my cheeks, but I don’t look at him. “I should go,” I say, voice shaky, and turn away. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, penetrating and inescapable. The ballroom’s cool air does nothing for the heat in my body, and I hurry out, desperate for distance.
A van is pulling up outside my cottage. The plumber, a man in his late thirties or forties, is climbing out, tools in hand. Relief crashes over me as I rush to the door.
“Thank God you’re here,” I say with heartfelt sincerity and lead him inside.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
HUGH
The last echoes of the party have faded into silence. It’s late—past midnight, the air is quiet. Guests have either left or claimed some of the spare rooms; their laughter and clinking glasses are now just a memory. I should be tired, but I feel wired. With my jacket slung over my shoulder, I climb the stairs. The night was a success. Deals were struck, hands shaken, billions secured, but from the moment Lauren left, the night lost its allure.
My phone buzzes as I reach the landing, and the plumber’s number lights up the screen. A text:
All fixed. Left her place 5 mins ago. Heading home.
Leaning against the banister, I call him. “Harry,” I say when he picks up. “You didn’t let her pay, did you?”
“No, my Lord,” he says, a quickly hidden yawn in his voice. “She offered, but I told her you’d covered it.”
“What did she say to that?” I ask curiously.
He sounds puzzled, like he’s wondering why I care. “At first she looked shocked and insisted she wanted to pay herself, but I was firm, so she said she’ll take it up with you herself in the morning.”
I nod to myself, picturing her face, that stubborn set of her jaw. “But she was grateful?”
“Yeah, real grateful,” he says. “She kept thanking me.”
“Good.” I shift, staring out the hall window toward her cottage, invisible in the dark. “What caused the flood?”
“Old house, you know. Those pipes are from the ‘50s, corroded to hell. She’d started renovating, yeah? Pulled up tiles and banged around, and didn’t know what she was doing. One of the joints was already weak, and she must’ve nudged it wrong. Pressure built up, and a slow leak turned into a flood. Could’ve been worse. It was spreading fast when I got there, but it’s okay… for now.”
“What’s needed to stop it happening again?”
“Whole system needs an overhaul,” he says. “New pipes, proper fittings. She’s got no business tackling that herself. Girl’s got grit, I’ll give her that, but no skill for it. I patched up the burst joint, but the rest’ll go eventually if it’s not fixed. That’s a big and expensive job, though.”
“Do it,” I say. “Call her tomorrow and tell her the patch is temporary and you have to come back to finish the job at no cost to her.”
Harry hesitates, his silence loud. “You want me to bill you for the job?”
“Yes.” I pause. “You know what, quote her a reduced cost. Immensely reduced. Like a tenth of the cost. Let her think it’s your usual rate, or else she’ll never agree. Again, don’t let her know I’m involved. Then send the full bill to me, whatever the amount. I’ll double it.
“Whatever you wish, Sir,” he says slowly, like he’s piecing together why I’m doing this. “I’ll call her in the morning.”
“Good. Let me know how it goes.”
I hang up, slip my phone into my pocket, and push open my bedroom door. The room’s dark, moonlight slanting through the curtains. I toss my jacket on a chair, my mind churning. Why am I doing this? The question gnaws, but the answer’s there, warm and undeniable: helping her feels good. Too fucking good. I strip off my shirt and head for the shower. With a frown, I remind myself it’s a strategy—seduce her, win her trust, get the land.
Attraction’s normal, I reason, turning on the water. She’s stunning—of all the women tonight, in their glittering gowns, she stole my breath away. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, and she doesn’t even know it.
