The Billionaire Boss Next Door

by Max Monroe

  “Oh, great. Just sweep whatever it is under the rug,” she grumbles. “Sounds like a great idea.”

  “Shut up,” I say with a laugh. “I’m not sweeping it under the rug.”

  “Yes, you are, but okay. Tell yourself whatever you want. I’ll be here when you figure out what a terrible idea it was.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes to the sky. It doesn’t matter that she can’t see me. “Thanks. I’ll keep my finger on speed dial.”

  “Greer,” she calls out before I can hang up.

  “What?”

  “Call me when you need me.”

  “Thanks, E.” My voice is soft and sincere, just like hers. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” She laughs. “Now get in there and fuck some shit up. I want this story to be really interesting when I finally hear it.”

  “Oh, it will be,” I say. “One for the grandkids. Which will be yours, of course, as I’ll be living alone with nothing but my TV and pizza bagels to keep me company.”

  “I’ll get you a fish.”

  “No,” I stress. “No pets. Only carbs and the Kardashians.”

  “Is carbs spelled with a C or a K?” she asks.

  “With a K,” I tease. “Cs won’t exist anymore by then as the Kardashians will probably have taken over the world. They’ll rule us from their cryogenic chambers.”

  “I’m hanging up now. This has gone to a place I don’t like.”

  After a quick goodbye, I drop my phone into my purse and finally make it the rest of the way to the hotel.

  It juts up into the pink and purple sunset-filled sky and dares me to come inside. Even though I want to run, I take a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other.

  I find George working in the lobby when I walk in.

  After checking to see that I’m not one of the walking dead, he gives me a welcome-back hug and points me in the direction of Trent up on the ninth floor.

  I groan.

  It’s days like today when I realize how desperately we need them to hurry up and complete the elevator install, Shape magazine and its heart health tips be damned.

  By the time I make it up all nine flights, I’ve got my heels in my hand and my hair up in a ponytail to control the neck sweat.

  There’s nothing I can do for the cracks of my cleavage and ass, but if everything goes to plan, no one should be able to notice that.

  I shove open the stairwell door and stumble into the hall…and right into Trent.

  He catches me on reflex, but when he stands me upright and sees that it’s me, his warmth drops about twelve notches.

  “Greer.”

  I can’t even really blame him. I know he’s played a huge part in this, but it was really selfish of me to avoid him for so long, too. The man deserves at least some kind of explanation.

  “Trent.”

  “Good to see you’re feeling better.”

  I force myself to smile even though it hurts. “Me too. Listen, do you think we can talk for a minute? Privately.”

  He glances behind him at the workers he was obviously in the middle of something with and then back to me and nods. “Guys, I’ll meet you down there.”

  They nod and take off at a near run, thankful to be dismissed from our awkward encounter.

  Trent turns and heads down the hall, and I follow. I presume he knows somewhere we can go without being heard—at least, without being heard clearly.

  He uses his master key to open the door to one of the suites in progress, ushers me in, and closes the door behind us.

  When he finishes, he turns his back to the door, leans against it, and crosses his arms over his chest.

  I literally hate that our relationship has come down to this. That those sparkling green eyes I love so much look at me so differently now.

  But I know it’s for the best.

  I clear my throat a couple of times to moisten it, and then I dive right into the speech I’ve been practicing.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I know…I know I didn’t handle it well.”

  He sighs. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I know. Again, I’m sorry. I really am, and I don’t know if it helps make it sound more sincere at all, but I don’t normally say that—apologize.”

  He nods, and when it’s clear that’s all I’m going to get, I go on.

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  He nods, and I clench my fists.

  Is he going to do anything other than nod? For Pete’s sake, the guy’s always got something to say, and now he’s all clammed up.

  Deciding to categorize it as a good thing, I charge on.

  “I’ve been thinking…and I don’t think a relationship between us is a good idea. Working together and dating…it’s just not going to work. I thought maybe it could, but…it can’t.”

  For the briefest of moments, his green eyes glaze over with something that strongly resembles hurt, but it’s gone between one blink and the next. So quickly, in fact, I’m not really sure I ever saw it at all.

  And then, he shoves off of the door with a foot and walks toward me.

  I hold my breath so hard, a balloon forms in my chest.

  “I agree.”

  You do?

  He turns, walks to the door, and opens it to go. He looks back over his shoulder one last time to leave me with a few clipped words. “We’re finalizing the bathrooms on Wednesday. Make sure you’re ready.”

  I nod, but I don’t let go of the breath I’m holding until he’s gone.

  Just as you’d an expect of a popped balloon, I deflate completely.

  A simple parting of ways is exactly what I wanted.

  So why does it feel so wrong?

  Trent

  “Sometimes I can’t believe this shit,” I say, taking a swig of my whiskey and looking out at the bar with distaste.

  I fucking hate going out, but thanks to my sassy-tongued, blue-eyed, perfectly terrible neighbor whom I really fucking wish I didn’t like anymore, I hate staying in even more these days. Four fucking weeks since she up and declared us over, and I’m still a hot fucking mess.

  I didn’t want things to end, but Greer was determined.

  I could see it in her eyes and the defiant way she held her petite shoulders, and I could hear it in the way her voice lacked her usual sassy softness. She was all fucking business. One-hundred-percent ready to break things off.

  Call it pride or self-preservation or whatever the fuck you want, even though I hated what she was saying, I just went with it. Told her I agreed. Just laid the fuck down and let her end things between us.

  “God, I can’t fucking believe the way it all turned out,” I clarify. “I can’t believe we were ever together, and I can’t believe we’re apart. The whole thing is a big ole fucking mystery, and I’m the victim. I can feel the blood all over. Brutal. Maybe I should just stick to random hookups. Kiss women on New Year’s Eve and forget them. It worked for me once.”

  It’s the first time Cap’s been down to visit since Carnival, and the meeting of my best friends’ minds and my heartache is long overdue.

  Quince snorts, and I turn back to look at him and Cap as they hide their faces behind their beers. “What? What is this about?” I ask, swirling a finger at their faces.

  “Should we tell him?” Quince asks, and Cap nods.

  “Definitely. I can’t wait to see his face.”

  “What? Tell me what?”

  “Dude,” Cap says. “Sticking to your New Year’s Eve hookup is sticking with Greer. Goofy Gus and his snooty girlfriend set up the whole thing.”

  Quince glares at the unbecoming nicknames. “You were a part of it too.”

  “A part of what?” I ask.

  “Getting the two of you together,” Cap says casually, as if he’s doing something other than dropping a nuclear sized bomb. “Once we found out she was the one you kissed on New Year’s Eve, it was all hands on deck. The apartment. T
he dates. Everything.”

  “What do you mean, she’s the one I kissed on New Year’s Eve?” I croak, gripping my beer bottle so hard, it feels like I’m just shy of the pressure it would take to shatter it.

  “Beyoncé? Midnight? Remember telling me about that shit?” Cap taunts, and I have to fight the urge to drive my fist into his cocky face.

  “Well, I told Quince and Emory, and they told me who she was.”

  “Greer,” Quince adds, just in case I couldn’t figure it out.

  “Yeah?” I ask, my voice heavily laden with weeks’ worth of heartbreak and aggravation. “You’re telling me the two of you knew all of this, set all of this up, and are just telling me now?”

  Cap has the good sense to raise his eyebrows and brace, but Quince is too good-natured to understand how wound up I am.

  “Yep. Emory made sure she moved in to the apartment next to you, and Cap set you up on a date he knew you wouldn’t keep—”

  “You what?” I yell, turning my anger to Cap.

  He holds up his hands defensively, and Quince whistles. “Not the right time to bring that up, I guess. I see that now.”

  Definitely not. I shake my head.

  “I can’t believe you guys. Going behind my back like that. Keeping this from me until now. Letting me wonder about all of it for this long.”

  “To be fair, we didn’t have a hand in the heartbreak part of it,” Cap pipes in. “That was all you guys.”

  Jesus Christ, give me patience right now.

  “Oh good. That makes it all better.”

  “Look,” Quincy says. “The point is, we were all rooting for you. There’s a reason we all thought you’d be good together and pushed to make it happen. And clearly, we were right.”

  “You were right?” I shout. “You were right?” My laugh is derisive. “Then why the hell do I feel this way?”

  “Because that’s love, motherfucker,” Cap, the fucking sage, informs me. “It slaps you in the dick almost as often as it tickles your balls. You gotta balance the two and figure out how to enjoy the pain. Get turned on by it. Harness it. Use it.”

  “You’re ridiculous. What the fuck are you even talking about?”

  Quince takes a sip of his beer and chuckles as Cap slaps him on the shoulder and shakes. “Look at this guy,” Cap says. “You think that feisty fucking redhead of his doesn’t cause him heartache and blue balls seventy percent of the time? She does. I guarantee it. But he’s found a way to go with the craziness and embrace it.”

  “Well, that’s all fucking well and good, but Greer doesn’t want to date me. It’s not like kidnapping her, holding her hostage, and forcing her is an option. What do you suggest I do?”

  “I’m a little scared at how quickly your mind went to kidnapping, Turn, but for your sake and the sake of my status with the bar association, I’m going to ignore it.”

  “I think what Cap’s trying to say,” Quince says, ever the peace-keeper, “is that you should wait it out. You’re not supposed to work together forever, right? When’s the hotel done?”

  I scowl. “September.”

  “Then I suggest you get really good at touching yourself between now and then, study up on some videos to learn how to touch her—”

  I flip Cap off.

  “—and then show her what she’s been missing when there’s nothing else in the way.”

  “And I suppose you guys have a plan to help me do that?”

  “Dude,” Cap says with a laugh before nodding at Quincy. Quincy nods at me.

  “Of course, we do.”

  Trent

  It’s been five months since Greer ended things between us.

  One hundred and twenty-five days, twelve hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fifteen seconds since she told me she couldn’t continue our relationship. That it was too hard to be together and work together.

  Okay, so maybe I don’t know the exact time down to the seconds, but fuck, time is moving at a snail’s pace. The amount of brain power it takes to focus on finishing the hotel and not think about Greer is Herculean.

  In summary, it’s been fucking horrible.

  She pointedly avoids me, and when we’re in close proximity to each other, it only drives the knife deeper.

  I have to see her at work and in the hallway at home, and I have to hear her through the walls of my apartment. She is all around, everywhere, but she’s not mine.

  It’s hell. Which, ironically, was exactly what I thought when I first found out she was hired for the Vanderturn NOLA design.

  My oh my, how things have fucking changed.

  My only saving grace is what the torture of seeing her everyday provides.

  I know her work habits. I know her schedule. I know her friends. I know that she hasn’t gone out on a single date since we broke up and that she spends most of her weekends at home, in the apartment right next door to mine.

  And all of that means I know that Greer hasn’t moved on.

  Call me a lovesick fool all you want, but that information is like a defibrillator to my battered heart. It means there’s hope on top of the despair and light at the end of the tunnel.

  But broken hearts and silver linings aside, today is a big day.

  And my focus needs to be on the hotel.

  We are two weeks away from the opening, and my father is currently doing his walk-through. Every floor, every room, every nook and cranny of the place my team has worked so hard on for the past nine months.

  I am proud of this hotel, so fucking proud of what my team has accomplished, but I have no idea what he’s thinking as he walks through the reception and lobby area. His face remains neutral and his eyes are investigative, refusing to provide any kind of fucking reaction that would actually give me something to go on, some kind of clue as to what side of the emotional scale I need to prepare myself for.

  By the time we reach the outside terrace, where Greer has artfully arranged a cozy and sophisticated outdoor space that demands people enjoy it, my nerves are buzzing like a live wire.

  It’s only the sense of pride for what she’s created that distracts me from my anxiety. I can already picture it at night with the sleek fire pits going and the twinkle lights flickering off the lush landscaping and guests sitting on the cushioned couches with drinks in their hands and smiles on their lips.

  But I swallow down the unwanted emotion and focus on the task at hand. Preparing myself for whatever blows my dad is probably preparing to give.

  “Well, Trent,” he says and turns around to meet my eyes. “Honestly, I’m not surprised.”

  Oh, here we go…

  “But also, I am,” he adds and walks toward me. “This is beyond anything I imagined or expected for this hotel. You did good, son. You did real fucking good.”

  Wait…what?

  “You’re happy with it?” I ask, and he nods.

  “I one hundred percent approve,” he says, and slowly, a smile crests his normally straight and firm lips. “And I’m proud of you.”

  “You’re proud of me?” I question dumbly, but fuck, Trent Tucker Senior is never proud of his son.

  Disappointed? Irritated? Riding his ass? All the fucking time.

  But proud? I can’t remember the last time that happened.

  “Of course I am.” His smile grows. “I know you worked hard. I know you had some serious revelations about what it takes to run a team on a project of this magnitude. But you learned and you grew during the process, and that was all I ever wanted.”

  Slack-jawed, I don’t even know what to say.

  But it doesn’t matter because my dad apparently has plenty of words for the both of us.

  “Running Turner Properties is all I’ve ever wanted for you, Trent,” he says. “It’s been my dream since the day you were born. But I know what it takes to run a company like this, and before I could pass the torch to you, before I could finally retire and spend the rest of my days with your mother, I needed to make sure you were ready. I needed to make sure you
could handle it on your own.” He pauses briefly and looks around the terrace. “This company is important to me. I’ve sacrificed a lot to get it where it is today.”

  “I know you have, Dad.”

  “But now, I’m confident it’s in good hands.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it’s time,” he says. “It’s time for me to step down and let a new, talented, and innovative generation take over. And you are more than capable of filling those shoes.”

  He looks up at the hotel and then back at me.

  “And by the looks of what you’ve created here, you are more capable than I am to create the kind of hotels that go with the times. The kind of hotels that will keep Turner Properties a household name with old and new generations.”

  “Wow. I really don’t know what to say.”

  “Besides signing the contracts my lawyer has already drawn up, you don’t need to say anything.”

  “You’re serious?”

  He nods and steps forward to wrap me in a manly kind of hug. The one where it’s half-hug, half-backslap, and one hundred percent my father. “I admire you, Trent, and everything you’ve created here. And I’m excited and more than ready to watch you continue on this path. But from the sidelines, preferably on a tropical beach somewhere with your mom.”

  Once my dad walks back into the hotel, I stay standing outside, reeling.

  I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like all my life, and now that it’s here, I don’t have a fucking clue what to do with it.

  Trent Turner Senior is turning over the multibillion-dollar company otherwise known as Turner Properties. To me.

  Holy fuck. Only, the relief I feel when the realization actually starts to settle in isn’t as all-consuming as I imagined it would be.

  And it takes me all of one minute to realize it’s because something is missing.

  She is missing.

  Greer Hudson might be determined to have space, but I’m determined to be with her.

  Still.

  If anything, the time apart has only deepened my need and want for her further.

  When I see my future with Turner Properties, running the company and creating new hotels throughout the world, I can’t picture it without Greer.