My Enemy Next Door

by Nicole London

  “Hey Court?” Mila’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “The photographer’s back. I’ll call you later!”

  “Okay, bye.” I ended the call and returned to the room. I noticed that Jace had put away all the files. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling it a night,” he said. “We can pick things up tomorrow morning.”

  “For a so-called good lawyer, you sure seem averse to pulling a necessary all-nighter.”

  He smirked. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

  “What’s your point?” I shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t leave here until three.

  “And you still get in at seven in the morning?”

  “I do.”

  Looking impressed, he picked up his briefcase. “I’m willing to work on this some more with you tonight, but I need a change of scenery. I can’t take the lights in here anymore.”

  “I’m not going to your place.”

  “I didn’t say anything about my place,” he said. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, it’s actually quite convenient.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, picking up my coat. “We can go to my place. There’s an executive lounge on my floor we can use.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll get my car keys from my office, and I’ll drive.”

  “No, I was um—” I blushed. “We don’t have the best track record when it comes to sharing car rides, from what I remember.”

  “I’m shocked you remember anything at all.” He smirked. “But, look. There’s no point in us taking two separate ways to get there. That’s a waste of our time. This is strictly professional, Courtney. I want to win this case, and I can assure you that I’ll leave as soon as we’re done working.” He looked genuine. “Meet you in the parking garage?”

  “Okay.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, I sat in the passenger seat of Jace’s Jaguar—trying to avoid looking over at him. The sexy scent of his cologne was turning me on, and I could feel him staring at me at every red light.

  “You’re really going to make me wait until we get to Manhattan to give me your address?” he asked.

  “I want to be sure there’s as little chance as possible that you’ll remember it in the morning.

  He let out a low laugh and turned on the windshield wipers.

  Years ago, in high school, he would entwine his hands in mine behind the gear shift and make up some bullshit story about how scientists had it all wrong about how snow came to be. He would tell it with a dead-ass serious face and remind me exactly why he was receiving a C plus in Science.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, turning down the radio.

  “Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “Are you missing Seattle yet?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “There was nothing about it you liked?”

  He didn’t answer. He kept driving.

  “Mr. Walton must’ve really been impressed with you to let you have a car near his office without a probationary period. What was your win-loss record in Seattle?’

  His lips curved into a smile and he glanced over at me. “You and I both know that you looked me up the second you realized I’d be working at your firm.”

  “No, we both know your ego is still out of this goddamn world after all these years.” I refused to give him the satisfaction of being right, and I also refused to believe that all the things I’d read about him were true.

  “I’ve never lost a case in my career,” he said. “And I don’t plan on losing this one.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What’s your address?”

  “220 Park Avenue.”

  “The Hamilton?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a pretty amazing place.”

  “Interesting.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence and when we arrived at the parking garage, I pulled my guest pass out of my wallet.

  “Here,” I said, handing it to him. “You’ll need to put this on your dashboard or security will have you towed away. You’re welcome.”

  He let out a low laugh. “Thank you.”

  He pulled into a spot near the front and I led him through the lobby. There was a crowd of people waiting to take the set of elevators, so I motioned for him to follow me down another hallway.

  “Do you live on this floor?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Mr. Walton installed a separate elevator for the higher floors when he bought this place years ago. Maybe one day, if you get back on my good side, I’ll give you a tour.”

  He smiled, but he didn’t say anything else. We rode up to my floor—number twenty-two, and I led him to the executive lounge.

  “So, you live on this floor?” He looked confused.

  “Were you living here last week?”

  “I’ve been living here for quite a while.” I took off my coat and draped it over a chair. “No, you’re not welcome to come back whenever you like.”

  He laughed and took a seat. “I’ll set up the files.”

  “I’ll get us some cups for the coffee.”

  I left and unlocked my apartment, changing into a pair of flats and sweatpants. When I returned to the lounge, he was sitting near the windows, reading over the utility company emails.

  He looked me up and down as I approached with a cup of coffee, and I expected him to say something inappropriate, but he didn’t. He handed me the file I’d been reading at the office, and returned to reading.

  For hours, the two of us sat without saying a word to each other.

  I was highlighting a few lines from the CEO’s emails when I heard Jace clearing his throat.

  “Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” I looked up.

  “Is Taylor Swift your morning alarm music?”

  “Yes.” I set my paper down. “Why?”

  “Just guessing. I shouldn’t be surprised that you still don’t know what good music is.”

  “You never did.” I rolled my eyes and closed the file. “I guess we’ll pick this back up tomorrow. I can walk you out if you like.”

  “I would.” He put his files away and stood up.

  I left the room and walked to the elevator, but he didn’t follow me. Instead, he stood in the hallway as if he were expecting an invitation to stay the night.

  “You promised that you were going to keep things professional.” I hit the down button.

  “I am keeping them professional.”

  “So, allow me to walk you to the lobby,” I said. “Or else, I’ll be forced to call security.”

  He smirked. “And say what?”

  “That someone who does not live here is trying to stay the night.”

  The elevator doors sprung open, and I motioned for him to step onto the cart. “I also need my parking pass back.”

  “Hmmm.” He walked to the apartment door that was next to mine and pulled out a set of keys, smirking as he unlocked it, then he pushed it open. “Tell you what, I’ll let you have my parking pass, and we’ll call it even. How about that?”

  I felt all color leaving my face, my jaw dropping to the floor.

  “You knew I lived next door to you the entire time?”

  “No,” he said, still smirking. “I just realized it tonight. But now that I know, there’s no reason for us not to get reacquainted. I’m available whenever you want.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was still in too much shock.

  I resorted to my usual tactic. Get the hell out of dodge, i.e., rushing to my apartment and shutting the door.

  WHAT. THE. FUCK?

  SIX

  Courtney: Present Day

  THE NEXT MORNING, I turned off my alarm an hour before Taylor Swift’s “Style” could start. I’d been on edge all night—tossing and turning every few minutes with the knowledge that Jace was sleeping right next door. I’d racked my brain to see when he could’ve moved in and realized it must’ve been the weekend I was at Mila’s. I realized that the fact that we never ran into each other in the hallways or the lobby during the past week was probably due to my super
early mornings and super late nights.

  Sighing, I tossed the covers off my body and slipped into the shower. I let the water sting my skin until it was red and raw—until I couldn’t take the stifling steam in the room anymore.

  I wrapped myself in a robe and made a cup of coffee—deciding to start my day in a way I never usually did. Checking work emails.

  The second I read the top unread subjects in my inbox, I remembered exactly why I never looked at them until I made it to the office.

  SUBJECT: Is Mr. Kennedy Single?

  Subject: So... Can You Do Me a Favor? (Hint: It’s About Mr. Kennedy.)

  Subject: Are you Fucking Mr. Kennedy? (Saw You Leaving Late Together Last Night O_o )

  UGH.

  I continued scrolling down—only clicking on the ones that actually pertained to work, and stopped at one that was from an ex-boyfriend.

  SUBJECT: HEY YOU.

  Hey Court,

  Hope all is well. I’m missing you. Hoping we can try “us” sometime soon again?

  Call me,

  Will

  PS—If you don’t want to try “us” again...Maybe we can be fuck buddies? *wink wink*

  I SET MY PHONE DOWN and groaned. I was starting to feel like the universe was playing a wicked trick on me, that this was karma for something I’d done in the past.

  Wait...What the hell have I done in the past to deserve this?

  Will and I hadn’t been “together” since I was in law school, and even when we were, our time together was far from being worthy of a second chance. I could still remember faking it whenever we had sex—feeling like I had to brush up on my porn-watching on weekends to make sure my moans were believable. I could still remember him cheating on me with my roommate a week after my birthday and blaming it on being “just shit-faced drunk babe.”

  The break-up was a welcome relief, though. Just like every other break-up I’d experienced before. Every kiss from every boyfriend felt fake—never natural like it was with Jace. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that our high school affair was “young infatuation” or an “intensified crush,” no man I’d met over the past ten years made me feel anything close to what Jace once made me feel.

  Jace’s mouth still looked as if it was made for kissing me, and I knew—all these years later, that his piercing blue eyes could see right through mine.

  As I was debating whether I should block Will from emailing me again, I heard music coming through the walls. Then I heard the sound of the water pipes slightly rattling as the shower next door came to life.

  So, now he’s going to get up for work two hours early, too? Shit.

  I rushed to my bedroom and started to get ready.

  I didn’t want to see him until work. I needed a couple more hours to think about how I was going to handle living next door to him.

  I snapped on a bra, pulled on a dress, and slipped into my heels.

  Grabbing my briefcase and my coat, I downed the rest of my coffee before heading straight for the elevator.

  I hit the “door close” button repeatedly and just as they were shutting, Jace stuck his briefcase through. Then he stepped onto the cart.

  He was dressed in an impeccable grey suit—looking even sexier than he did in my dream from the other night.

  “Good morning, Courtney.” He stepped in front of me, glaring.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kennedy. I’m surprised you’re up this early.”

  “You shouldn’t be.” He stepped even closer, closing the gap between us. “Especially since someone called the building manager last night and filed a complaint about me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Oh. This person claimed she thought that there was a strange, marijuana smell, so they told me I needed to be out early. Something about needing to investigate the matter and make sure I wasn’t breaking my contract.”

  “Oh, wow,” I said dryly. “I had no idea you smoked weed. That’s such an awful habit. But, if you’re going to continue to do that, maybe you should just request to move to another floor.”

  “Do you want to start this game with me, Courtney? I can guarantee you’ll lose.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’m sure you’ll go out of your way to make sure I feel like shit in the end, just like you did ten years ago.”

  “You’re remembering things completely different from how they happened.”

  “No.” I swallowed. “I’ve always had the better memory between us. That’s why I’ll never forgive you.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. But for the record—childish games or not, I’m not moving out.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The elevators stopped at the lobby, and he stepped off first. Then he looked me up and down.

  “Are you not wearing panties under your dress on purpose?” he asked, smirking. “I think it’ll definitely enhance my view of you at the office, but if not, you may want to change before you start a so-called war with me. I would hate for you to be unprepared.”

  Embarrassed, I hit twenty-two, and the doors closed again.

  SEVEN

  Jace: Present Day

  I CARRIED A STACK OF case files to the elevator early Saturday morning and hit the button for the parking garage. I was hoping the office wouldn’t be too busy today so I could study in peace. One of the major downsides of working at a good firm was that the lawyers actually enjoyed their work enough to want to show up on the weekends.

  When the elevator doors opened, I pressed my key—waiting to hear the sound of my Jaguar roaring to life, but I heard nothing. I tapped the key again—waiting.

  Nothing.

  Confused, I walked to where I’d parked the car last night and there was nothing there but an empty space.

  What the fuck?

  “Are you looking for something, sir?” A parking attendant in a white tuxedo walked up to me.

  “I’m looking for my goddamn car. It was right here last night.”

  “Um, okay.” He pulled a small device from his pocket. “Was it like a Honda or a Toyota or something?”

  “It’s a fucking Jaguar. It’s black with an interior custom design, and the license plate says JACE.”

  “Oh, dude!” He smiled. “I remember that car from this morning. Me and the tow truck driver were really impressed with what you did to the interior.”

  “Why the hell was it towed if I’m a resident?”

  “Because resident or not, you parked in a spot that didn’t belong to you past the allotted time,” he said. “It’s usually not that big of a deal, but if someone complains we have to enforce the rules.”

  “Who complained?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to this shit.

  “I can’t tell you that sir.”

  “Who the fuck complained?”

  “It was the woman on the twenty-second floor.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket. “Here’s the number you’ll need to call to get your car back.”

  Annoyed, I took the card from him and sent a text to the firm’s executive car service.

  The car arrived at the condo’s lobby and I slipped into the backseat, sending Courtney a text.

  ME: I don’t appreciate you fucking with my Jaguar.

  Her response was immediate.

  COURTNEY: I don’t appreciate you living in my building. (You have a base salary of 200k. You can afford to move out.)

  ME: I’m going to pay you back for this shit. (My base salary is 500k. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll consider buying your unit.)

  A few days later...

  “MR. KENNEDY, CAN YOU sign off on these packages, please?” The main secretary stepped into my office. “You ordered a batch of historical newspapers from The New York Times, a statistical report from the state water department and—” She paused, lowering her voice. “Something personal I’d rather not say aloud.”

&n
bsp; “Are you referring to the 1970s love-fest movies?” I rolled my eyes. ‘They’re for the case. The utility company purchased the movie set even though they were warned that it was low quality. You can see how awful the water is in some of the scenes.”

  “No, sir.” She cleared her throat. “I’m referring to the Viagra you’ve had sent here. It looks like it was supposed to be sent to your address at The Hamilton, but it was forwarded here somehow.”

  I looked over at my “view” for the day—seeing Courtney’s sexy, devious smile that made me want to bend her over my desk. She was laughing at this exchange, enjoying the stunned looks from some of the associates in my office.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said. “I forgot I ordered these. Miss Ryan was telling me how her impotent boyfriend was having problems and couldn’t afford the prescription, so I went out on a limb. You can walk those right across the hall.”

  Courtney’s face immediately fell, and she scowled at me.

  “One last thing,” the secretary said. “I um, tried to pick up your dry cleaning, but they can’t seem to find your suits.”

  “What do you mean they can’t find my suits?”

  “That’s just what they said when I went to pick them up. They can’t find them. They’re going to search their warehouse top to bottom and get back to you. Worst case scenario, they’ll cover the cost of each one, up to two hundred dollars.”

  Each one of my suits is worth at least two-thousand dollars.

  “Thank you very much,” I said, watching Courtney smile at her “victory” all over again.

  You have no idea who you’re fucking with, Courtney Ryan...

  A few MORE days later...

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I woke up to the sound of construction right outside my hallway. My first assumption was that it was Courtney, but I’d heard her blasting her usual Taylor Swift music an hour ago and I knew she’d left the building.