Billionaire Neighbor

by Lulu Pratt

  “Are you going to help me in the kitchen?” I ask

  Lindsay shakes her head. “I think I’m going to draw some more,” she says.

  I nod and walk to the kitchen. I start cooking dinner, throwing together chicken mayo sandwiches for us. After a while, I hear the front door close.

  “Lindsay?” I call.

  “Yes?” she answers. She comes into the kitchen, and she has glitter all over her face. I laugh and find the dishrag to wipe it off.

  “Were you outside just now?” I ask.

  Lindsay nods, her face moving under the cloth on her cheek.

  “Sweetie, you shouldn’t leave the house without asking permission. I hope you put on a jacket. It’s freezing outside. I think it’s going to snow soon. Where did you go?”

  “I did put on a jacket, and I delivered my letter to Santa.”

  I frown, putting the cloth on the counter. “We are supposed to mail the letters to the North Pole. Santa doesn’t live close by.”

  “Yes, he does,” Lindsay says. “He lives right next door.”

  “What?” I ask. “You delivered the letter next door?”

  I live at the end of a dead-end street, so I’ve only got one neighbor, but I don’t know him. We’ve nodded at each other once or twice from a distance. He’s about my age and keeps to himself, just like I do, but we’ve never spoken. I know what he looks like and what car he drives, but that’s about it.

  Lindsay nods again, and my stomach flips a little. I’m embarrassed. I take a deep breath and remind myself that my neighbor won’t know where Lindsay’s letter came from. Still, I feel like I want to go next door and see if I can get that letter back.

  “Did you put it in the mailbox?” I ask.

  Lindsay shakes her head. “I didn’t see a mailbox. So, I put it through the slot in the door.”

  Well, so much for that plan. Not that I would have gone around stealing his mail anyway. I take a deep breath and shrug off the embarrassment. What’s done is done, and I doubt it will matter. It’s just a child sending a letter to Santa. Hopefully, my neighbor will understand.

  Chapter 2

  GRAHAM

  I don’t often dress up in costumes for parties, but this year, I’m the designated driver, and I have to do something to make it fun for myself. I’m dressed up as Santa, leaning against the bar, watching my friends get drunk. I’m usually right there with them, downing beers until the room spins, but not tonight. Oddly enough, it’s kind of fun to be on the outside for a change, watching them make fools of themselves.

  I scratch my chin. The fake beard is starting to irritate me, and I’m getting hot in this suit as well. I rented it especially for the party, unwilling to be an elf or to sport a red nose and antlers like Rudolph. There aren’t many options for Christmas costumes. There are two more Santas in the bar, but I’m the only one in our group of friends.

  It works for me. I like being different.

  A curvy woman in an elf outfit that’s way too tight walks up to me. “How about you and I find somewhere quiet, and you grant all my wishes?”

  She’s had too much to drink. Her red lipstick is smudged a little, and her eyes are glazed.

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” I say.

  She pouts, and I wonder if she’s going to insist, but she shimmies away with rolling hips and wobbly legs, and I’m relieved.

  “Come on, pal,” Joe says. “That was easy pickings.”

  I chuckle. I didn’t realize one of my friends was close enough to witness it. “I don’t mind an easy piece of ass, but I have some taste.”

  “I would have said yes if I wasn’t married,” Joe says.

  I shrugged. “Be my guest,” I say with a smile.

  Joe grins at me, shakes his head, but he doesn’t pursue her. Just what I thought.

  Finally, everyone is ready to leave. We’ve been at the bar the whole afternoon and the better part of the evening. After I drop everyone off, it’s about eleven, and I head home. All the houses along my street, except mine, are covered with Christmas decorations. Strings of lights flash, mistletoe hangs on some of the porches, and there is red and green everywhere. As soon as it starts snowing, it will complete the picture. Aside from a light smattering of snow at the beginning of the season, it’s been dry. The snow is holding back, and everyone is hoping that it will fall in time for a white Christmas.

  I walk up to my house, dark and deserted. I prefer living alone. There was a time when I lived with a woman, but it ended badly, and the worst part was coming home to a place that suddenly felt empty. Of course, that didn’t last very long. My house became my own again, and it’s been that way ever since.

  I unlock my door and step into the dark house. Something crackles beneath my foot. I flip on the light switch and look down. A pink envelope lies on the floor just inside the front door. I frown. Usually, I get my letters in the mailbox.

  I open the letter, and glitter falls out. I shake my hand and then my foot. Why the hell do people make this shit? I hate glitter.

  It won’t be from any of my tenants. I’m in construction, and I bought a couple of rundown homes, fixed them up, and now, I rent them out. I keep my tenants at arm’s length. None of them know where I live, and I prefer to keep it that way. I like to keep my personal life separate from my business life.

  I unfold the letter, and more glitter sprinkles on my hands. When I read the letter, I realize it’s a letter to Santa. Some kid must have put it in my mail slot, but who? It can’t be Britney’s kids. They live too far to do something like this. Besides, my sister and her children don’t exactly have the best life with that goddamn husband of hers.

  At the bottom of the letter, a postscript has been added in a different color. Please bring a man for my Aunt Sarah, it reads. It’s signed, “Lindsay.”

  I don’t know Lindsay, but I do know a Sarah. She’s one of my tenants, and she lives next door. I don’t remember her having any children, but it would make sense how the letter ended up inside my house. In fact, as I was leaving the house this afternoon I remember seeing a woman and young girl walking up her driveway.

  I walk to the window in my living room and look out. The house next door is quiet, but I see movement on the porch, revealing Sarah, my tenant. I quickly get out of my Santa suit, and I decide to speak to her.

  “Evening,” I say as I walk up the path.

  Sarah jumps and turns around. “Oh, God,” she says. Her hand is clutched to her chest, but she is smiling.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I live next door. I got this letter in my mail slot.” I take the three steps up onto the porch. “I presume this belongs to you?”

  “Oh, that,” Sarah says. “My niece and I were writing letters to Santa this afternoon. She told me he lives next door. She must have slipped it in when I wasn’t looking.”

  She looks embarrassed. It’s endearing.

  “Yeah, that’s what it is. I was wearing a Santa suit on my way to a party earlier today. She must have seen me coming out of the house.” I look down at the letter and smile. “She even considered you in her Christmas wish list.”

  When Sarah frowns at me, I hand her the letter. She reaches inside the front door and switches on the porch light. The light illuminates her face, and she looks even prettier. I’ve seen her in the daytime, too, but I haven’t paid much attention. Light brown hair hangs over her shoulders, and she has a stunning figure, but it’s her eyes that get me. They are dark, liquid brown and drowning deep. I watch her as her eyes flick over the note. When she reads the last line, her cheeks become bright red. She’s beautiful when she blushes. She turns those eyes to me and shakes her head.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  I chuckle. “I gather you don’t have a man? I’m Graham, by the way.”

  She blushes even more and shakes her head. “I’m not exactly desperate for one, either, as this suggests. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say, chuckling. “If it’
s not rude to ask, can I have your number? You know, seeing as how we’re neighbors and all.”

  I know I might be pushing it, but when a woman this beautiful arrives in your life, you make sure she stays in it. I don’t expect her to give me her number, though. She doesn’t know me at all.

  “Okay,” she says in a soft voice.

  I’m surprised and thrilled. Of course, I already have her number. She’s a tenant. But I’m not going to tell her that. I don’t want her to know that I’m her landlord, at least not for now.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her so she can save her digits in my contacts. When she hands me my phone, she shrugs.

  “It’s the least I can do after Lindsay’s letter.” She still looks embarrassed, and I love it. She’s adorable when she’s blushing.

  “Thank you, Sarah,” I say pretending to look at her name on the telephone. “I’m not going to hang around here at this time of night any longer, or you’ll think I’m a creeper,” I say with a grin, and she smiles back at me. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she says.

  Chapter 3

  SARAH

  On Saturday afternoon, Monica comes to pick up Lindsay.

  “How was your night of freedom?” I ask her when she’s inside.

  “So necessary. I really appreciate you being able to watch her. Life gets so busy, Larry and I end up living past each other.”

  I nod. “Of course, I know how busy you are, and I love spending time with her.”

  Lindsay comes into the living room with her bag, and Monica smiles at her daughter.

  “Did you have fun, sweetie pie?” she asks.

  Lindsay nods. “I did. We wrote letters to Santa, and I delivered mine.”

  Monica looks at me when I sigh.

  “Yes, she did,” I say. “She delivered it to the man next door.”

  “What?” Monica asks, laughing. “Why?”

  “He was dressed as Santa yesterday,” I say. “She put two and two together and got a number that was very far off the mark. Oh, and she included me in her letter.”

  Lindsay grins, proud of herself. “I asked Santa for a man for Sarah. Just like you were talking about.”

  “Oh, God,” Monica says, looking at me.

  I nod, confirming it. Monica gives Lindsay a stern look, and the child’s smile fades.

  “Was it wrong?” Lindsay asks.

  Monica kneels so that she’s closer to Lindsay’s height. “Sweetie, Santa doesn’t live next door. It’s Sarah’s neighbor. Sometimes, people dress up like Santa for fun. Just like you sometimes dress up like a fairy, but that doesn’t make you one. Do you understand?”

  Lindsay nods. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought Sarah wanted a man.”

  This is exactly why I don’t want to talk about these things in front of Lindsay. She’s old enough to know what we’re saying, but not old enough to fully know what we mean. Monica sighs, running her hand through Lindsay’s hair.

  “It’s okay, but next time you want to do something like this, you need to ask someone, okay? And you need to apologize to Sarah, not to me.”

  Lindsay looks up at me with big eyes. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” she says.

  “It’s okay, honey bunny,” I say to her, and it makes her lips twitch with a smile. “Now we know for next time.”

  Lindsay nods and wraps her arms around my waist. I stroke her hair.

  “So, you must write another letter for the real Santa when you’re home, okay Lindsay? Then you’ll get all your presents, and it’s not accidentally overlooked.”

  Monica smiles at me. Lindsay picks up her bag, and we all walk out to the car. When Lindsay is in the car, Monica turns to me.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she says.

  I laugh. “Don’t worry. The neighbor came over, the one who got Lindsay’s letter, so I met him.”

  “He did? And?”

  I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “His name is Graham. He’s really attractive… and he asked for my number.”

  Monica laughs. “Something good came of it after all. Let me know the minute he calls you.”

  I promise I will, and Monica hugs me.

  She gets in the car, and when they back out of my driveway, I wave at them. Lindsay waves back at me. I watch the car as they leave. When I turn to walk into the house, Graham steps out onto his porch. He waves at me.

  I lift my hand and wave shyly back at him. He rocks on the balls of his feet, jamming his hands into his pockets. He looks like he’s considering something before he steps down his porch and walks around to my driveway.

  “I take it the little matchmaker has gone home,” he says.

  I nod. “Yes, we’re safe for now. “

  Graham chuckles, and I like the sound of it when he does. It’s smooth and deep, like velvet on my skin. In the light of day, his features are so much more striking. God, he’s hot. His eyes are a dark blue — the color of the ocean — and his dark hair is messy around his face in a way that only makes him look hotter. His jaw is defined, his nose is straight as an arrow, and thick dark eyebrows above his eyes make him look perpetually pensive.

  “So, now that you’re free of your babysitting duties, do you want to go out tonight?”

  He’s so straightforward it catches me off guard, but I can’t find a reason to say no to him. I don’t want to say no to him.

  “Yeah, tonight sounds good,” I say, and I blush for no good reason at all. This seems to happen around Graham.

  He smiles at me, and it’s a brilliant smile, making me melt.

  “Dinner? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  I laugh. “You live right next door.”

  “So, no excuse to be late, then,” he says and winks at me.

  I laugh. That happens a lot around him, too, I realize. I don’t spend a lot of time dating or trying to find a man, but he makes me laugh a lot more than other men have. When he walks away, I watch him leave. He’s as hot from behind as he is from the front. He looks like he works out or something, but his muscles aren’t for show. He carries himself with a swagger to his stride, maybe a little arrogance, but it’s so damn attractive.

  I turn around and walk back into my own house because he reaches his porch and catches me staring.

  Why have we never spoken before? He’s so open and approachable now, making all the moves. It’s hot when a guy does that — I love assertive men. I’ve always assumed he was in a relationship, or there was some other reason why he kept to himself so much. Maybe we’ve just been living past each other. We were total strangers until last night, after all.

  I’m nervous to go on my date. I go on dates now and then, mostly to satisfy Monica who always tries to set me up with someone, but they never end up being someone I like, and most of them seem to be intimidated by me. Graham isn’t like that.

  Maybe it’s not the date I’m worried about, but where it will lead. I haven’t dated seriously since college. Jacob broke my heart when he cheated on me. He made me believe that it was my fault, that I wasn’t exciting enough for him. I had tried to be someone for him that just wasn’t me, and I learned that it didn’t change anything.

  Now, I’m a lot fussier about what I accept in my life. Monica thinks I’m always looking for a reason to push away men, and she’s perpetually worried that I’ll be alone forever. I’m not worried about my own love life. I’ve still got plenty of time to see what’s out there and find the right man for me.

  And who knows? Maybe it will be someone like Graham.

  I shake off the thought. I’m not going to let my imagination and the immediate attraction I feel when I’m around him influence me. I need to keep an open mind about this and run him through the same list I use with all the men I consider. Besides, it’s only a date. I’ll see how it goes and take it from there. I must admit, I’m more excited than nervous to go out with him.

  The most important thing right now is deciding what to wear.

  Chapter 4

 
; GRAHAM

  At six fifty-five, I pull my car out of my own driveway and into Sarah’s next door. I get out and walk to her door. When I knock, she opens almost immediately.

  “You’re early,” she says, smiling.

  “You’re ready,” I say, looking her up and down. Her light brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a minimal amount of make-up. She closes a beige coat, and I glimpse a blue tunic-looking thing and leggings with boots. Everything about how she’s dressed is as laid back as it is classy, and I love it. She’s so different from other women.

  “You sound surprised,” she says.

  I nod. “I’m used to women fussing forever, and then they still don’t come out of the house looking as stunning as you look.”

  She blushes when I pay her the compliment, and it’s exactly what I was after. I chuckle, unable to hold back my glee.

  “Shall we?” I ask.

  Sarah nods and reaches for a handbag behind the door. It’s a bag with a long strap that she hooks over her shoulder, completing her look, and I know she can’t have much in a bag that small. She’s becoming more and more attractive by the minute. God, I want her. She’s so fucking hot that I can just imagine what she looks like beneath her clothes. But I won’t make a move until after dinner. A lady with class like Sarah needs to be wooed first.

  “Did you drive here?” she asks with a laugh when she sees my car.

  I nod and run around to open the door for her. “A lady shouldn’t have to walk twenty steps in the cold.”

  “Thank you,” she says, smiling. “And might I add, you look pretty good yourself.”

  I grin, closing her door before walking around to the driver’s side. I wore a dark pair of jeans and a light blue collared shirt, which I’m glad about now — we match. I chose to wear my black, double-breasted coat against the cold because everyone compliments me on it.

  “Where are we going?” Sarah asks when I’m in the car.

  “The Scott Place,” I answer, and I drive us there. It’s not too dressy, it has good food and even better views of the mountain — perfect for a dinner date without being overly romantic. I called ahead and managed to reserve a table, even though it was short notice.