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ELLIETTE

“ Y ou gotta be kidding me.”

It was two o’clock in the morning. I’d just sent my dummy article to O’Rourke. I was finally turning off the light while my shattered love life slept in the other room on the couch. And now a dull rhythmic thumping had started pulsing against the wall behind my head.

I folded the pillow around my ears, trying to shut out the sounds of our amorous neighbors.

I’d never heard any bedroom activities from them before. It made me wonder. Had they heard anything from us?

According to Daniel, there wouldn’t have been anything interesting happening on our side of the wall, but that wasn’t true. Maybe we hadn’t been experimental or kinky, but it had been good.

I squeezed my pillow tighter, and while there was an occasional moment of silence, the thumping continued for another thirty minutes. My god, the stamina. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so annoying .

I needed my sleep. I had a whole day of apartment hunting intermixed with uncontrollable cursing, property destruction, and wine ahead of me. I wanted to look good doing all three. Not puffy-eyed and red-nosed.

The pounding got so loud I almost missed my phone pinging with an in-coming text. My guess was that it was Jen—maybe Amy because Jen had probably called her too—wondering how things had gone with Daniel and worried about how I was doing.

I wasn’t going to look at it. It was too late to type out all the things I wanted to say. Debriefing could wait until morning. But then my phone pinged again, and I couldn’t not open the message.

To my surprise, it wasn’t Jen or Amy. It was a text from Oisín O’Rourke.

I read the article. Meet at my office, this morning, nine o’clock. Don’t be late.

I sat up and read the text again. Did that mean what I thought it meant? He wouldn’t call me in for a meeting just to say the article sucked. Which meant…I’d passed his test! I was going to be the Spriggans’ new digital and marketing manager! Maybe.

I texted back:

I’ll be there.

The read receipt popped up, but there was no further response.

No worries. I set my alarm for seven o’clock, calculated how much sleep I was going to get— less than five hours —then proceeded to pile all the pillows on top of my head to drown out the neighbors who, by the way, were still going at it!

Tossing and turning, I considered pounding on the wall myself. But before I could really decide, I finally, thankfully, fell asleep.

I slapped at the mosquito that had been buzzing in my ear before realizing, with no small amount of annoyance, it was actually my alarm. Groaning, I tapped blindly around the nightstand before accidentally knocking my phone to the floor.

“Oh, come on,” I whined.

Not ready to totally leave my warm blankets, I draped my torso off the edge of the mattress and felt around under the bed until I stretched farther than I should have, and gravity dumped me onto the floor.

“ Uff .”

The carpet was rough against my cheek. I opened my eyes and spotted my phone lying under the bed beside the long-lost mate to a sock I’d already thrown away.

I turned off the alarm and pushed myself up to sitting. Then I remembered. I checked the clock, and panic hit my gut.

My alarm had been going off for longer than I’d realized. I’d overslept. I had a meeting with a berserker boar in less than an hour.

“Shit!”

Instantly awake, I sprang to my feet. I needed to look alive. I had to be alert. Oisín O’Rourke could probably smell weakness.

I ran to the bathroom. Thankfully, my eyes weren’t too swollen from crying, but I still retrieved a bag of peas from the freezer and pressed it to my face for a full minute.

I pulled my hair up into a pony—no time to shower—moisturized, swiped on concealer, then added a shimmery peach eyeshadow and mascara.

Now, what to wear? I’d already worn my one interview suit. I needed something just as professional.

I pulled a new, little black dress from the closet and gave it the once-over. Unfortunately, its color was the only professional thing about it. The neckline was wide, and the rest of the LBD was probably too tight for work. But maybe if I put my suit jacket over it…

The memory of my father’s voice echoed in my ear: You’ll still look cheap . Like a common whore .

I put the dress back on the rod, not knowing why I’d even bought it. It still had the tags.

I pulled out another option, which wasn’t at all tailored and was, perhaps, a little young looking. There were too many flowers and too much flounce. But it wasn’t like I could wear jeans and a sweater to my first—well, second—meeting. Maybe after I’d been on the job for a while…

I plugged the iron in, then went to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast. I stutter-stopped when I saw the blanket folded neatly on the couch with the pillow and a handwritten note lying on top.

Wasn’t comfortable.

Went somewhere else.

-D

Somewhere else probably meant Adrienne’s. He would have said if he meant a hotel. I balled up the note and chucked it into the garbage. I didn’t have time to think about Daniel. No man was allowed to distract me from possibly the most pivotal career opportunity of my life.

A bowl of Cheerios and a double espresso later, I had my floral dress pressed and on, my hair tied back, and my shoes buckled. I headed out and was only a few steps down the hall, when I checked the time on my phone.

Those two seconds of distraction caused me to plow straight into my neighbor just as he stepped out of his apartment.

“Oh, sorry!” I grabbed onto his arm for balance, had a fleeting thought about the size of his bicep, and looked up. Then up some more. Oh, hell no.

Icy blue eyes stared down at me.

“Elliette?” With an expression of disgust, Lukas peeled my hand off his arm. Then he glanced toward my apartment door. “Please tell me you’re not stalking me.”

“Stalking! What? I… No!” I got a grip on myself, “For your information, I live here. The better question is, what are you doing here?”

A storm cloud rolled over his face. “As of two days ago, I live here too.”

I closed my eyes as realization dawned. Lukas Bakken was my new fucking neighbor. Like, literally. He’d been the one rocking his bed against the wall all night.

“I see you didn’t waste time,” I said accusingly. He’d been in Minnesota for— what? —forty-eight hours?

“Waste time moving in?” he asked, feigning innocence.

I wasn’t playing that game. “I’m surprised you’re up so early after the night you had.”

He turned his head a fraction of an inch, giving me the side-eye. “How do you know what kind of night I had? ”

“We share a wall, Einstein. Your bed was knocking against it all night.”

He stared at me for a few seconds, then a small smile spread across his face.

“ Ew ,” I said, leaning back. “Don’t smile.”

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s funny.”

“It’s gross, and you made it impossible for me to sleep.”

“If that’s true, what are you doing up so early? Especially on a Saturday.”

“If you must know, I have a meeting.”

“Same.” He checked the time. “And I gotta motor.”

We both took two steps toward the elevator before I stopped, refusing to go any farther. There was no way I was riding in a small, enclosed space with him, even if it was just down to the parking garage.

“I…I forgot my phone,” I said, scrambling for an excuse. “I must have left it on the kitchen counter.”

Lukas gave me a quick, quizzical glance, then walked on to the elevator without looking back.

I didn’t move. I watched him the whole way, mesmerized by those thick thighs and long powerful strides. The way his broad shoulders moved when he walked…

At the end of the hall, Lukas hit the down button, and the elevator doors opened as if they’d been sitting around just waiting for him.

So typical for the golden child. I always had to wait at least five minutes.

He entered, turned to face forward, and showed no surprise that I was still standing right where he’d left me. In fact, he stared straight through me.

Nothing had changed, I guessed. I was, at best, an annoyance, a friend’s embarrassing little sister, who was standing stock still in the hallway with her? —

I looked down at my hand. Jesus. So much for believable excuses. My stupid phone was still in my hand.

LUKAS

Lukas sat alone in the large gleaming office, watching the clock on the wall and waiting for his meeting to start.

He didn’t know what it was about. Every T was already crossed, every I dotted, and he didn’t want to waste his morning.

He still had a lot of unpacking to do, and his first team practice started in five hours.

The massive desk was covered in papers and looked like it had been ransacked. The large—currently vacant—leather chair was molded to its owner’s round fleshy body.

As for the two chairs opposite the desk, Lukas’s instinct had been to take the one closest to the door—for easy exit—but instead he chose the chair to the left because it gave him the best view of the wall clock. It would have been rude to keep checking his phone.

The minute hand snapped to the upright position, and the office door opened. He glanced to his right and spotted the receptionist in the narrow opening. She was waving someone else toward the room and when she opened the door a little wider?—

Elliette? What was she doing here?

She stepped into the office, wearing a brilliant smile, her gaze aimed toward the far side of the desk where she likely expected to see O’Rourke.

Not seeing him—and instead spotting Lukas—she jerked to a stop, and her smile died. “What are you doing here? ”

“I think we already had that conversation this morning,” Lukas said. “Outside your apartment. Remember?”

O’Rourke entered the doorway but had to turn sideways to maneuver past Elliette, who was still standing right where she’d stopped, two feet inside the office.

“What’s this now?” he asked.

Elliette pressed her lips together, clearly not wanting to explain or get into any more arguments in front of O’Rourke.