Page 1 of My CEO Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #5)

T ed

Ted's phone buzzed against the nightstand just before his alarm.

He was already awake, staring at the ceiling and running through his presentation for the hundredth time.

Dexter Capital didn't invest in startups run by insomniacs who second-guessed every slide transition, but they didn't need to know that part.

The shower scalded his shoulders while he mentally rehearsed his opening.

CloudSync represents the future of data integration.

No, too vague. In eighteen months, we've captured twelve percent of the enterprise market.

Better. Numbers spoke louder than buzzwords, especially to vultures like Gavin Dexter.

Ted pulled on his charcoal Tom Ford suit. Image mattered in these meetings. Confidence was a performance, and he'd been perfecting this role for three years.

His reflection looked sharp enough to cut glass, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. When was the last time he'd slept more than four hours? Tuesday? Last month?

He moved to the kitchen for coffee, muscle memory guiding him through the routine while his mind catalogued the day's critical tasks. Outside his window, movement on the neighboring fire escape caught his attention.

A woman in fitted black leggings and a sports bra was doing what looked like yoga poses, her body moving with easily in the early morning light. Dark hair caught the sunrise as she bent forward, the curve of her spine creating a perfect arch that made Ted's coffee mug pause halfway to his lips.

Monica Tyson, 12B. The yoga instructor who'd been complaining about his conference calls.

Ted found himself watching as she transitioned into what he vaguely recognized as warrior pose, her legs long and lean, arms extended with unconscious elegance.

She moved like water, like someone completely at peace with her body and the world around her.

The morning light caught the sheen of sweat on her skin, and Ted realized he was staring.

She was beautiful. More than beautiful, she was magnetic in a way that made him forget about quarterly projections for a dangerous moment.

Focus. Ted forced himself to turn away from the window, but the image lingered—Monica's body moving with that hypnotic grace, the way her leggings hugged every curve, the serene expression on her face that suggested she'd never experienced a moment of anxiety in her life.

What would it be like to have that kind of peace? That kind of presence in your own skin?

The thought was ridiculous. Ted didn't have time for philosophical questions about presence. He had a company to save.

The elevator ride to the parking garage passed in blessed silence.

Ted's building attracted young professionals who kept reasonable hours, unlike him.

He'd moved to the Dexter Towers for the convenience: walking distance to three excellent coffee shops, fiber internet that could handle his ridiculous bandwidth needs, and neighbors who minded their own business.

Well, most of them minded their own business.

His Porsche purred to life, and Ted allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sound. Some guys collected watches or vintage wines. He collected horsepower and quarterly reports that made investors weep with joy.

The drive to CyberHub was quick at this hour, before Seattle's traffic arteries clogged with commuters. Inside, his keycard chirped against the scanner, and he stepped into the darkened office that had become more familiar than his apartment.

The cleaning crew had left everything spotless. Ted's corner office overlooked Elliott Bay, though he rarely noticed the view anymore. Sunrise was just another transition from coffee cup one to coffee cup three.

His assistant wouldn't arrive until eight, but Ted had already burned through forty-seven emails by the time the espresso machine finished its morning warm-up cycle. Protein bar for breakfast—chocolate chip, because he wasn't completely dead inside—and then straight into the presentation deck.

Slide seventeen still bothered him. The user acquisition metrics looked too aggressive, even though they were conservative estimates based on current growth trajectories. Dexter would spot any hint of artificial inflation from across the conference table.

Adjusting projections, he tightened the language until each bullet point could survive a hostile audit.

This wasn't just another funding round. This was the funding round, the one that would launch CloudSync into the stratosphere or crater his reputation permanently.

Without this funding, they'd be out of money in four months.

He'd have to lay off thirty employees who'd believed in his vision, trusted him with their careers.

DataFlow was circling like sharks, poaching clients and top talent with their inflated war chest.

This meeting wasn't just about growth—it was about survival.

His phone rang. Wes, his CTO, was calling from London.

"Please tell me you're not at the office," Wes said without preamble.

"It's five-thirty in the morning."

"Exactly my point. When did you leave last night?"

Ted couldn't remember. After the marketing review, before the server maintenance window. "Doesn't matter. How's the European rollout?"

"Smooth as your ability to avoid direct questions. Ted, when was the last time you took a weekend off?"

"Weekends are when our competitors gain ground.

" Ted pulled up the latest market analysis, numbers that would make Dexter's pupils dilate with greed.

"Speaking of which, did you see TechCrunch's piece on DataFlow's new funding?

Twenty-two million for technology that barely qualifies as beta.

They're already trying to poach Sarah from our development team. "

"Which is exactly why you need to be sharp for today's meeting instead of running on fumes and desperation."

Ted's jaw tightened. Wes meant well, but advice about work-life balance sounded hollow coming from someone who'd chosen a startup equity package over a stable job at Google. They were all desperate. The only difference was how honestly they admitted it.

"I'm fine," Ted said.

"You're many things. Fine isn't one of them."

After Wes hung up, Ted stared at the presentation deck until the letters blurred together. Six hours until the meeting. Plenty of time to run the demo, rehearse answers to hostile questions, and consume enough caffeine to power a small aircraft.

His phone buzzed with a text from his ex, Gwynne: Saw the TechCrunch article about CloudSync. Proud of you. Try to eat something that isn't brown liquid or comes in a wrapper.

Ted deleted the message without responding.

Gwynne had made her choice when she'd walked out eight months ago, citing his "pathological relationship with work" and his "inability to exist in the same room as another human being without checking email.

" Her words, documented in a breakup speech that had lasted longer than most of his board meetings.

She wasn't wrong, but that didn't make her right.

By the time his assistant arrived with fresh coffee and a stack of contracts that needed signatures, he'd fine-tuned the presentation.

"The car will be here at two-fifteen," Jennifer said. "I've prepared backup slides for the revenue model, printed copies of the partnership agreements, and scheduled a post-meeting debrief for four-thirty."

"What would I do without you?"

"Probably starve to death in this office while composing love letters to your profit margins."

Ted's laugh sounded rusty from disuse. Jennifer had been with CloudSync since the beginning, back when their biggest worry was whether the vending machine would accept crumpled dollar bills. She'd earned the right to call him on his bullshit.

"Any messages I need to know about?"

"Your neighbor called the building manager again. Your conference calls are disrupting her morning meditation."

Monica. Ted felt an unexpected flutter of interest alongside his irritation.

He thought of her on the fire escape that morning, all fluid grace and unconscious sensuality.

What did she look like when she meditated?

Did she wear those same fitted leggings that had made his coffee grow cold while he watched her move?

"What does she expect me to do, conduct business in sign language?"

"Have you considered moving your calls to seven?"

"Have you considered telling her to meditate somewhere that isn't adjacent to people who work for a living?

" But even as Ted said it, he found himself wondering what Monica Tyson looked like when she was annoyed.

Did she maintain that serene yoga instructor composure, or did she get fired up?

The thought of her passionate about sent an unwelcome spike of desire through him.

Jennifer's expression suggested this wasn't the hill he should choose to die on, but Ted was beyond caring. He'd bought his apartment specifically for the corner location. If Monica wanted perfect silence, she could find a cave in Tibet.

Though the thought of her in a cave felt like a waste. A woman who moved like that belonged somewhere she could be appreciated.

Focus, Ted told himself sharply. He didn't have time to wonder about his neighbor's meditation habits or whether she looked as good out of workout clothes as she did in them.

The morning passed in a blur of final preparations.

Ted ran his presentation twice more, fielding questions from his sales director and making last-minute adjustments to the financial projections.

By noon, he felt ready to stare down Gavin Dexter's legendary skepticism and walk away with a signed term sheet.

His phone rang at half past noon. Unknown number.

"Theodore Corwin."

"Mr. Corwin, this is Janet from Dexter Capital. I'm calling about today's two-thirty meeting."

Ted's stomach dropped into his shoes. "What about it?"