Page 234 of The Maxwell Brothers

It had been a while since I’d been on a date, and I had way too much tension bottled up. Seeing her wearing the tight workout clothes made my imagination run wild, and I now had other ideas about how I could make her relax.

Liz

His annoyance amused me. I wondered how someone could perpetually have a stick up their ass. Tension radiated off him.Even though he was an asshat, I couldn't deny that he was also incredibly attractive.

He had muscles that went on for days, and his blue eyes seemed unreal. They weresointense. I could feel a blush creeping up my chest, the warmth making me want to fan myself. He'd probably chalk it up to the fierce cardio movements I was doing during my dance workout though.

"We're at an impasse," I said. "I like to dance when I get home from work, and you can hear across a huge yard and through two sets of windows."

"Buy headphones," he said in that low, rich voice that seemed even sexier in the evening.

This was the third middle-of-the-night visit I’d received from him this week. My music was not loud. I’d tested this by stepping out of the house while it was playing, and I could only faintly hear it. I had no idea how he heard itthroughhis closed window. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair.

"Buy earplugs," I replied, smiling sweetly, then decided to give in. I wanted to wave the white flag. I was bone-tired from work, and I had no energy to keep fighting with him. "I promise I’ll turn down the volume even more. How’s that?"

"Thank you. Have a pleasant evening," he said before turning around and leaving.

“Have a pleasant evening”? Who says that?It sounded so formal. Then again, he was a lawyer. I could imagine that formality came with the job description.

Closing the door, I leaned against it, sighing before heading to my phone and turning the volume down a bit. Then I began swinging my hips again. Even though I was tired, I needed a way to blow off steam when I came home from work.

I’d moved from a tiny town in Illinois—Sunnyvale—to Chicago to fulfill my dream: to open a bakery. But until that happened, I needed to hustle and build up my savings. I wasworking two and a half jobs: From eight in the morning to noon, I worked for a catering company. From one to four, I helped the same company prep events when they needed me. And from six to midnight, I worked as a bartender at a swanky bar where the tips were amazing.

My sleep hours were crazy, but hey, you had to do what you had to do to get what you wanted.

I rented this place seven months ago when I first moved to Chicago. My landlord had been this cute old lady, Helen. She reminded me of Mom. She was so outspoken and friendly and loved to bake. The guest house wasn’t as nearly as big as the main house. It seemed to be a later addition to the property.

The big house, where my new stubborn and insufferable landlord lived, was built in the 1900s and had an entry staircase that seemed straight out of a fairy tale. It led to a porch that looked a bit like a balcony, and the windows had intricate carvings surrounding them.

The guest house was small and modern, with one bedroom and a big kitchen. I loved it. We were in the Gold Coast, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Chicago. The rent had been so incredibly low I’d been a bit suspicious at first. When I asked Helen about the price, she insisted that she just wanted someone to live in the guest house because if it were empty, it would deteriorate.

As soon as I moved in, it became obvious that Helen wanted company. It wasn't unusual for her to wait for me to come back from one of my night shifts. She hadn't minded my dancing either, though her hearing might not have been as sharp as Declan's. But Helen and I often stayed up late chatting for hours, and she'd tell me about her youth and her family.

Sadly, my sweet Helen got sick a few months after I moved in. She didn't have any family nearby, so one day, she informed me that she was moving into a senior care home. I'd been shell-shocked. She also said she'd put the house up for sale, but not to worry, she'd take care of me.

And then this tyrant bought the house. This infuriating but sexy-as-hell tyrant.

He didn’t move in right away. Instead, he’d renovated the house for a couple months and only moved in last week.

Helen insisted he was a sweet guy from a renowned family in Chicago, but to me, he seemed to always be in a bad mood—or maybe I brought out that side of him. True to her word, Helen sold the house with the condition that he allowed me to continue rentingat the price she gave me. So this was a steal. I could put up with a difficult neighbor if it helped me reach my dream faster. It wasn't a hardship. I'd been through rough times, and I knew what hard meant.

I absentmindedly touched the scar on my abdomen, my constant reminder of days gone by.

After I finished my dance routine, I collapsed on the couch. The problem with working late was that I had too much adrenaline to sleep now, but I had to, because in five hours, I’d be up and running again.

The other problem with working odd hours was that I was awake when everyone was asleep. I couldn't text my friends, or my sister, or my mom. They were all back home. Mom was temporarily staying with my sister, who recently gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl. I went to visit and almost didn’t want to come back. I missed my family so much that my chest ached.

Thinking of my family got me to wondering…. My sister was up late sometimes, feeding my niece. I picked up my phone and texted her on the off chance she was awake.

Liz: How is the best mom in the world doing?

She responded immediately, probably up for a feeding.

Rose: Hanging in there. I miss you.

Liz: Aww, I miss you too.

Rose: How are you holding up? Your schedule is so crazy.