Page 1 of Three Wickedly Bad Neighbors and a Very Grumpy Girl (Three Guys and a Girl Volume 2, #8)

? Chapter One

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A very

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O kay, so I messed up , but I can get back on track. I inhale deeply and try to center myself. I’m a stickler for structure. If I deviate from my daily itinerary, everything will fall apart. There’s no in-between.

Mondays are grocery shopping and food prep days.

Tuesdays are gym days. Wednesdays are car wash days.

Thursday evenings, I do volunteer work at the homeless shelter.

Friday nights, I have dinner with my best friend, Veronica Harold.

Saturdays are house-cleaning days, and Sundays are gardening days.

Rinse. Repeat. Yes, my entire life is built around rules and routines. It always has been and always will be.

Except today, which is Sunday. My mind snapped, and I did all of my week’s chores in one day.

I gardened, washed my car, grocery shopped and prepped meals, worked out, took a shift at the homeless shelter, and met Veronica for a quick coffee—which will count as our Friday dinner date since we ate cake as well.

I even cleaned my entire house from top to bottom again, so now everything gleams, from the chandeliers hanging from the ceilings to the spoons in the drawers.

I also, among other things, did my taxes in advance, decluttered my phone and laptop of unnecessary apps and photos, updated my calendar, restocked my stationery drawer, and replaced the light in my bathroom, which, by my calculation, was going to go out in one day and thirteen hours.

Why did I do all my chores like a maniac in one day? I start a brand-new job tomorrow morning, and apparently, I’m stress chore-ing. This has never happened to me before. But then again, I’ve never had so much riding on just one job.

Still, all is fine. Everything is going to be perfect.

I nod into my affirmations as I light a candle and inhale the subtle scent of jasmine that slowly perfumes the air.

This just means I can regain my balance with a clear mind and be in even better shape for my first day.

All I need to do now is acquire ultra-zen.

I’m suitably exhausted from everything I did today, which will help me fall asleep faster, ensuring a full night of slumber so I can wake up grounded, composed, confident, and as sharp as the heel on the stiletto I’ll be wearing tomorrow.

I’ve decided this job will be the one I retire from, my be-all and end-all.

I mean, I didn’t make it through a series of six meetings, going up against the industry’s best—who have more experience than me—if I wasn’t made for this position.

It’s going to be enormously demanding. I will barely have time to myself, and there’s no room for error. Yep. I was born for this job.

Right. It’s 9 p.m. If I start winding down right now, I can be in bed by 10 p.m., fall asleep by 10:30 p.m., and wake up at 6:30 a.m., which is my natural waking time. Perfect.

I do some stretches to work out the kinks from the heavy-duty cleaning I did today, then I fill the tub, adding a couple of bath bombs to the water.

While that’s going, I strip off my clothes and hop into the shower for a scrub that makes my skin tingle.

The instant I step into the bathtub and lower myself into the delicious, silky bubbles, I sigh and begin aligning my thoughts.

I was meant to have one more interview where I would meet my possible future billionaire boss, but I got the call this morning that they’re hiring me anyway and can I please start on Monday?

I would have preferred to meet the man I’ll be working for first; protocol is very important to me, but in this case, I let it slide.

I know I’m going to knock the socks off my billionaire boss despite not meeting him yet.

No one can run someone else’s life better than I can.

I’ve been doing it since I was five years old, actually.

My parents loved me, but they invented the term scatterbrain.

They were treasure hunters—not real career-level treasure hunters, but hobby treasure hunters.

No one can fault their dedication to their avocation, that’s for sure.

They divorced when I was twelve, citing irreconcilable differences, which actually meant they got bored of each other after twelve years of marriage.

They’re still out there in the world somewhere, seeking secret troves, but with different partners now. The nomadic lifestyle, plus being shuffled between my parents, didn’t suit my personality, so when I reached the age of eighteen, I broke away. I don’t think either of them noticed much.

I put myself through college and earned a degree in business and communications while I worked part-time for a cranky old rich woman, organizing her life for her.

Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, I hadn’t outgrown my need to organize people’s lives for them, which explains why I excel at being a personal assistant.

Getting the job at Obsidia Tech is a massive upgrade from working as the PA for a family-owned dry-cleaning company I worked at before which is now closing down, but I’m the ideal person for the role thanks to my parents.

Without me, they’d have set three houses on fire, gotten us eaten by bears, suffered cholesterol problems if they continued eating the way they did, and walked straight off a cliff after following some cockamamie map they got from god knows where, looking for treasure.

I still send them money every month and pay for their private health insurance. At least I know they’ll be fed and receive medical attention when needed.

I brush aside all thoughts about my parents and slip into bed, my skin oiled and then nourished with a rich moisturizer.

I settle back against the cool silk sheets, then smooth down the covers on either side of me into place.

There’s nothing on my mind, I tell myself.

I’ve ticked everything off my to-do list, plus I ordered birthday presents for the next six months, and I even have my cart for Christmas shopping started, despite the holidays being five months away.

I close my eyes, breathe deeply in and out, and then count to twenty.

I should fall asleep instantly, given how tired I am.

I also haven’t looked at a screen in the last two hours or so, so no blue light, which means zero dopamine.

I should be reaching peak serenity right about now, and then I’ll fall right into a tranquil slumber.

My body relaxes. My breathing evens out. I force sheer peace to envelop me. My universe welcomes these eight hours of high-quality sleep just like it welcomes my new job. My thoughts float... hmm...

One hour goes by, and I’m still awake. Dammit. I think I may have drifted off somewhat. I’m sure I did. But then...

It doesn’t happen all at once. A few voices here and there. Then it gets louder. Female laughter fills my ears. Then boom. I shoot up straight from my bed at the sound of heavy music thundering through the walls of my house. No, I’m not dreaming.

It’s coming from outside. I glance at the time. It's 11:30 p.m. I may have been asleep for about thirty minutes. The people are noisier now, more boisterous, trying to be heard over the pounding music.

We have rules in this neighborhood—excellent rules—that everyone abides by.

Since I live in a village with more retirees than not, rule number one is no loud music after nine at night, and if you don't like it, you can leave. And most people do leave. Not me. I’ve lived here for six months so far, and I love it.

But seriously? On the one night when all I ask for is peace and quiet so I can nail my first day at my new job tomorrow, I get the direct opposite.

I peer out the window. The raucous is coming from the house next door.

I stick my head out further, and a stream of people are just having a freaking jamboree in the backyard.

Except, plot twist: the house next door has been empty for as long as I’ve lived here.