by Paige North
“No neighbors to worry about? We like to play our music.”
“Ten-F is occupied,” I say. “But you don’t need to worry about it. Act as if there’s no one there. Start your work on either side of the apartment.”
“You’re the boss,” Barry says.
I slap a hundred in his hand as a tip. “Remember: make as much noise as you want.”
He looks at me curiously, and then he and the guys get started.
I stay in my office and do a little more work. There’s always more work to be done but also I want to make sure they’re doing their jobs right—the construction, and the noise.
They do not disappoint. The music is what starts first—it’s loud and furious and wailing. I love it. Then the real work begins—the demolition, the banging, hammering, tearing down of walls. The guys yell at each other over the noise and music. It is perfect.
I wait. But no Ellie Taylor bursting forth through the door of 10F. Is she even home? Did I shell out all that money for nothing?
I step out of our offices and look down the hall. The guys are hustling, but her apartment door stays shut. I walk down the hall.
“Any sign of her?” I ask Barry, pointing to 10F.
“Nothing,” he says.
Maybe she has really good earplugs. I point to Barry’s old-fashioned boom box. “Turn it up,” I say, and he does.
I stand outside her door a bit longer, waiting for her to appear. I keep an eye on my phone just in case she does throw the door open—I don’t want to look like I’m spying, even though I am. Still, she doesn’t come.
Eventually I go back up to my penthouse. Maybe she isn’t home. It’s close to midnight now—where could she be? Out on a date?
My mind dashes to Ellie with some other man, but I reign it back and insert myself into that little fantasy. Of course, thinking of being alone with Ellie—either out in public or in private, makes my dick hard again. What is this woman doing to me? It’s ridiculous. Still, I abide by my dick’s demands. I know I’ll never have her—but picturing her mouth on my cock is still fun work. That’s why it’s called a fantasy—it’s something that will never happen, no matter how good it feels to imagine.
When I finish I get myself a glass of sparkling water, and wait for 10F’s complaints to come through. Eventually, she’ll crack.
Ellie
It begins as a peaceful night at home.
After the long day of meeting with the probate attorney, then the hideousness of running into Ajax at the bodega, I make myself a dinner of three-cheese mac and cheese, settle into my favorite drama, and begin a full evening of chill.
Then all hell breaks loose.
I hear a gaggle of men’s voices on one side of the apartment around nine but don’t think much of it, even though this floor is all but abandoned except for the Remington offices at the far end of the hall. The whole building is in flux now with all the changes the new owner plans to do—the retail shops, offices, a hotel and luxury apartments all under one roof. And it is strange walking down the halls covered in protective plastic for the imminent construction, but once I come through that door, it all washes away. Being in Dad’s home makes me at peace.
The music starts first, loud and tinny, like from an old-fashioned boom box. Then, on the other side of my apartment, the cacophony of hammers, drills, the men yelling orders at each other, some laughing and others singing. I’m sandwiched in by the noise and work happening on either side of me. I turn up the TV louder, scoot closer to the speakers, determined to not let it bother my mood.
Frustrated I go to bed, figuring they have to stop soon. Construction cannot go this late.
It only gets worse. The noise continues all night long and by morning, I’m certain I didn’t get more than three minutes of sleep.
When the drills and music stop thirty minutes before my alarm goes off, I breathe a deep sigh of relief that the night is over. I nestle into the covers, hug my pillow close, and wait for sleep to finally take me in.
Then the morning crew arrives, and it all starts again.
Now I’m moving through the day like a complete zombie. Four cups of coffee have done nothing to wake me up. I have an appointment with the bank to settle Dad’s accounts, and it’s not easy trying to focus on numbers when you never hit REM the night before.
As I walk home from the meeting, I pretty much want to kill Ajax Remington. I know he needs to get this building fully up and running so he doesn’t go broke, so he probably forced his crew to work an extra shift. But no way will they do it two nights in a row, and I plan to be asleep in bed by eight tonight.
Am I naïve or just hopeful? I wonder as I get comfortable in bed.
Ajax Remington thinks he’s so above it all, that he can do whatever he wants just because he has money and insanely good looks. Sure, he can get any woman he wants, and he can get any building he wants, but he can’t get this apartment. As I lay in bed, I think about how it’s probably driving him crazy. That smug smile of his and those piercing eyes, probably always thinking he can get whatever he wants. Not this time, and not from me.
I think back to my first meeting with him the other day, when he stood in my living room all hot and sweaty from a workout. Did he come here like that just to try to do the literal flexing of his muscles? Did he think I’d swoon over his bod and billions? What a joke. I mean, yeah, he is hot. Seriously hot, much better looking in person than in all the pictures I’ve seen in magazines and online (for research!). I wonder if he was moved even the slightest by what I was wearing—or rather, what I was not wearing.
I flip over on my side, trying not to think about him, at least not in that way. I will not think about that tanned face. I will not think about the way his shirt fell against his flat stomach. And I will not think about the cut of his arms, or the fact that, overall, there didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on his body. The fact that—yes, fine, he is incredibly hot. Sexy.
And an asshole.
I have next to zero experience with men. When my dad got sick I dropped everything and took care of him, so dating was the last thing on my mind. Still, I may be a twenty-two-year-old virgin, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell a jerk when I see one, even if he is hot.
As soon as I close my eyes, the drilling and hammering and that freaking music all begin again. It’s like they know I’m here and trying to sleep but they just don’t care. But now I’m pissed, and I’m not going to take this two nights in a room. I fling the covers off me and storm out the door.
In the hall I pound on bare feet across the protective plastic on the floor, covered in muck and dust.
“Hello!” I yell into the open space next to my apartment. “Excuse me!”
One of the guys finally stops hammering a hole in the wall and turns to look at me. The others stop as well.
“What are you doing?” I say, exacerbated. “It’s almost midnight! Someone still lives next door, you know.”
“Hello, miss,” the big guy says. “Sorry, but we’ve been contracted to do the work.”
“So do it during normal hours like normal workers,” I say.
“We’ve been hired to work nights specifically,” he says.
“Contracted by who?” I ask, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
“By the big cheese—Mr. Remington himself.”
“He hired you to work all night?”
“Yeah. On either side of 10F.”
I cross my arms and say, “Is that so?”
He shrugs, like there’s nothing he can do.
“We’ll see about that.” I pound back to my apartment and slam the door. Then I call the cops.
“There’s a major disturbance outside my apartment,” I tell them. “There’s been construction for two nights now.”
“We’ll take care of that, miss,” the officer says. “What’s the address?”
“Remington Plaza,” I say through gritted teeth. I don’t even like saying his name.
“Remington Plaza? O
h, well,” she begins. “There’s nothing we can do about that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
The person on the other end does not answer my question.
“And what if the last name weren’t Remington?” I demand. “Would you make them stop?”
“But the name is Remington,” comes the calm reply. “However, there’s an all-night drug store that sells ear plugs not far from the plaza. I suggest you pick up a pair and make due.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Just trying to be helpful, miss.”
“Great help,” I say, and end the call. I throw my phone across the room, but it bounces into the couch so it doesn't break.
On either side of the apartment, the music cranks up again and so do the drills.
“Shut up!” I scream as loud as I can, but nobody hears.
Ajax
I have to say, despite the absurd amount of money I spent to get the workers going all night, demolition on the offices between 10F is going fast. Buying real estate gets me off, but so does progress.
I’m working in my office earlier than usual thanks to my great night’s sleep. I quickly scroll through new emails touting more bad news: delays, unexpected costs, missing building materials and, to top it all off, a possible electrical workers strike.
None of it bothers me.
All I can think about is the refreshing night’s sleep I had—so peaceful, so quiet. I fell asleep to visions of Ellie Taylor tossing and turning to the tunes of power drills on either side of her head.
If that won’t make her move, I don’t know what will.
Until that happens, I’ll enjoy my morning, getting stuff done before too many people arrive and demand my attention. I get in a groove of responding to emails when she arrives.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
I look up to see Ellie Taylor standing in the doorway of my office.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.
“I let myself in,” she says. She walks across my office, and the first thing I notice is that she’s wearing a robe this time—although she hasn’t tied it, and her quick pace across the office has it fluttering open to expose her short shorts and thin tank top. She’s also barefoot, and her hair is in that messy bun just like the first morning I met her.
She is absolutely stunning, and absolutely doing this on purpose.
“Are you finally here to accept my offer?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and taking in the view of her. She stands before my desk and folds her arms under her breasts.
Yep. Totally on purpose. I try to pull my eyes away from the view. She must notice because she suddenly seems to realize that her robe is open. She pulls it closed, tying it tightly.
“You’ll remember that the offer has changed,” I say. “I’ll give you a million for the apartment.” She looks at me through narrowed eyes. “Should have taken the six-point-five when you had the chance. Or even the two-point-five. But a mill is still a decent amount. Of course, you’ll have to pay taxes on a good portion of that. I assume it’s only recently been transferred into your name? Still, it’s better than living in the middle of an office, don’t you think?” I rest my hands behind my head just to really show her how much fun I’m having, and how little she’s stressing me out.
“I already told you,” she says. “I am not selling. But you are going to stop that night work. It’s called disturbing the peace.”
“It’s called progress, honey, and the mayor is very much in favor of a little economic growth.”
“I couldn’t care less about your economic growth,” she says. “What you’re doing is possibly illegal but definitely shady.”
I shrug. “Not doing anything illegal. Just offering to buy an apartment.”
“Not selling,” she says. “Not now. Not ever.”
Now I’m getting annoyed. I stand up and move around my desk, closer to her. “Ellie, it’s enough already. What the hell are you trying to do? What are you trying to prove?”
“Nothing, except that you’re possibly the world’s biggest asshole,” she says. “Not that hard to prove either, considering the way you’ve been acting.”
“Me?” I almost choke on laughter. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Taylor. I should have known that offering millions above market value for a six-hundred-and-eighty square feet apartment is being an asshole. Not to mention buying you your junky reading material the other day when you had no cash. Let me ask you something in all honesty. Do you have a screw loose?”
“Me?” she says, leaning toward me the slightest. “If anyone has a screw loose it’s you.”
“And what have I done that’s so terrible? Aside from doing whatever it takes to stay on schedule with this project, that is.”
“You’re right,” she says. “I have been doing my homework, like you said the other day at the bodega.”
“And? Bod or billions? Which one is the winner, Ellie?” She’s really making it too easy.
“Yeah, the billions,” she says, touching her finger to her chin as if in deep thought. “Aren’t all those billions you’re supposedly worth tied up in this big, awesome building?”
I simply watch her. Give her nothing. Although my blood is starting to boil now.
“At this point,” she says, “I’m probably worth more than you. Me and my six-hundred-and eighty square feet apartment.” She folds her arms under her chest, and despite the robe being closed, I still get a good impression of those breasts.
“You think you know anything about my life?” I say, moving even closer to her. She pulls back slightly, but keeps her bare feet planted. “You know nothing. And the workers will keep working through the night until I’m satisfied.”
“I have a feeling you’re rarely satisfied,” she says. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I say, motioning to the skimpy clothes hiding beneath her cotton robe. “Trying to make me crazy?”
“What are you talking about?” she says, but her arms drop from their protective position as if she’s telling me something.
“Coming in dressed like this. Or not dressed.” I want so badly to reach out and untie that robe, but I somehow refrain.
“I was fed up. When the morning crew started up before I could properly fall asleep, I got angry and just came down here.”
“Sure thing, baby,” I say, nodding slowly.
She swallows hard, her eyes darting to my lips. Quietly she says, “Do not call me baby. You are an insulting, arrogant, prick.”
“Interesting choice of words,” I say, and I move so close to her that the tie on her robe is actually brushing up against my suit pants. “What should I call you?”
“El-Ellie,” she stammers, then says, “Nothing. Don’t call me anything. Don’t do anything to me. Okay?”
Slowly I reach out and put my hand on her hip. She doesn’t move. I lean to her ear and whisper, “Ellie.” Her head tilts down, relishing my being so close to her. “I’ve already thought of all the things I’d like to do to you.”
Ellie
My heart is racing as Ajax Remington, with his hand resting comfortably on my hip, moves his lips slowly to mine. I am holding my breath, unable to believe what’s happening. I had assumed that the insane physical connection was one sided, from me to him.
And even then, I swore that I would never be truly interested in an asshole like Ajax. But that certainty evaporates as soon as he moves close to me and I smell him, feel his heat.
When his lips touch mine, fire ignites and I lose all sense of control.
His lips are softly on mine as if testing the waters. Despite my resolve to come in here and lay down the law, I instead press my lips into his—and that’s all it takes.
Without thinking—only feeling—I wrap my arms around Ajax’s neck, and he tugs me closer, his hands pressed into my back, pressing up against him. I can feel him. As his tongue reaches to mine, my hands dig into his thick hair as if I’m tryin
g to pull him even closer. And I guess I am. My body is totally awake now, and needing this man whose arms I suddenly find myself in.
The fact that he’s an arrogant asshole who thinks he owns the city is beside the point. I don’t know what this is, but I need it or else I will cease to exist.
Don’t overthink it, I tell myself.
He takes my ass in his hands and pulls me into him, letting me feel the hardness—and huge size—of his dick. Knowing that he’s this hot for me this fast gets me even wetter. And I am already so wet.
Ajax pushes me up against the desk. His big hand plays with the tie on my robe as if he’s thinking about undoing it but isn’t sure it’s worth the trouble. When he drops his hand, I assume he’s decided it’s not.
He takes a small step back from me. “Show me again what you’ve got hidden under that thing,” he says.
I reach for the tie. With shaking hands I slowly undo it, and let the robe fall open naturally. Ajax takes the shoulders of the robe and pushes them down. It’s still wrapped around my arms, but dangling.
He stands looking at me, and if I thought his eyes were intense before they’re nothing when they’re looking at me in my sleepwear. I squirm slightly.
“Did you go to bed last night thinking of me?” he asks.
My first thought is, The balls on this guy. Then I realize he’s right—I did go to bed thinking of him.
“I thought about what a dick you were being,” I manage.
“Did you also think about my dick?” he asks. “Did you think about what it would feel like in your hand? Or in your mouth?” He traces his finger across my bottom lip.
His words make my body ache for him more, but they scramble my prude mind. I can’t even begin to answer those questions. Instead, I kiss his fingers, gently brushing my tongue across them. His lips part as he watches as I take in the tips of two of his fingers into my mouth, sucking gently.
A moment later his lips are on mine again, kissing me deeper this time, each of us taking more of the other, tasting more. He grinds his dick into me while his hands travel across my waist, up my arms to my shoulders until he’s pulling my tank down far enough to expose my breast. He takes it in his hand, holding and kneading me, his thumb brushing over my hard nipple. I can hardly breathe.