Faking It with the Billionaire Next Door: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Jolie Day

Hold on.

  I sat up straight. Is that Rose? That was definitely her voice coming from just outside my apartment door. She almost never came home drunk (if ever, that I could remember)—or giggled, for that matter.

  Maybe she had a guy with her.

  Not that I gave a damn. It was just unusual for her. Then I heard a second giggle—one that clearly wasn’t from Rose, but definitely female. Likely a girlfriend. Or a coworker? Family? It sounded like they were stumbling from the elevator to her door. Interesting. Rose hardly ever went out or had fun. For some weird reason, I felt happy for her. Good for her! She was finally taking my constant shots at her boring life seriously and started spicing it up. At least a bit.

  I resisted the urge to go and say, “Congratulations,” or at least take a peek through the peephole.

  Instead, I sat with my extremely innocent and well-meaning thoughts on the couch, Coke in hand, and took a big gulp.

  When I suddenly heard the extremely loud sound of “It’s Brittany Bitch” playing, I immediately regretted my lapse in strength. The music next door pounded, so loud I was surprised my windows didn’t implode.

  Then I heard loud, high-pitched voices of the two girls, singing and laughing. Definitely tipsy.

  Maybe even drunk. Drunk as skunks.

  “Every time they turn the lights doooown! Just wanna go that extra mile for you!” The girls sang the lyrics over the music. Apparently, they were dancing, as well, because I could hear and feel thumping noises. Were they jumping off a fucking trampoline? “Gimme gimme! More! Gimme! More!” they continued.

  I ran my hand through my hair. No. I would not give in.

  I’d prove how pointless this retaliation was, because I was the one who played the loud music. Why would I mind?

  It was three hours later, and they’d run through the fucking Britney Spears album, moving onto the fucking Spice Girls, then even fucking NSYNC. When 2 fucking a.m. hit, and an annoying fucking girl band I’d heard before, but never learned their fucking name, played at full volume, I gave up my resolve.

  I stood—almost calmly—and stormed into the hallway.

  When I got to Rose’s door, it stood half-open. What the fuck? Why didn’t she close her door? Was she nuts to leave it open? Okay, the high-rise had security, but fuck it. This was New York. Any creeper could just walk in.

  I pushed the door open and just walked in, only to see the most beautiful sight I’d seen in a long time.

  There was Rose, naked.

  Almost.

  And a blonde girl. Her BFF or coworker, or some shit. They were dancing with wineglasses in their hands. Rose was in her fucking underwear. The blonde probably was, too—that’s just what my instinct told me, and I had pretty good instincts, trust me—but she was wearing a thin white robe over the top.

  I stood frozen as I watched. The women hadn’t seen me yet. It was hot—the temperature in the room, as well as the sight of Rose. For some odd reason, I didn’t even mind the music anymore. My cock twitched. Down, boy. Seeing Rose’s body moving suggestively (almost erotically) to the rhythm was more than I could handle.

  I said down, boy.

  I’d always wondered what she’d look like naked, but this was something else.

  It was more than surprising, actually. Rose wore red lipstick. She was wild and free and fucking sexy. Whoa. Hold the goddamn horses. What did I just say? She was wild and free and fucking sexy? Impossible.

  As she danced, I watched her perfect tits bouncing around in her thin, black, and what, was that a lacy bra? No way. She wore matching panties that curved around her juicy ass cheeks, which she waved around to the music. Ah, she had a nice ass.

  They still weren’t aware that I was there. Fuck me. I observed a few seconds longer, you know, just to make sure, how they moved their heads, playing with each other’s long hair. I wondered how it would feel to have Rose’s hair brush across my body like that.

  Suddenly, a wild thought sprang to mind. Wait, is Rose into girls?

  You know, still waters run deep and shit.

  Maybe she liked men and women. Hot.

  Maybe she liked threesomes. My dick jerked into a semi. I could join them, right?

  Yes. Bingo. Great thinking.

  I decided I’d end this before my cock jumped out of my pants. I had to join them. What’s the worst Rose could say? No? Fuck you? I’d heard worse.

  I leaned against the wall with my hands in my pockets and waited for the song to end before I cleared my throat, loudly. “Ahem.”

  The girls spun around, gasping.

  To my surprise, they weren’t shocked at my being here. Not in the least. Were they expecting me?

  They laughed louder, falling onto the couch as they held their stomachs.

  Okay, so they weren’t tipsy. They were drunk off their asses.

  Rose put her wineglass down as she tried to control her laughter. She stood and walked—no, swayed over to me. Her hair was a wild mess. She was barefoot, and I noticed the ruby-red polish on her toenails, matching her lipstick. It wasn’t just any red. It was a look-at-me red, promising fire and passion, marking her as somebody who was daring, dramatic, wild. The polar opposite of Rose. I took the chance to run my eyes up those miles of legs. Sweet Jesus. When I chanced a glimpse at her almost see-through-panties, my breath caught in my throat. She was definitely fully waxed, and the panties were small, pulled up at the sides, accentuating her hip bones. Fuck!

  I guessed it was a primal thing for guys to want their women with soft, feminine curves. Her tits were basically spilling over the top of the bra, and I noticed with surprise that it was fully lace—I could see the shape of her nipples.

  Or was I dreaming? Hallucinating?

  Somebody pinch me. I need to wake up. Or wait—no, I don’t. I’m good.

  Rose’s still waters didn’t just run deep, they fucking ran deep. I was talking all the way “to the middle of the earth” deep. Probably deeper. Likely straight through and out into the universe to the middle of fucking Mars.

  In other words: Seeing pussy was undoubtedly in the cards for me tonight.

  She came to a stop just inches in front of me, so close I could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo. What did she want to do to me? Make me fall at her knees?

  “Oh, Miles! Yoohoohoo!” Rose hollered. She lowered her voice dramatically before asking, “Oh! Have we been too loud? Aw, I’m so sorry, darling.” She pouted, pursing those damn full, soft-as-fuck-looking lips at me.

  As I was about to reply, offering to “join” them, friendly as I was, she shouted, “Not!” and pushed at my chest, sending me backward.

  The unexpected shove made me lose my balance.

  I stumbled back and right out the door before she slammed it shut.

  What the fuck?

  So much for joining in.

  All I heard, above the growing thumping of my heart in disappointment and maybe even a hint of annoyance, was the hysterical laughing of the women behind the door.

  Okay, so this was a setup. A revenge attempt.

  She hadn’t surrendered.

  Clearly, but why the underwear? Were naked pillow fights among girls really a thing? Was that how girlfriends partied without guys? Did they just get undressed? Well, in my experience, yes, but that was for different reasons. I considered the fact Rose could be even cleverer than I’d thought. She knew if I saw her like that, it may drive me even more crazy. She was right. The sly, sexy she-devil.

  Later, lying in bed, I started to plan my next attack. The music had stopped—the job was done, she’d gotten back at me, so they’d gone to bed. Since I’d be meeting Damon and Oliver at the harbor early in the morning, I needed to be up in a few hours. I supposed she didn’t deserve to sleep in, either. What’s fair was fair. After a rare night of drinking, she’d likely be groggy as fuck in the morning.

  It was the perfect time.

  In the morning I got up, showered, and was ready by 5 a.m. Then I made the call. I stood in my kitchen, eat
ing a piece of toast, and heard the commotion start about ten minutes later. Calmly, I picked up my things, and headed out the door.

  Rose stood in the hallway with her blonde friend, and a few firemen. Her apartment door was open, and I saw several more firemen inside, checking the entire apartment.

  Rose gave me a death stare like never before.

  I smiled: friendly, warmly, neighborly.

  She was wrapped in the thin white robe the other chick had been wearing last night, still barefoot, and looking like hell. Her makeup was smudged, and her hair was even more of a mess than I’d ever seen.

  “Forgot to switch off the stove, did ya’?” I asked, but her scowl got deeper.

  “You absolute jerk-fa—”

  “Hey now, I’m just your friendly neighbor, looking out for your lives. Right, gentlemen?” I looked at the firemen standing at the girls’ sides. “I smelled the gas and came out here to check. It was definitely coming from this apartment’s door.”

  “You girls should count yourselves lucky,” one of the firemen said, shaking my hand. “Most people in New York don’t know their neighbors.”

  Feigning innocence, I pretended to care deeply, and not to toot my own horn here, but I did a great job. “Since I figured you ladies would be out cold after the night you had, I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay.” I shifted to the side and pressed the elevator button. “So sorry, girls, I’d stay and comfort you, but I’ve got places to be.”

  Amazingly, the elevator arrived without any waiting time, and I stepped inside, after giving my thanks to the firemen. As the doors closed, I winked at Rose. She stared me down. She’s probably going to kill me now by the looks of it. I chuckled to myself as the car headed for the lobby.

  Later that evening, I sat with Oliver and Damon at a bar in Providence. We’d sailed from New York to Newport and were staying at Oliver’s second pad here. I was glad I’d suggested this trip because I knew we could use the getaway, and here we were. I was fucking exhausted after last night’s shenanigans with Rose, as well as spending the day in the sun. A few beers were exactly how I wanted to end the day.

  Suzi’s Tipsy Motor Shack might be dingy as fuck, but we always made a stop here. It smelled like beer, sweat, fried food, and stale cigarette smoke, but the upside was that it was a bikers-only bar. Something about the exclusivity made it more fun. No paparazzi, no business partners, just the guys. Well, other than a few girls dancing here and there in private booths. The three of us had ridden here on our bikes many times in the past.

  “Guys, I’ve always wondered. You know how men get random stiffies, random boners?” I asked.

  “You mean a jiffy stiffy?” Oliver said.

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  The booth we found ourselves in was at the back corner of the bar. I sat on the back couch with Damon next to me, while Oliver sat in front of us. With our beers in hand, we were discussing important topics.

  “What about it?” Damon pressed.

  “Do girls get drippy kitty?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “Man. Good fucking question,” Oliver said, shrugging his shoulder. “I’m clueless. Damon?”

  We both looked at Damon.

  “Why the fuck are you looking at me?” he asked.

  “Calm down. I thought if anybody knew, it’d be you,” Oliver said.

  “Why? Do I fucking look like I have a drippy kitty?” Damon growled.

  Ha. I snorted internally but held back the smirk. Too late. I couldn’t hide it from Damon—he was right on my ass.

  “Why don’t you ask your neighbor, Miles?” he rumbled.

  “Man.” Oliver was laughing at my antics with my neighbor. “I still can’t believe you called the fire department on her at 5 a.m.!”

  “Don’t encourage him.” Damon was pissed, glaring at me through his glasses. “Miles, don’t you know that prank calling the fire department like a schoolboy can cause unnecessary deaths? What are you, twelve? The unit might have saved somebody’s life if it wasn’t for your ass. You, of all people, should know better than anybody how quickly it’s asta la vista, baby.”

  “Bro, relax. It was five in the morning,” I told him.

  “So?”

  Why was I surprised? What else would he say? The uptight son of a bitch. He was right, of course. Don’t do that shit. As soon as he was done glaring, I grabbed my phone and emailed Gretchen to wire a generous amount to the NYC Fire Department, trying to calm my nagging conscience. “Okay, get off my ass, will you?”

  “Back to the topic. What’s the deal between you two?” Oliver asked. “This neighbor chick and you.”

  Damon knew about my fiancée plan and suggestion to Rose the other night. But Oliver knew nothing. Good. I liked it that way. I’d asked Damon to keep that little bit of information to himself, and he had. I didn’t want this getting out to my dad. Not that Oliver would rat me out, but the fewer people that knew the better—not just for me, for them, too. Oliver was my brother and a big part of our father’s company, and I didn’t want him having to admit later to Dad that he’d known of my plan all along or was somehow involved. Again, the fewer people who knew the better. Dad wouldn’t question Damon, but he would question my brother, if push came to shove.

  “I think it’s more about getting under each other’s skin,” I replied, shaking my head. “We’ve had this tension between us for a while, so now she seems to want to piss me off even more. Did I tell you about her cat?” I asked the guys.

  “This kitty talk is making me nauseous,” Damon shot back with a straight face. “Nobody wants to hear about her pussy, Miles.” This guy was mostly so serious that, sometimes, you had to think twice about whether he was joking or not.

  Oliver and I knew him well enough, and this time, erupted with laughter.

  “Well, of course you wouldn’t, Damon,” I chided.

  “You never get any, anyway,” Oliver added as we kept poking the bear. It was hilarious to get Damon riled up.

  Damon shook his head and took a sip of his beer. “Just shut the fuck up.”

  “Aaaaaw,” both Oliver and I replied in unison.

  “I’m sorry, buddy. If you needed a wingman, you should’ve just told us,” I teased, and Damon eyed me from the side.

  He stared at me through narrowed eyes. “I don’t need a fucking wingman.”

  “What do you need, Damon?” Oliver asked. “Seriously now. Since I’m in love with a gorgeous girl, I can give the best advice between the three of us.”

  “Oh, is that right,” snarled Damon. “If you’re such a great relationship coach, Oliver,” he put a heavy emphasis on the title and my brother’s name, “what do you think your gorgeous girl would read into your being here in Suzi’s? A bar, where the women are looser than the taps on the beer kegs?”

  “She knows I only have eyes for her.” Oliver smiled wickedly. “Besides, she happens to be out herself, tonight, at a bachelorette party, where the men in uniform are not employed by the city. That’s unless the city’s using Velcro to keep their firemen’s pants up, if you get my drift. Trust cuts both ways, and we do trust each other. So, why don’t you take advantage of my experience, Damon? I’m basically the expert here. We know that our black sheep, Miles here, is pretty much hopeless when it comes to women, but seriously, what are you waiting for?”

  “He’s not waiting for Sadie,” I said, “that’s for sure. Or that chick over there with the chestnut-brown hair who’s been staring and smiling at him like a Cheshire cat since the minute we walked in.” I gestured to one of the dancers with long legs. “Look, she’s still smiling, all happy-go-lucky.”

  Oliver raised his head, glancing over to her, seeming curious. “She’s got drippy kitty for sure.”

  “I thought you were clueless about that,” I said.

  “Well, I heard when a girl’s kitty gets wet, she’s really happy.” Oliver shrugged.

  “Bro. No. It’s the other way around,” I told him. “When she’s really happy, he
r kitty gets wet.”

  “Man, you guys are clueless,” Damon growled.

  Oliver raised his eyebrow at him. “What makes you the expert all of a sudden?”

  “Hearing you two talk.”

  I burst into laughter. “Trust me. I know my shit. But in this case, yep, I did pull that out of my ass. Shut up.”

  Damon only shook his head.

  “I never understood why,” Oliver said as he sipped his beer, looking at Damon.

  “Why what?” he asked.

  “Why the chicks are all over your ass. I mean, what’s the appeal? ‘Stay the fuck away’ expression, broody all the time, unapproachable—they should be running the opposite way. What the fuck do they see in you?”

  “Do you wanna die?” Damon cracked a smile. “Because if I tell you the secret of my magnetic charm, you’re not gonna like it.”

  “You’re talking about your dick? Am I right?” Oliver turned to me, his eyes still on Damon. “That’s what he’s talking about, right?”

  I nodded in agreement. What else could it be?

  “Well, good point, but no, man. I wasn’t talking about my dick. There’s something I’ve got chicks dig even more.”

  “Beats my ass.” I shrugged.

  “Beats my ass, too.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna say it…just think about it.” Damon tapped two fingers against his forehead. He raised his beer, and we all clinked our bottles.

  “Ahhh, I get it,” I said. I tapped my finger against my forehead, mimicking his gesture.

  “Bro, speaking of ass.” Oliver leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked at me. “I know we’ve been on your ass about this kind of thing—you know, going out on the town—but I just want you to know that this, today, is okay. Hanging out, having fun, everybody’s happy. We don’t need any fucking girls to have the time of our lives. Or get drunk.”

  “I get you, bro. It’s all about publicity, right?”

  Oliver gave me a straight face, and I almost decided to tell him about my plan. “You know it’s about more than that,” he said. “Dad just wants you to start taking your life seriously, you know?”