Happily Enemy After (Hawthorne Brothers 2)

I hold my chin high. “I’m not moving out.”

Asher looks at me. “I don’t believe I gave you a choice.”

I draw a breath. “It’s not your choice to give. It’s mine to make. And I choose not to move out.”

His eyebrows arch. “Wow. I knew you were stubborn. Obstinate. I didn’t think you were… shameless.”

“I’m not,” I tell him. “I am very sorry for what I did to you and I promise it will never happen again. If you want me to clean your apartment for a week, cook meals for you, get you coffee or take on extra work, I’d be happy to. But I’m not moving out.”

“So you’re not really sorry.”

“I am,” I insist. “But I think kicking me out of the building is too much.”

It’s unfair, really.

“You mean like shoving your knee into my groin?”

I frown. “Like I said, I’m sorry for what I did.”

Asher leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes at me. “Are you, Ms. Cleary?”

“But I’m not the only one who should be sorry. Don’t you think so, Mr. Hawthorne?”

His eyebrows furrow as dismay flickers in his ebony eyes. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

“I’m saying part of it is,” I answer. “After all, you were the one who came to my apartment.”

“You let me kiss you,” Asher points out.

True. “And then I tried to push you away.”

“You mean like you did last time? You haven’t changed. You’re still such a cocktease.”

“And you still can’t handle rejection.”

Asher falls silent but his gaze speaks volumes. He hates me. I can feel it. This isn’t just him being annoyed at me like he’s been before or him trying to be mean. I can see the pain in his eyes. He’s hurt. I hurt him—and I don’t mean just physically—so now he hates me. And I expected it. I told myself I could handle it, but that cold gaze stabs my chest more than I thought it would. Still, I keep my shoulders square as I look right into his eyes.

“I’m not moving out.”

His eyebrows twitch slightly. “I thought you didn’t want us to be neighbors. Or is that another thing you say you don’t want but deep down inside, you really do?”

Asher leans forward on his desk.

“Have you always been like this? Do you ever mean yes when you say yes and no when you say no? Or is it always maybe yes, partly no?”

I keep quiet. I was already prepared for a lecture when I entered Asher’s office. And if enduring his harsh words is my price to pay for him letting me stay at The Mistral, I don’t mind it.

“I know I sleep around, but I never lead women on or leave them hanging. That’s just pointless and exhausting. And cruel. But you seem to get a kick out of it.”

Ouch.

“Or do you? In spite of everything you’ve done, shoving your knee in my groin included, you don’t strike me as a heartless person, which makes me wonder. Are you really a secret sadist, or are you just a child disguised as a grown woman, clueless about what she really wants?”

I draw a breath as I try to shove his words aside.

“I never said I didn’t want us to be neighbors. I said we don’t have to act like neighbors just because we’ve realized we are. We can just go back to how we were when we didn’t know about it.”

“You don’t mind living next to someone you hate?”

I already know I don’t hate him, but I don’t tell him that.

“Or someone who resents you?”

So I’m right. He hates me now. Well, I’ll just have to live with that.

“I’m not moving out, Mr. Hawthorne,” I tell him again.

Asher shrugs. “Fine.”

Fine. I let out a breath as I turn around. That didn’t go that badly, did it?

“But Ms. Cleary.”

Of course Asher isn’t done yet.

I glance over my shoulder. “Yes?”

The gleam in his eyes looks like hell frozen over, making me nearly shudder.

“You’re going to wish you did.”

~

I am starting to wish I had moved out.

I cover my ears with the sides of my pillow after I hear another bang against the wall. They’re still at it? Seriously? Haven’t they been at it for… what, three hours now? That’s even longer than last time.

And louder, I think as I hear another bang.

I turn over so that I’m lying on my stomach and pull my pillow over my head in hopes that it will muffle the noise. It doesn’t.

I roll my eyes. You’d think that with the high rent, the rooms at The Mistral would have thicker walls.

Just then, I hear a scream. Or is that a screech? A howl? Do people even howl? If I wasn’t pissed, I would laugh at it, but since I am, I frown. Whatever that sound is, it’s weird. And unusually loud.