My Enemy Next Door

If only this was guaranteed …

Sighing, I reread the host’s review of my work repeatedly.

After committing her most flattering words to memory, I looked outside the cab’s window and realized that I was still sitting in the exact same spot.

We were in gridlock traffic, and there was no point in me paying a fee for what was bound to be an hours-long stall.

“I’ll get out here,” I said, handing the driver a few twenty-dollar bills.

I stepped into the first coffee cafe I saw, and decided to wait out the traffic.

Ordering a coffee, I took out my current case. I worked on it for all of five minutes and opened my kindle app.

Inspired, I began reading the erotic romance that I needed to narrate tonight instead.

This is a much better use of my time.

Tyler

Present Day

Manhattan, New York

Do not agree to work at this fucking firm. Do not agree to work at this fucking firm…

I forced a smile as another associate—a brunette named Emily, moved behind the desk and pretended to pick up a piece of trash.

Just like the redhead and the other brunette from fifteen minutes ago, she came up with some bullshit excuse to walk into the office and stare at me.

But Emily took things a bit further.

Biting her lip and making eye contact, she made it more than clear that she wanted me to see her lacy, red thong under her short dress. She also seemed completely oblivious that her boss was in the middle of interviewing me.

“Thank you for agreeing to visit my firm in person, Mr. Hudson.” Mr. Walsh of ‘Walsh and White’ shook my hand as Emily picked up another piece of invisible trash. "I've watched your career in Seattle from afar and I’m highly impressed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What brings you to New York?”

“I need a change of pace, but I want to continue practicing the law,” I said, noticing that Emily wasn’t leaving; she was settling into a corner and watching.

“You don’t need the money, though.” He leaned back in his chair, and I hoped that he would stay on topic for more than a minute this time. “You did pretty well for yourself on the West Coast. Forty-million dollars in settlements, correct?”

“Fifty.”

“Well, damn,” he said, looking impressed. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here since our city is way better, but—Oh! Did I tell you how my partner and I started this firm?”

Only a thousand times already.

“No, sir.” I smiled. “You haven’t done it enough, I guess.”

“Eh.” He waved his hand. “I’ll run it down for you later. I’m honored that you’ve answered my request for an interview, and that you’re willing to help us on a big case for the next few weeks.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Walsh, I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“But you will.” He leaned forward. “I’m willing to pay double of what any other firm in this city will offer. What else could you possibly want?”

A sane set of coworkers.

“Did you love living in Seattle?” he asked, changing the subject. “Was the Puget Sound beautiful or what?”

I didn't answer his question. Given his track record over the past four hours, he’d answer it himself.

“Yes, I always thought it was a lovely place as well.” He smiled. “My first wife and I used to love going there. My second wife hated it, so I'm glad I moved on to lucky number three. She loves it!”

“She really does …” Emily winked at me from the corner.

How the hell is this firm in New York’s top five?

“Since you’ve agreed to help us on the case for the next few weeks, I’m covering your place of residence.” Walsh slid a brochure for a place called The Barclays toward me. “It’s a stunning place, and I’m willing to cover it for up to a year if you join my firm on a permanent basis.”

“I’m only offering to work on one case for now, and it's still a maybe. I have other firms to visit this week.”

"Fair enough." He held up his hands in a slight surrender. Then he stood to his feet.

"Allow me to grab a few people and introduce you to who you'll be working with while you're here,” he said. “Maybe you can get back to whoever kept calling you during our library tour?”

Oh, right. I waited for him to step out of the office, then I waited for Emily to follow suit.

She didn’t.

She kept staring.

I held back a sigh and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

All of the buzzing during my initial walk with Mr. Walsh was all for nothing. All of the missed calls were from my ex-wife, Ashley.

I debated for several seconds on whether I should return her call now or never.

When another female associate suddenly walked inside to “find something I can’t remember,” I gave in and returned her call.