The Billionaire Boss Next Door

Ouch.

Fuck me, that coffee is hot.

I scramble for a napkin to keep the contents from soaking my suit and wipe the escaped scalding liquid from my lips. That she-devil has me so frazzled, I’ve apparently lost the ability to complete normal human functions like drinking hot liquids without burning my damn tongue off.

Talk about a stellar start to what should be a big, successful first day with the new team.

Just put her out of your head, you bastard, and focus on the priorities.

Work. That is the priority. Making the New Orleans project the best hotel Turner Properties has ever built. That is where my focus needs to be. Not anywhere close to Greer Hudson and her penchant for snark.

With a renewed sense of determination, I grab my phone and pull up the Uber app to call a car. It’s only ten or so blocks to the hotel, a distance I could walk if I wanted to, but because I had to stop at Easy Roast and get my shit together, I don’t have that much time.

Once I finish putting in a request for a car, my phone starts to vibrate in my hands.

Quincy Calling.

What appropriate timing. He’s just the man I was hoping to chew out.

“Well, hello,” I say obnoxiously.

“Wow,” he replies with a laugh. “That’s some ominous tone, brother.”

“Oh, you bet,” I agree. “It goes perfectly with the doom of realizing I now live next door to my actual waking nightmare.”

“Huh?”

“Greer Hudson,” I say pointedly. “My new neighbor. As of this morning, I’ve learned that she lives in the same building as me. On the same floor. Right next door. To me.”

There’s a short pause, and the receiver scratches like he’s rubbing it with his fucking palm.

“Tell me you didn’t know, Quince.”

“I didn’t,” he responds.

“Your girlfriend’s family owns the building, and you’re the one who helped me snag this place. How in the fuck didn’t you know?” I question.

“I did. But I had no idea Greer was leasing the apartment next door.”

“For a man who should have all of the inside info about my building, you really dropped the damn ball here.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be keeping tabs on your building’s new occupants.”

“Fucking hell.” I sigh. “New Orleans is a huge city. How could this have happened?”

“Sorry, dude.”

“You don’t sound all that sorry.”

He doesn’t. If anything, he sounds amused. The bastard.

“That’s because it’s not my fault,” he retorts, but his voice never strays from his familiar, calm Quincy tone. “Why would I waste time apologizing for something I’m not responsible for?”

“Take your rationality and shove it. There’s no place for it here.”

He chuckles. “Why don’t you stay at your dad’s place? Doesn’t he have a penthouse in the city?”

I force a fake laugh from my lungs. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone my father likes.”

“Oh, come on. Senior likes you. It’s just…tough love.”

I snort. “Hah. Well. Whatever it is means I’m not staying in his penthouse.”

“Then fucking buy a house of your own. It’s not like you’re a pauper, for shit’s sake. Why are you living in an apartment anyway?”

“Because.” I shrug. “I don’t know if I’m staying in New Orleans after the hotel is done. New York is my home base, you know that.”

Cash to spare or not, I’m not a fan of wasting money on uncertainties. And because of everything going on with my mom, my future living situation is one big fat unknown.

“New York is also where your father is.” He kindly reminds me of shit I don’t feel like thinking about right now. “Maybe it’d do you some good to get some distance.”

“Distance from my father means distance from more than just him, Quince, and you know it.”

I grew up in New York. It’s what I know, what I love, what I’m used to. New Orleans is an entirely different animal, and beyond that, it’s not where my mom is.

I know it sounds ridiculous for a thirty-three-year-old man, but being close to her is important. Especially since her diagnosis. Who knows how many good years she has left?

“Sounds like you’re stuck, then. If I were you, I’d just make the best of it.”

“Make the best of it?” I repeat on a sigh. “Why does everyone keep saying shit like that?”

“Maybe because it’s good advice.”

I snort. “Okay, Dr. Phil.”

“Yeah, yeah. My hair is thinning, and I have a mustache. Real original.”

“I don’t give a shit about your bald spot, Quince. I’m talking about your holy-Kumbaya style words of wisdom.”

“That’s right, Turn. Wisdom. Even your insults know I’m right.”

“Come on, Q.” I refuse to believe this is my reality. “Surely, they have another apartment available in the building? Or even another building with an apartment that doesn’t put me right next door to a crazy, obnoxious woman?”

“Are you saying you would actually move to another apartment, that you don’t even know if you’re going to stay in for longer than nine months, just to get fifty feet farther away from her?”