The Billionaire Boss Next Door(36)

I had to reach adulthood to truly understand what she meant, but now, I feel like I have a really clear picture of just how smart she must have been.

The Easy Roast sign with black-and-white lettering hangs over the entrance up ahead, and I can feel my legs start to churn involuntarily.

The smell of coffee beans and fresh pastries floats down the street and into my nose, and I can’t get there fast enough.

The bright light of the morning makes the transition into the dark shop all the more troublesome, and I have to take a good fifteen seconds for my eyes to adjust before stepping up to the line of customers waiting to order their drinks.

I’m about five people away from the counter when I notice the back of a man.

A very specific man who literally won’t disappear this morning.

Hunching and leaning, I immediately become an appendage that shoots out of the back of the person in front of me. They didn’t ask for this deformity, they weren’t expecting it, but at a time like this, they have no choice.

I need camouflage, and I need it now. In a coffeehouse in New Orleans, camouflage just so happens to come in the form of a hipster guy with a beanie.

Trent accepts his coffee with a smile and heads for one of the café-style tables outside.

It’s January, but this is New Orleans, and it’s remarkably pleasant out in the fresh air.

I keep watch on him with a discreet eye as the line moves forward until, finally, I get to put in my order for a large coffee with cream and sugar and a chocolate croissant.

Carbs are my best friend today, and I’ll do my damnedest to load up on them right up front.

Until then, I’m going to hunker down in a booth in the back and wait until one of two things happens: Trent Turner leaves, or I have absolutely no time left before I’m late.

Because I won’t sacrifice my work reputation to avoid him.

No way. I’ll go Hunger Games on that bitch.

May only the best of the best survive.





Trent



Seated at a little café table outside Easy Roast, the coffee shop up the street from my New Orleans apartment, I scan the street for signs of the enemy and come up blessedly empty.

Fuck, I’d love to know who is plotting against me. It feels like I’m being sent a death sentence in the form of a snarky, sarcastic woman by the name of Greer Hudson.

First, my dad hires her.

Then, she up and moves right next door to me.

Literally. Right next to me. Her front door is right beside my front door.

How is this even possible?

The odds of that kind of clusterfuck scenario have to be insane. Surely, I’d have a better chance of getting my father to realize he’s a controlling bastard when it comes to his son. Or for Cap to stop talking about his dick like it’s an actual family member.

Dear God. If that woman is anything but the devil in disguise, the heat of lightning can strike me down right now.

I put my cup to my lips and take a sip of my Americano.

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?”