Her hands balled into fists. She wanted to punch him.
…
Henry Ellison knew he shouldn’t be smiling at his neighbor’s discomfort, but the situation was so bizarre he couldn’t help himself.
It had been quite a shock to look up and see a woman with dark brown hair poking out in every direction and wearing a T-shirt and purple flannel pajama pants storming toward him. Particularly in those clunky green dinosaur slippers. But it was her blazing blue eyes that completely enraptured him, despite the fact that she looked like she might try and kill him.
How could he not bait her, just a little?
She might have hissed at him as she narrowed those dark lash-fringed baby blues. “I’m afraid my invite for the black-tie event went missing and I threw on what I had available when you practically shouted come over with that blaring music.” She leaned forward. It was hard not to notice the bright pink earplug stuck in her hair, which served to take the bluster out of her caustic tone. “I’m going to ask you nicely this one time. Turn the music down. Next time it won’t be me breaking up your little party.”
He raised his brows. “Are you suggesting you’ll call the police? What, are we in high school?”
“That’s a question that I might ask.” She didn’t look away, meeting his gaze for a long minute. She was a fierce little thing, he’d give her that.
“All right, Ms. Sorensen. I’ll be sure to turn the music down, and I’ll remind the kids to stay off your lawn while I’m at it.”
“Great.”
Before he could make another comment, Benny Sorensen whirled around and stomped away. “Stomped” being the only appropriate term when she was wearing such awkward footwear.
He chuckled and took a sip of his almost forgotten drink. Tiffany or Tasha—he couldn’t keep it straight—returned to his side, a sultry smile on her full red mouth. “Friend of yours, Henry?”
He ignored the question. “It’s getting late. I should probably wind things down.”
“You read my mind. I was just thinking we could use a little alone time.” She licked her bottom lip—something that ordinarily should have been enticing to him, only now it seemed too practiced.
“Wish I could take you up on that, but I have an early morning. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
Tiffany-Tasha stuck her bottom lip out into a pout but, to his relief, didn’t try to change his mind, instead slinking away with the grace of a cat. A much different departure than Benny Sorensen, in her flannel pants and crazy bedhead. Aside from her lack of taste in sleepwear and complete distaste for him, he had to admit his new neighbor was interesting, to say the least.
The start of another song blared over the speakers, which he’d only had installed last month. He briefly considered pushing the limit of Benny Sorensen’s patience, to see if she’d really have the temerity to call the police on him—or, preferably, march back over here sans bra and lay into him again.
Maybe another time.
He noted the level of volume before turning it to a whisper. “That’s it for tonight, folks. Thanks for coming.”
…
It was close to nine the next morning when Henry reached his office. Marion, his assistant, was already leaning against his desk holding a cup of coffee in her hand.
“I was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten you worked here.”
He took the cup and grinned at her. “You’d think after last week’s announcement that Studio 180 is a finalist for the best ad campaign from a small agency I would earn a little slack from you.”
“Not a chance.” The woman smiled despite her words. “Becks was just here and wanted you to come by later today. Murdock also called and needs you to call him back ASAP and, in case you forgot, you’re scheduled to meet with the department at ten on the Crombie account. Oh, and a Mrs. Davenport has called twice this morning. Says she’s from your HOA. Seems kind of anxious to talk.”
Good grief. Benny Sorensen hadn’t taken long in making her complaint. “Thanks, Marion.”
With coffee in hand, prepared just as he liked, Henry headed down the hall to Becks’s office, returning well wishes and greetings from the half dozen people he passed. Outside her office, he paused long enough to make sure his boss wasn’t on the phone or with someone before knocking. She waved him in, and he sauntered into the large corner office that was a smidge bigger than his own.
Becks gave him the same look of disapproval as his assistant when he walked in. “Glad to see you decided to come in today. What with the late nights you’ve been keeping and the high-profile guests you’ve been entertaining.”
He didn’t make any apologies, instead coming to stand casually in front of her desk. Becks, who managed to emanate authority and confidence but also cool beauty with her blond hair tucked back in a neat bun, didn’t even look up, still staring at something on her computer screen.
Becks had taken him under her wing nine years ago, when he first came on the scene at the agency, and taught him what it took—once you had the talent, of course—to play the game in the advertising world. He’d risen in the ranks pretty fast with her help and his marketing finesse. He knew how to sell just about anything and it had been that talent that earned him the position of creative director two years ago. Although Becks was still his boss, she was also a good friend. A friend who didn’t pull any punches.
“I figured that since I nailed the Crombie account I was due a little indulgence of a late night and even later morning.” He took a drink of coffee, noticing she looked more high-strung than usual. “You and Stewart might want to try it some time.” Stewart being her husband. ?