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Augustus’ bodyguard dropped me off at my one-bedroom Tottenham apartment after driving around half of Central Londonas a precautionagainst any press who might follow us.
It was the cheapest place I could find and still be close enough to my job at Estate Styles near Covent Garden, but I felt safe here. I was grateful for the small distance to work and the inconspicuousness of the place. Maybe it didn’t have the over-the-top security systems that Augustus’ place did, and perhaps I didn’t have bodyguards, but the paparazzi had no idea where I lived, and Augustus and I were determined to keep it that way.
The double bed took up most of the room, leaving me no space to unpack my suitcase, which lived beneath my bed. There was no space for chairs, so my bed became my couch. I’d quickly invested in an iron and mini ironing board. I couldn’t very well turn up at my job at a high-end clothing company looking like yesterday’s trash.
My teeny tiny bathroom was beyond the bed and incorporated a toilet, shower, and basin in much the same way a caravan might.
My laptop sat open on my tiny, fold-down breakfast counter that separated the bed from the pitiful excuse for a kitchenette, playing a playlist of local talent while I gathered together ingredients to make waffle batter. I could bake and research at the same time, not to mention dance up a storm, which was exactly what I was doing. Some of these artists were so good it would be difficult to narrow the list down to two, especially two who would be willing to do a gig at the gala.
“They’d be crazy not to want to,” I mumbled as I searched my small pantry for sugar. And searched. And searched. “No. No, please.” I swore I’d bought sugar when I last grocery shopped. How could I not have any?
Ugh.I was going to have to resort to asking a neighbor. How cliché was that?
Picking up a glass from my pitiful collection of kitchen items, I headed out of my apartment to the one across from me. I knocked on the door, and when it began to open, I held up my glass. “So, I know this is the most overused reason to knock on somebody’s door, but—” My diatribe died on my lips.
Standing before me was a great hulking man built of pure muscle. He had to stand at well over six feet, complete with a dirty-blond beard and hair that was longer on top and shaved at the sides, as well as blue eyes that looked like they could get a read on me within seconds. I tried not to gawk at the nakedness of his torso or the tattoos that covered one pec and ran down his right arm. This guy was like some kind of Norse god and he was my neighbor.
“Ahhh… b-but I’m all out of sugar, and I really need waffles.”
The neighbor smiled and folded his bulky arms over his muscular chest. The fact he made no effort to hide he was checking me out as well had my heart rate picking up.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
“Sugar, huh? You’re right. You’re right. It is cliché, but if the waffles are going to suffer, you have no choice, right?” He shrugged.
I laughed, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervousness behind it. “Right,” I replied awkwardly while I continued to stare at him.
He reached out and plucked the glass from my hand. “You want this full?” His deep baritone voice rumbled low in his chest and was accompanied by a working-class London accent.
“Yes, please.”
He walked back into his apartment, leaving me standing in the open doorway. I should’ve been ashamed I checked his ass out, but the view was fine on this chilly morning, and I was not about to complain.
When he carried the glass back to me, I attempted to get a hold of myself. “Thank you,” I managed to say with a steady voice.
“You’re welcome.”I began to turn away, but his voice stopped me.“Have you lived here long? I hadn’t seen you before you plowed into me yesterday.” The hot neighbor buried his large hands into his pockets.
“I plowed into you? When?”
“You were running late for your hot date.” The guy indicated the exit.
I realized he was talking about when Augustus picked me up for the junket. “It wasn’t a hot date. It was for work.”
“Ah.” He shrugged. “At any rate, I’m fairly certain I’d remember an American woman moving in, but I’ve been away for a bit.”
“I moved in a few weeks back. I’m a temporary resident. I have a lease for five months, then I’m headed back to the States. I’m in London for job training.”
The guy flashed a friendly smile that made my insides melt. “Right. Well, if you ever need anything, come knock on my door. London can be a big, bad city. I’ll be happy to help.”
I appreciated his generosity. “Thank you, uh…”
“Jeremy.” He winked at me.
Attempting to hide my blushing, I held the cup of sugar up and bowed my head slightly. “Your kindness will be rewarded.”
