Dear Neighbor
Dear Neighbor
F**k Off
River Laurent
Dear Neighbor
Copyright © 2017 by River Laurent
The right of River Laurent to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
978-1-911608-05-9
To receive special offers, mega contests opportunities, bonus content, info on new releases, and great deals from other authors sign up for River’s newsletter.
Created with Vellum
For
Brittany Urbaniak
You are simply amazing!
Hope I can be as amazing when you publish your book.
Contents
Author Note
“Fuck”
1. Mimi
2. Mimi
3. Mimi
4. Mimi
5. Mimi
6. Mimi
7. Mimi
8. Mimi
9. Mimi
10. Mimi
11. Mimi
12. Mimi
13. Mimi
14. Mimi
15. Max
16. Mimi
17. Mimi
18. Mimi
19. Mimi
20. Mimi
21. Mimi
22. Mimi
23. Mimi
24. Max
25. Mimi
26. Mimi
27. Mimi
28. Max
29. Mimi
30. Mimi
31. Mimi
32. Mimi
33. Mimi
34. Mimi
35. Mimi
36. Mimi
37. Mimi
38. Mimi
39. Mimi
40. Mimi
41. Mimi
42. Mimi
43. Mimi
44. Mimi
45. Mimi
46. Mimi
47. Mimi
48. Mimi
49. Mimi
50. Mimi
51. Mimi
52. Mimi
53. Mimi
54. Mimi
55. Mimi
56. Mimi
57. Mimi
Epilogue
BONUS BOOK
Appreciations
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Cash
Tori
Tori
Cash
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Cash
Tori
Tori
Cash
Tori
Tori
Tori
Cash
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Cash
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Tori
Britney
Cash
Cash
Cash
Tori
Tori
Epilogue
Last Look Epilogue
Note:
About the Author
Author Note
Dear Neighbor is a full length novel.
After you have read this story I have included a bonus book that I wrote with Georgia Le Carre called The Bad Boy Wants Me. It’s my way of saying “thank you for reading”.
Enjoy!
“Fuck”
One of the most interesting words in the English language today is the word ‘fuck’. It is one magical word: just by its sound it can describe pain, pleasure, hate and love. In language, it falls into many grammatical categories. It can be used as a verb, both transitive (John fucked Mary) and intransitive (Mary was fucked by John), and as a noun (Mary is a fine fuck). It can be used as an adjective (Mary is fucking beautiful). As you can see there are not many words with the versatility of ‘fuck’.
Besides the sexual meaning, there are also the following uses:
Fraud: I got fucked at the used car lot.
Ignorance: Fucked if I know.
Trouble: I guess I am fucked now!
Aggression: Fuck you!
Displeasure: What the fuck is going on here?
Difficulty: I can’t understand this fucking job.
Incompetence: He is a fuck-off.
Suspicion: What the fuck are you doing?
Enjoyment: I had a fucking good time.
Request: Get the fuck out of here!
Hostility: I am going to knock your fucking head off!
Greeting: How the fuck are you?
Apathy: Who gives a fuck?
Innovation: Get a bigger fucking hammer.
Surprise: Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!
Anxiety: Today is really fucked.
- Osho(1980)
1
Mimi
“OH, MAXIMUS! YOU’RE SO FUCKING BIG! OHHHH…. YESSSS, YESSSS, YESSSS.”
I opened my eyes.
Seriously? At the crack of dawn? Didn’t these people need to sleep? At all?
What kind of name was Maximus, anyway?
I punched my pillow aggressively and burrowed under it while the screamer moved into the high-pitched segment of her climax. It really was quite incredible how thin these walls were.
Although, I hadn’t noticed as much bedroom activity next door when all my other neighbors were still living here. I used to hear TVs, radios, doors slamming shut, children screaming, and the odd domestic squabble, but since the Great Exodus started nine months ago, the corridors had slowly fallen silent. Sometimes, I imagined myself as a survivor of some apocalyptic event. The only girl in the world, living on her own.
Well, not entirely on her own.
I had one other holdout on my floor. The only other person unwilling to give in to the sight of dollar signs. I didn’t know how much the neighbors who left were offered for their homes, but they were practically jumping out their windows into their moving trucks. One by one, I’d watched them go. Until only two of us were left.
Me and Sex God.
My one-bedroom apartment was just slightly bigger than a chocolate box, but it was as cute as a button, and in the ridiculously expensive housing market of New York, there was nothing not to like about it.
The noises from next door had stopped so I dug myself out from under my pillows. The room was filled with sunlight. It was not quite the crack of dawn, after all. I was not a morning person. I like my sleep in the mornings, every goddamned second of it. I squinted at the alarm clock. It was not due to ring for another half-an-hour. It felt as if my eyelids had just started to drift down again when the damn thing rang.
I slammed my hand down on it.
Muttering curses at my neighbor for ruining my sleep, I dragged myself away from my lovely bed. And my bed was a very lovely place. Silk sheets from Italy, Siberian goose down-filled duvet and pillows, antique damask bedspread from England. Yeah, my bed was my greatest indulgence.
I stumbled to the bathroom and landed on the toilet seat. As I reach for the roll of toilet paper, I heard flushing from my neighbor’s apartment. Probabl
y flushing down used condoms, at least five, I thought sourly.
By the time I had brushed my teeth; my fury at my neighbor’s nocturnal activities stealing my sleep had abated. At this time of the morning, there was only one thing on my mind: coffee.
I was passing through the living room on my way to the kitchen when my gaze fell on an envelope lying on the floor next to my front door. The insignia on the envelope and the large PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL stamp was unmistakable. It was another letter from the law firm of Noble, Noble, and Flaherty. Since all mail was dropped off downstairs they must have sent one of their little minions by to hand-deliver it.
First thing in the morning and before coffee! I felt my anger and resentment rise again. The persistence and nerve of these people. Thinking that everyone had their price.
Wondering what the new offer would be, I snatched it off the floor and tore it open. When I caught sight of the amount my mind went blank.
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. My knees were suddenly so weak I had to sink down on the piano stool by the door. Holy crap. Wow, ripping out small apartments and converting them into luxury homes and penthouses for super-rich big shots must be a really profitable business.
I was staring at a figure that had to be twice what my apartment was worth—no, probably more than that. With that amount of money, I could find an even bigger place, go on vacation, buy that dreamy bed from Liberty, add to my collection of pillows…
I turned on the stool I was sitting on until I faced the upright piano. I ran my fingers over the keys. Having absolutely no musical talent I never could master the instrument, but I could play a couple of old tunes.
My two index fingers met in the middle and began to tap furiously. Chopsticks. I remembered my grandmother laughing. The sound of her laughter was like an echo from the past. All the hours I’d spent sitting on that stool with her came back to me. Even though she knew I didn’t have a musical bone in my body she never stopped believing in me.
2
Mimi
When I was a kid, this apartment belonged to my grandmother. When things turned sour between my parents, I’d come here rather than spend the weekends in our home, where all my parents seemed to do was fight and snipe at each other.
My grandmother must have known I was coming to her to escape my parents’ bickering, but she always behaved as if my arrival was the best surprise on the planet. She was beyond thrilled to have me, no matter how many times I showed up at her door. Eventually, I even had my own set of keys.
Then, when she was dying in the hospital she told me she had willed her home to me, even though my mother was her rightful heir. When I tried to tell her that she would be hurting her own daughter, she firmly told me it was her last wish and I must respect it.
No, I wouldn’t give this place up for anything. I didn’t need a handcrafted bed from Liberty to be happy. And I already had a dozen unused pillows stuffed away in my cupboards. Who needs vacations when my whole life at the moment felt like a vacation? No, this apartment meant more to me than all the money in the world.
I had already written two long letters telling those blood-sucking lawyers representing those faceless, soulless corporations that, but obviously, they either didn’t get the message or didn’t want to get it. They almost had enough to buy out almost an entire building full of hardworking people, but not quite. Me and Sex God next door, we couldn’t be bought.
Since polite replies stating that the apartment was mine legally and I would never let it go, didn’t work, I grabbed a pen and scribbled across the signature area:
KISS MY ASS!
And look, they were thoughtful enough to include a return envelope, stamped and everything. I took a little too much pleasure in sealing my response inside. Feeling like I’d fought a battle and won, I slid the envelope into my purse to be mailed on my way to work and went to the kitchen to make myself a strong mug of coffee.
I showered in my large, claw foot tub. I mean, come on. Who wouldn’t kill for that? I was extraordinarily blessed and lucky. I laughed a little as I shampooed my hair. The developers were welcome to keep on trying; I would never give up my home. Why would I? Actually, I was secretly glad the idiots had to keep paying their obviously expensive lawyers to send me their offer letters. It would be interesting to see what figure they would go to before they finally gave up and built their fancy apartments around me?
Draped in a fluffy towel, I padded back into my pretty blue and white bedroom. I pulled out a pink blouse and paired it with a sexy, charcoal wraparound skirt. Sitting at my vanity, I curled my chocolatey hair into big, bouncy curls that fell all around my face and neck. I added mascara and slicked on a layer of strawberry flavored gloss. I pointed the gloss wand at my reflection. “You’re pretty fabulous, Mimi Young. Don’t you forget it.”
I threw open my shoe cupboard and sighed with pleasure. It was more like a shrine to the top shoe designers in the world than a shoe cupboard. Rows and rows of beautiful shoes. One-hundred and ninety-eight to be exact. The best ones were on the top three shelves. Other people invested in art; I invested in shoes. From the middle of the shelf, I picked up a pair of skin-toned, three-inch high pumps. I slipped into them and immediately felt like a million dollars.
Walking to the full-length mirror, I blew myself a kiss before hurrying out the door. Of course, I was running late. My little trip down memory lane at the piano had taken too much time. I stepped out into the empty hallway, walked briskly down to the elevator and jammed my finger against the button. The car carriage began its ascent upwards. I looked around me. It was like living in the middle of a ghost town. I was almost always alone. Almost.
I heard a door opening and a woman laugh.
3
Mimi
Shit! The shag-fest next door must be over. My neighbor and his screamer were on their walk of shame. I looked up at the lighted numbers above the elevator doors as the lift slowly chugged its way up to the top floor.
Behind me, the woman giggled.
Come on, I silently urged. If the elevator arrived in the next few seconds, I could nip in and close the doors before they got here.
But of course, the old, decrepit thing refused to play ball. I must have been downwind, or something because I could smell Sex God’s aftershave as he approached. I tried to calm myself, but meanwhile, heat rose through me and my palms started to sweat.
I might have forgotten to mention earlier that Sex God was also almost supernaturally gorgeous. In the past year, I’d seen him about half a dozen times and each time he looked like he’d just walked out of a someone’s sex dream.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair, that he would occasionally brush back off his forehead. He also had sensual lips that I once saw him licking, an unbearably sexy chin dimple, and piercing gray eyes that could hypnotize a cobra. He wore tailored suits the way women wore lingerie, knowing it made him look edible. He could have been a model.
Maybe he was, for all I knew, since I choked up and became unable to utter a single word whenever he was around. For his part, he barely looked in my direction. Made sense. Square-jawed, super-hot guys were generally stuck-up assholes. They didn’t need to be sweet or friendly to get laid. He seemed to fit the bill nicely.
The first time I saw him, was maybe a year earlier when he first moved into the largest apartment on my floor. Poor hunk, I naively thought, just as he settled in. Those monsters from Noble, Noble, and Flaherty were trying to edge him out. But like me, he held fast. I was glad that he’d told them where to put their offer. Since we were in the same boat, I thought I would introduce myself. Stupid me, thinking we had something in common.
I smiled at him the next time I saw him and he looked me up and down with the sort of expression people usually had when they smelled something bad. It was almost enough to make me take a sniff of myself, just in case. But no. It wasn’t me. It was him being a raging jerk. One little nod, then he turned away. I bit my tongue before I could ask him what the hell his p
roblem was.
A tanned hand reached out to hit the button for the underground parking garage, and my eyes were drawn by a strange magnetic power upward along his immaculately tailored sleeve past those wonderful pecs and golden throat to his face. Since he seemed to be entranced by the lighted numbers above the doors, I couldn’t help it. My gaze took a trip down to his crotch. Yes, there was definitely something very big down there.