Faking It with the Billionaire Next Door: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy Read online

  Dropping my leg to the floor, I sat forward in my seat, staring directly at my father. “But that was the fucking paparazzi—”

  Father raised his hand, cutting me off. “Do not use that tone with me, son, nor blame your actions on a newspaper. You’re the one responsible. You and only you. I’ve given you far too many chances, Miles. And it ends today. Either you straighten your ass up and settle down, or you will be fired and cut off from the family money. You have six months—until your twenty-seventh birthday in November.” He stood from his seat, straightening his cuff links, not even looking at me.

  I sputtered for a second. My father couldn’t be serious. He’d lectured me before, sure, made idle threats with a slap on the wrist, but he’d never threatened to cut off my inheritance.

  My inheritance was to mature on my twenty-seventh birthday.

  This was bullshit!

  Standing abruptly from my chair, I faced him. “You’re going to fire me and cut me off, just like that? Because of a few tabloids?”

  Dad tilted his head and finally stared me directly in the eyes. “You still don’t understand. Perhaps you will before your time is up. Believe me, son, this is harder on me than it is on you.”

  With that, my father walked around his desk, brushed past me, and out the door.

  I flung myself back on the chair with my head in my hands. What the fuck was I going to do? My job was everything. The women and parties? They were perks. I had to come up with a plan and fast.

  I needed to talk to my brother.

  This was worse than I’d thought.

  After taking a few minutes to get my shit together, I walked down the hallway and rapped my knuckles against my older brother, Oliver’s door. He was the CFO of the company. If anybody knew what to do, he would.

  “Come in.”

  “Hey, bro, got a minute? I need to talk. It’s important.” When I glanced to the right, I saw my best friend, Damon Copeland, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the view of the city. Perfect. I could use both of their perspectives right now.

  Damon turned to face me. “Hey, man. You need me to go?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, stay.”

  Shutting the door behind me, I went to the bar cart and poured myself two fingers of Macallan Scotch and took a seat in front of Oliver’s desk. He looked more like our mother with sandy-brown hair and brown eyes.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little early for scotch?” Oliver said with a smirk.

  “Man, after I tell you what just happened, you may want to join me.” I glanced over at Damon as he took the seat next to me. “You, too.”

  “Well, out with it,” Oliver said, closing his laptop and gesturing for me to continue.

  “Dad’s fucking cutting me off and firing me if I don’t get my shit together,” I told them and sipped my scotch. “I’ve got six months.” I went on to summarize the rest about embarrassing the company and needing to settle down. “That’s the gist of it.”

  Oliver and Damon shook their heads.

  “What?” I glared between the two of them.

  “Look, bro. I love you, but Dad’s right. All your shit’s been coming down on us hard. You wouldn’t believe what our PR firm’s had to deal with to cover your ass.”

  “Get out of here, you two.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “You make it sound worse than it is. PR firm? So what? They get paid, don’t they? It’s their job—”

  “Yeah. Except it’s not their job.” Damon interrupted. “We thought you’d get it out of your system, but it looks like you can’t get enough of it into your system.” He shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “Your dad’s not wrong.”

  “Fuck you, Damon. You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “Fuck you back, asshat. I am your friend, and that’s why I’m being honest. You fucked up. What’s so bad about settling down and not partying as much?”

  Leaning back, I stared at the ceiling.

  Settle down? Had everybody lost their damn minds?

  “We’re not saying you can’t have a drink once in a while, just stop ending up in the tabloids every other week.” Oliver snapped his fingers to get my attention. “Bro, look at me. This shit is serious. I know what the job means to you. So, you have to figure out what’s more important. You know when Dad retires, the company will be ours. You don’t want to lose that, too. Dude, we’re family, and I don’t want to see you throw your life away because of partying and random chicks you could fuck any day of the week. Just calm down, take a step back, and focus.”

  Staring at the scotch in my hand, I suddenly didn’t have a taste for it. “Maybe you’re right,” I admitted begrudgingly. “I don’t know. I’ve got some thinking to do.” Furrowing my brow, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ve got to come up with a plan.”

  Damon clapped me on the shoulder. “Man, you’ve got this. You can still have the life you want, just grow the fuck up.”

  “You’re an asshole.” I smirked, handing him my glass of scotch.

  “I know, but at least I’m not drinking on the job,” Damon said with a shrug, setting the tumbler on Oliver’s desk.

  “Uptight as usual.” I pushed myself up from the chair and got to my feet. “Thanks. Good talk. I’m heading out for the day. It’s already after five.”

  I heard Damon grumble something like “fucking dick-bag” under his breath and laughed.

  “See you on Monday,” Oliver and Damon said at the same time.

  “Later.”

  I let myself out, told Gretchen I was leaving for the day, and to go on home. She’d busted her ass all week—no need to work past five on a Friday. The woman deserved a break. I couldn’t ask for a better employee.

  Employee. When I thought of the word, a tinge of something—guilt, maybe?—stirred in my gut. If I didn’t comply with my father’s demands, I wouldn’t have an employee. Hell, I wouldn’t have a damn job.

  Taking the elevator to the parking garage, I strolled toward my silver BMW. Fast cars were my jam, and I loved the high I got from speeding down the highway. I wished I had taken my bike to work today. That’d been better for the ride home. I needed to think, and nothing was better than the open road on my 200 horse-power Ducati. I’d take it out this weekend if the weather was nice. Maybe ask Oliver and Damon to join me at our regular hole in the wall after a long ride.

  Pulling into traffic, I mulled over what my brother and Damon had said. I guessed it made sense, even if it did piss me the hell off. Nobody liked being told what to do, especially me. I’d lived my life my way, and I’d made sure to put my job first. Always. PR firm covering my ass. I understood why Dad was so pissed. But what the fuck was I going to do about it? Uproot my life? Change everything?

  My father’s threatening to cut me off and fire me was a harsh punishment. I could see a probationary period, but that had caught me off guard. I’d always been good at making plans, and this situation was no different. I just needed to think outside the box. I didn’t necessarily have to change my life forever, only enough to appease my father until my birthday.

  I pulled into my designated space inside the parking garage of my building and climbed out of my car. I could see the lights from the main lobby through the small window.

  Opening the door, I almost ran right into Rose Taylor, my annoying, yet hot-as-fuck neighbor, just as she was stepping into the elevator.

  This time, I managed to get in with her and pressed the button for our floor.

  She gave me the stink-eye, which was expected. She always did, but I couldn’t help as my gaze drifted down her petite body: that black pencil skirt hugging her firm ass, up to the pink silk blouse that thoroughly displayed her perky tits. Her long chestnut hair was braided over one shoulder, and when I made it past her full pink lips, Rose’s brown eyes could’ve killed me with that death stare.

  I hadn’t been discreet. So, I smirked. I was a tits and ass man, sue me.

  She shifted to the side. “Are you done yet?”<
br />
  “Done with what?” I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I acted innocent as shit.

  “Ogling me like a creepy-ass stalker.”

  Rubbing the stubble along my chin, I pretended to study her. “You seem stressed. Long day at work?”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “God, this elevator takes forever.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at me. “It’s none of your business. I don’t even like you.”

  I clutched my heart with a mock-hurt expression. “You wound me.”

  She turned and glared at me, brown eyes wide and angry. “I could seriously wound you.” The elevator door opened to the 17th floor, and Rose walked out first. “Stop staring at my ass.”

  But I watched that fine ass as she sauntered straight into her apartment, right up until she slammed the door. I chuckled and went to my own, unlocking it and tossing my keys in the blue glass bowl on the entry table.

  There was fun and there was fun.

  Rose was neither.

  She was the opposite of fun. She was un-fun.

  Rose was definitely uptight and played the part of the Ice Queen well. I’d never seen her date anybody, let alone anybody come or go out of her apartment. I’d asked her out a while ago, not because I was interested in dating, only because I’d wanted to fuck her. She’d known, and since then, she’d hated me. Even so, I couldn’t help but fuck with her when I saw her. She was so damn hot when she got riled up.

  There were only two apartments on this floor, and it just so happened Rose was my neighbor—I saw her almost every day. Making her squirm had become one of my favorite pastimes.

  Yeah, I’m a dick. I know.

  My head was banging when I finally dragged my ass home and into the elevator. Again, I’d drank too much at another party, but I couldn’t be bothered to give a shit. Six months. I still had six months to come up with a plan, but I’d found drinking it away hadn’t had the desired effect. Women? Well, maintaining a low profile in New York when every fucking socialite in the city knew who you were was difficult to say the least.

  Propping myself against the mirrored wall, I waited for what felt like an eternity for the elevator to reach my floor. A shower and my bed—that’s what I needed. When the doors finally opened, I stumbled out only to see Rose’s firm ass bent over in tight yoga pants and a white, almost see-through T-shirt. She startled at the ding of my arrival, and when she turned—fuck me—she wasn’t wearing a bra. Perky round handfuls sat there staring at me. (Okay, I was definitely drunk.) Her nipples were hard, and the quicker she breathed, the more visible they became. Rose might’ve had the most perfect pair of tits I’d ever seen in a T-shirt.

  “What are you staring at, creep?” she asked, snapping me out of my lust-filled daze.

  “Oh, the newspaper,” I said, “and looking around for your ten cats. Did one get away? Miss Muffin Patch? She’s my favorite, ya know.” I grinned but knew my words were a bit slurred. She could probably smell the alcohol on me from across the hall. Her cat was white with a brown patch on its face that looked like a muffin, hence the nickname. I knew it pissed Rose off because of the innuendo—and it was funny as hell.

  Rose stabbed her fists against her hips. “One cat, asshole. One, and her name is Daisy,” she said and glared at me. God, she was gorgeous—my gaze kept dropping to her tits. “Muffin Patch? That’s so original. You’re such a pig.” Shit. She’d caught me staring. “What are you looking at?” She quickly covered her breasts with the newspaper.

  “Isn’t it early for you to be up? Got ‘company’ waiting for you in there at four in the morning?” I asked, hiking a thumb toward her door, trying to change the subject. I sounded like an idiot and didn’t care.

  Her face flushed almost scarlet. “Are you drunk or just stupid? Or both?” She tossed her hands in the air, then let them flop down at her sides. “You know what? Never mind. I’m not talking to you. I don’t even know why I did in the first place. Just go…sleep it off or whatever it is you do.”

  Rose stormed past me, brushing my shoulder. Damn. My dick had a mind of its own—it jerked against my fly on contact. I didn’t like Rose—she could permanently freeze a man’s hard-on with that death stare of hers. Just thinking about it caused a phantom pain in my growing erection. Sure, she was hot. It had to be the tits. That’s all. I needed to go rub one out and get to bed. I was too tired for this shit.

  “See ya. Give Miss Muffin Patch a nice, long stroke for me.” I chuckled, unable to resist one last dig.

  Her door slammed, but I could hear muffled cursing coming from the other side.

  Man, it was good to be me.

  Then thoughts of Dad’s ultimatum filtered through my head and brought me back to why I’d gotten wasted in the first place. Nope. Not a good day to be me. Not if you had no desire to settle down and all that domestic shit.

  Unlocking my door, I headed to my bedroom, stripping my clothes off as I went with only a couple things on my mind. After a few hours’ sleep, I could think things through.

  Tomorrow, I had to be an adult.

  Dammit. Did I close the door?

  Who gives a shit? I’m already naked.

  Stepping into my four-person, glass-encased shower, the multiple jets of hot water felt soothing against my skin. I braced my hands against the wall and hung my head, letting the warmth flow over me before I washed up. It loosened my muscles and cleared my racing thoughts.

  Images of Rose’s gorgeous breasts underneath that T-shirt flashed in my mind, and my cock stood to attention. The mental picture alone made me wonder what they looked like naked, what they’d feel like in my hands—soft and silky to the touch, and her hard nipples in my mouth—the taste of them. Damn, and squeezing her perfect ass.

  Nope. I’m drunk.

  Stepping back, I grabbed my shower gel and finished up. I would not be jacking off to Rose.

  Once I was clean and dry, I collapsed onto my king-size bed, naked, and pulled my sheets around me, but my dick still had other ideas.

  Jerking off it was. I did not think of Rose… or her magnificent body, or her tan legs wrapped around my waist as she rode me hard and fast.

  2

  MILES

  I woke up with one hell of a hangover. And a dick stiff as a rod.

  It was Saturday, so at least I didn’t need to get to work. I wouldn’t have been clear-sighted, anyway, not after that conversation with my dad. Then I remembered that “fantastic” run-in with Rose this morning, which only aggravated me more. I ran a hand over my face and then my cock, trying to wake up.

  I grabbed my cell off the bedside table, and glanced at the time.

  It was already noon.

  God dammit.

  I needed somebody to help me figure out what I was going to do.

  My brother—no. Oliver had usually been good for advice, but right now, I wasn’t looking for a lecture. Damon—yes—he’d be upfront with me. He always told it like it was, and that’s exactly what I needed right now. A good ride on my Ducati would help a shit-ton as well.

  After I’d rubbed one out, I called Damon and made plans to meet him at a gas station at the edge of the city, where we usually started our rides.

  He was punctual. As always.

  We rode like devils—I mean, with a Ducati, you had to—the exhilaration of speed combined with the views of the countryside created the perfect opportunity to clear your mind.

  A couple of hours later Damon and I were sitting at Swayze’s. The ride had relaxed me. We’d taken a long trip across the outskirts of the city and ended up back at our favorite bar.

  “This whole inheritance bullshit’s got me fucked up,” I told him, spearing my fingers through my hair. He just stared at me like I was a dumbass, waiting for me to continue. “I need to act. I need a plan. I went out last night and tried to come up with something, but the alcohol didn’t exactly help.”

  “No shit,” he deadpanned.
r />   “Yeah, man.” I’d asked for this. Damon was a broody son of a bitch, nothing new, but he had his shit together. He worked his fucking ass off for the company. “What would you do?” I asked.

  “Grow the fuck up,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not that complicated.”

  “What, like you? You want me to act all tense and dead serious so I’m considered ‘grown-up’?” I chuckled.

  “Who’s talking about me? No, you fucking moron. You need to actually change your ways, party less.”

  I grunted. Like that was ever going to happen.

  Sadie, the waitress, strolled over, her gaze fixed on Damon. She’d always had a thing for him, most girls did. I couldn’t see why—he wore an asshole vibe on the regular—but he’d never given two shits either way.

  “What can I get you boys?” she asked, her pen and notepad ready.

  “What’s up, Sadie?” I said with a smile. “A coffee. And a house pie.”

  “Got it. And you, handsome?” She leaned toward Damon, “accidentally” brushing his shoulder with her tit. He didn’t even flinch.

  “Black coffee, please.”

  “No pie?” she asked, still trying to get his attention.

  “Just black coffee. And hurry up, doll.”

  “You got it.” She winked at him. “Be right back with your orders, boys.”

  “Man, didn’t you see that?” I asked him. “The way she eye-fucked you? Didn’t you feel her tits?”

  “Of course I did.” He shrugged.

  “So?” I arched an eyebrow in question.

  “So what? It’s Sadie. I plan on coming back here. No point in ruining things by fucking her.”

  I shook my head and leaned back. “You need to loosen up.”

  “No. You need to think ahead,” he countered.