Mia closed her eyes and counted. Breathe in four, out eight. In four, out eight. She wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or mad, but once she was sure she wouldn’t go all Taz on the guy, she faced him. “You’re the asshole who keeps reporting me to the building security officer.”
At least he showed some smarts and kept his mouth shut, eyes flitting to the panties clutched to her chest, then back to her face, then down at Clancy who had just peed in his shoe. She almost felt sorry for the guy, but then she remembered her last phone call with Ms. Braxton. She’d been pretty sure the woman was going to fire her and kick her out because of the calls from building security. “One more phone call, and you’re gone,” Ellen Braxton had yelled. If she sent Mia packing, she’d have no place to live for the next couple of weeks and wouldn’t be able to keep working at Heart’s Home. It was the first job she’d ever loved, and she hated even the thought of losing it.
“Out,” Mia shouted from the bathroom doorway. “Get out of here. I almost lost my place to live because of you.”
“I have lost a place to live because of you,” he replied picking up his shoes. “I can’t even sleep as a result of your noise.”
“Out!” She gestured to the bedroom door, forgetting she still clutched a fistful of undergarments. Perfect. She should market this. The Panty Pointer. All it needed was a laser. No. Clearly it worked without one. His unnerving blue eyes locked on the purple thong with the bow on the back hanging from her pinky finger.
After he delivered an eye roll she probably deserved, he headed out of the bedroom.
“You don’t sleep anyway,” she shouted as he squeezed by the chair he’d stood on to remove the battery from the alarm over the front door.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was level and calm. Almost too controlled—which irked her. She wanted to crack that calm. See this perfect man ruffled.
“Oh, oooooh!” she moaned, imitating a number of women she’d heard through the walls before she’d cranked tunes to drown them out. “Ahhhh, yes,” she added with enthusiasm, pleased by the stunned look on his face.
Unfair, that’s what it was. To lie there alone every night, regretting all the crap decisions she’d made over the years, while her asshole neighbor got laid simply because he was rich. At least that’s what Ms. Braxton had told her about him. Rich, and stuck up, and the ultimate control freak who should be avoided at all costs. “Yes, baby. Mmmm. There! Oh, more!” she continued when he simply stared at her slack-jawed.
He shook his head as if to clear it, and then turned to leave.
“Hold on,” she said. “What about Clancy?”
A confused expression crossed his face as if he didn’t recognize the name.
“The dog?” she said, pointing to Clancy who was curled up on Gladys’s afghan in the corner. Gladys was Mia’s favorite resident at Heart’s Home. She always acted grouchy, but Mia knew it was just a coping mechanism. Maybe this guy’s calm demeanor served the same purpose. You can’t get hurt if you keep people at arm’s length. If only Mia could do that. She should do that, especially with attractive men. Men like Michael Anderson. “Please leave.”
His features hardened. “Come on, dog,” he muttered from the doorway.
She placed her hands on her hips. The guy was clueless. And handsome as hell. Ms. Braxton had made him out to be a horrible man—a monster, which was why she’d begun tormenting him in the first place. In her head, Mia had pictured him like an ogre in a movie—not young, fit, and friendly. Oh, yeah, she’d felt those muscles, as well as other hard things, beneath that designer suit, which was why she hadn’t connected his first and last name. This was the dreaded Michael Anderson. The Grand Poobah of “My way or the highway.”
Though, as she stood there watching him try unsuccessfully to coax Clancy by promising him treats that the dog knew would never materialize, she found herself fighting back a smile. Maybe doing it his way wouldn’t be all that bad.
Wait. What was wrong with her? Never again would she make allowances for a man being a jerk. Just like Jason, this guy was heartache in a pretty package. Better to run him off right away while the running off was good.
She picked Clancy up and shoved him into Michael’s chest. “Maybe next time, you’ll be responsible and put him on a leash.”
His bright blue eyes widened, then narrowed. “The only thing that needs to be on a leash around here is you.”
A line like that should have been followed by a graceful exit. Maybe even a dramatic door slam, but perfectionist Michael Anderson’s grand exit consisted of stubbing his bare toe against the doorframe while balancing a dog in one arm and holding his pee-filled shoes out in front of him with the other.