One-Night Stand with My Hot Neighbor

002:First Encounter

Sophia

My first week at Laurent & Co. had been a whirlwind of fabric swatches, mood boards, and trying to remember everyone's names. By Friday evening, all I wanted was to collapse on my sofa with takeout and pretend the outside world didn't exist.

I was juggling my laptop bag, purse, and a portfolio case as I rushed through the lobby, while trying to remember what I had in my fridge that could serve as dinner.

Probably nothing. I'd been too busy to grocery shop, living off sandwiches and the fancy coffee machine in the office break room.

The elevator dinged just as I reached it, and I lunged forward, jamming my hand between the closing doors.

"Hold it, please!"

The doors bounced back open, and I stumbled inside, nearly dropping everything.

"Thank you, I—"

The words died in my throat.

Mia hadn't been exaggerating.

The man standing in the elevator was the kind of handsome that made you forget how to form coherent sentences.

Tall, very tall and definitely over six feet with dark hair that looked artfully tousled in that way that was either very intentional or naturally perfect.

Sharp jawline, olive skin, and eyes so dark they were almost black. He wore charcoal dress pants and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd had a long day.

But it was his hands that caught my attention as he pressed the button for his floor. Tattoos.

Delicate black ink that wound around his fingers like rings, wounding up all the way to his arms disappearing under the folded sleeves. I caught a glimpse of what looked like words or symbols, elegant and deliberate.

"What floor?" His voice was deep, with the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't quite place. Italian, maybe?

"Huh?" It took me a moment to process what he was saying.

"Fifteen," I managed, my voice coming out slightly breathless.

Get it together, Sophia.

He glanced at the already-lit button. "Same."

Of course. He was the neighbor. 15D.

The one Mia had been gushing about all week, texting me updates like "Have you seen him yet?" and "I'm coming over tomorrow just to stake out the hallway."

The elevator began its ascent, and I became acutely aware of how small the space suddenly felt.

He smelled exactly as Mia had described—cedar and something expensive, probably cologne that cost more than my weekly grocery budget used to be.

I clutched my portfolio tighter, trying not to stare at those tattooed fingers as he checked his phone with his free hand.

Say something. Introduce yourself. You're a professional adult who just landed a job at one of the top fashion houses in New York. You can make small talk in an elevator.

But my mind was completely blank. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft whir of the elevator and the distant ping as we passed each floor.

I snuck another glance at him from the corner of my eye.

His profile was just as devastating—strong nose, full lips pressed together in concentration as he scrolled through whatever was on his screen.

The tattoos really were beautiful, though. They looked custom, the kind of work that required sitting for hours with a talented artist.

I wondered what they meant, if they spelled out something significant or if they were purely aesthetic.

He shifted, and I realized I'd been staring. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I quickly looked up at the floor numbers ticking by. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Come on, Sophia. Just say hi. Ask him how his day was. Comment on the weather. Literally anything.

But my throat felt tight, my palms and underneath my boobs were starting to sweat.

This was ridiculous.

I'd pitched designs to the senior creative director at Laurent & Co. without breaking a sweat, but put me in an elevator with an attractive man and I turned into a stammering mess.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

He put his phone away, sliding it into his pocket with one of those tattooed hands, and I found myself watching the movement. There was something mesmerizing about the way the ink shifted with his fingers, the casual elegance of the gesture.

"Long day?"

I nearly jumped. He was looking at me now, those dark eyes direct and assessing. There was the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly how flustered I was.

"What? Oh. Yes. I mean, yeah. Long week, actually. I just started a new job and—" I was rambling now, the words tumbling out too fast.

"Not that you need to know that. Sorry. Yes, long day."

Smooth, Sophia. Real smooth.

But his smile widened, revealing—oh God, Mia had been right about the dimples too. Just one, actually, in his left cheek, but it was devastating.

"Congratulations on the new job." His eyes flicked to the portfolio case I was clutching.

"Fashion?"

"How did you—" I glanced down at the case, which had the Laurent & Co. logo embossed on the corner.

"Right. Yes. Designer. Junior designer. I'm Sophia, by the way."

I shifted everything I was holding to extend my hand, nearly dropping my purse in the process.

He caught it smoothly before it hit the floor, those tattooed fingers wrapping around the strap.

"Luca," he said, handing the purse back and then taking my hand. His grip was warm and firm, and I felt a little jolt at the contact.

"15D."

"15B," I replied, though he probably already knew that since there were only four units on our floor.

The elevator chimed—fifteen—and the doors slid open. We both stepped out into the hallway, and for a moment, we just stood there. I should say something else. Ask about him. Be normal.

"Well," I said instead, backing toward my door like an i***t, "nice to meet you, Luca."

"You too, Sophia." He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read—amusement, maybe? Interest?

"Welcome to the building."

"Thanks."

I fumbled with my keys, hyper-aware that he was still standing there, probably wondering why his new neighbor was so awkward.

Finally, I got the door open and practically fell inside, offering him one last wave before closing it.

I leaned against the door, my heart pounding.

My phone buzzed immediately. Mia.

**How was your day?**

I texted back: *I just met the neighbor.*

Three dots appeared instantly, then: **AND????**

*You were right about everything. Including the dimples.*

**I KNEW IT. Details. NOW.**

I smiled, pushing off the door and heading toward my bedroom. But as I passed the window, I caught myself thinking about tattooed fingers and dark eyes, and the way he'd said my name.

This was definitely going to be trouble.