The Billionaire Next Door Hates Me

Chapter 1 — The Worst First Impression SOPHIE'S POV The first thing Sophie Miller learned about her new apartment was that the elevator hated her. The second thing she learned was that the ridiculously handsome man standing beside it hated her too. "Hold the door!" She sprinted down the hallway, one hand gripping a cardboard box, the other clutching her handbag while the elevator doors began sliding shut. The man inside looked directly at her. Then at the box. Then at her face. And did absolutely nothing. "Seriously?" Sophie gasped. The doors continued closing. She threw herself forward. "Wait!" A hand finally appeared between the doors. They opened. Sophie stumbled inside, breathing hard. "Thank you," she said, straightening herself. The man pressed the button for the twenty-second floor. Sophie looked at him. He looked straight ahead. She waited. Nothing. She glanced at the button panel. Twenty-second floor. "You're going to twenty-two?" His eyes shifted toward her. "Apparently." Sophie blinked. "Right." Silence. She adjusted the box against her hip. It was already slipping. Of course it was. She had spent the entire morning convincing herself that moving to this apartment was the beginning of a beautiful new chapter. New city. New job. New apartment. Fresh start. And apparently, her first roommate in adulthood was going to be a cardboard box full of kitchen utensils. The elevator suddenly jerked. Sophie squeaked. The box slipped. A dozen spoons and three wooden spatulas flew onto the floor. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." She crouched immediately. The man sighed. Not a normal sigh. A deeply offended sigh, as if her spoons had personally ruined his afternoon. "Sorry," she muttered. He stepped around her. "Clearly." Sophie looked up. "Excuse me?" He pressed the emergency floor button. "No need to apologize. Just pick them up." She stared at him. His suit was immaculate. Dark charcoal. Perfectly fitted. Expensive enough to probably cost more than everything in her new apartment combined. His watch looked like it had its own security team. His hair was neat. His expression was colder than the air-conditioning. Sophie slowly picked up a spoon. "You're very friendly." "I'm not." At least he was honest. The elevator doors opened. He walked out. Sophie followed, carrying her box and her growing irritation. Then she saw him stop in front of the apartment directly beside hers. She looked at the number on her key. 2207. His door? 2208. No. Absolutely not. She watched him unlock the door. He glanced over his shoulder. "You live here?" Sophie tightened her grip on the box. "Unfortunately." Something almost resembling amusement flickered across his face. Almost. Then it disappeared. "Good." "Good?" "It means the building manager was telling the truth." "About what?" "That my new neighbor would be noisy." Sophie stared. "I've been here seven minutes." "Seven loud minutes." She looked at the box in her arms. Then at him. "Maybe you're just sensitive." "Maybe you're just loud." "And maybe you're just rude." His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Maybe." Then he stepped inside and shut the door. Sophie stood there. Her mouth fell open. "Oh, I hate him." She didn't know his name. She didn't know what he did. She didn't know why he looked like he'd been personally insulted by the existence of cardboard boxes. But she already hated him. Two hours later, Sophie had successfully carried twelve boxes into her apartment, assembled exactly one chair, broken a wine glass she couldn't afford to replace, and developed a personal grudge against whoever invented Allen keys. She sat on the floor surrounded by boxes. "New beginning," she whispered. A loud thud came from the apartment next door. Sophie looked toward the wall. Another thud. Then silence. She frowned. Fine. She wasn't going to let one rude neighbor ruin her first day. She opened another box. A knock sounded on her door. Sophie froze. She looked at the clock. 6:42 p.m. Another knock. She got up. When she opened the door, the rude man from the elevator stood there. Of course. He was holding something. Her cardboard box. She frowned. "Did I leave that outside?" "Yes." "Oh." She reached for it. He didn't immediately let go. "Do you mind?" "Yes." She blinked. "Yes, you mind?" "Yes, I mind." "Then why are you holding my box?" "Because it's blocking the hallway." Sophie looked down. It was a box labeled KITCHEN — IMPORTANT. She looked back at him. "You could have just said that." "I did." "You said 'move it.'" "That was me saying it." She stared at him. Was this man allergic to normal conversation? "You're unbelievable." "And you're blocking a fire exit." Sophie glanced behind herself. The box was nowhere near the fire exit. She pointed. "The fire exit is over there." He looked. Then back at her. A pause. "Still blocking the hallway." "By approximately three inches." "Three inches is still blocking it." She snatched the box from him. "Thank you, Officer Hallway." His jaw tightened. "Sophie Miller." Her eyebrows shot up. "You know my name?" "The building manager gave me the tenant list." "Why?" "Because I'm on the residents' association." She stared at him suspiciously. "That sounds fake." "It isn't." "Are you secretly the landlord?" "No." "Good." He gave her a look. "Why is that good?" "Because I'd hate to find out the rude man next door owns the building." For the first time, his expression changed. The faintest twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. Then it vanished. "Good night, Miss Miller." He turned. Sophie watched him walk away. "Good night, Mr. Personality." He stopped. Slowly, he looked back. "Mr. Personality?" Sophie smiled sweetly. "Your new nickname." "I didn't ask for one." "Neither did you ask for my kitchen box, but here we are." His eyes narrowed. "Good night, Sophie." He walked into his apartment. The door closed. Sophie stared at it. Then she looked down at the box in her arms. "Mr. Personality," she whispered. She smiled. At least she had won the last word. Or so she thought. Because ten minutes later, someone knocked on her door again. Sophie opened it. Nathaniel West stood there. This time, he wasn't holding a box. He was holding a parking ticket. He extended it toward her. "Your car is in my parking space." Sophie stared at the ticket. Then at him. "I don't have a parking space." "You do now." "I just moved in." "Then move your car." She looked past him toward the parking lot. A horrible realization settled in her stomach. "Oh." Nathaniel's expression remained completely unreadable. "Exactly." Sophie slowly looked back at him. "Where am I supposed to park?" He pointed toward the visitor section. "Over there." She folded her arms. "And what if I don't?" Nathaniel's eyes settled on hers. "Then tomorrow morning, you'll discover exactly how much I dislike inconvenience." Sophie smiled without an ounce of surrender. "Well, Nathaniel West..." His expression changed. She hadn't realized she'd remembered his name from the mailbox beside his door. "...I think you're about to discover exactly how much I dislike being ordered around." For the first time, his mouth curved. It wasn't a smile. It was a warning. And Sophie had the sinking feeling that she'd just declared war on the wrong neighbor.