The Billionaire Next Door Hates Me

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 — Balcony Warfare

SOPHIE'S POV

The first thing Sophie saw when she stepped onto the balcony was a tomato.

The second was another tomato.

The third was Nathaniel West standing on the other side of the dividing railing, staring at her plants like they had personally declared war on him.

Sophie froze with her watering can halfway tilted.

Nathaniel pointed at the railing.

"Your tomato plant is on my side."

Sophie looked.

A thin green vine had indeed escaped through the railing, carrying three stubborn little tomatoes into Nathaniel's perfectly empty section of the balcony.

She looked back at him.

"It's a plant."

"I noticed."

"It doesn't understand property boundaries."

"I do."

Sophie bit her lip.

That was the wrong thing to say because the corner of his mouth moved.

Barely.

She caught it.

"You almost smiled."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"Water your plants."

"I am."

"On your side."

She looked at the vine again.

"He's adventurous."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.

"He's a tomato."

"Don't judge him."

"I'll judge whatever I want on my balcony."

Sophie set the watering can down.

"Fine. I'll move it."

"Thank you."

She reached for the vine.

Then stopped.

"Actually, no."

Nathaniel stared at her.

"What?"

"I've decided I like it there."

"Sophie."

"Nathaniel."

"Move the plant."

"No."

His jaw tightened.

Sophie folded her arms.

"You have an entire balcony."

"I have an entire balcony without vegetables invading it."

"It's one vine."

"It's three tomatoes."

"Four."

He looked at her.

She pointed.

"There's another one hiding."

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment.

Sophie grinned.

"You really don't like plants, do you?"

"I like plants."

"You hate my plants."

"I hate your plants invading my space."

"That's different."

"That's exactly the same thing."

"No. Your apartment looks like a hotel lobby. Mine looks like someone actually lives there."

His gaze moved across her balcony.

There were pots everywhere.

Basil.

Mint.

Tiny flowers.

A dying fern she'd been trying to save for months.

A pair of old sneakers beside a flowerpot.

And one chair covered with a folded blanket.

Nathaniel's balcony had nothing except two black chairs and a small glass table.

He looked back at her.

"I prefer clean."

"I prefer alive."

His eyes lingered on her for a second.

Then he glanced away.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

The words came out softer than she'd intended.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Nathaniel pointed at the vine again.

"Move it."

Sophie sighed dramatically.

"Fine."

She leaned across the railing.

The pot was heavier than she'd expected.

She pulled.

Nothing.

She tried again.

The pot shifted.

Her foot slipped.

"Whoa—"

Nathaniel caught her wrist.

Everything stopped.

Sophie looked down at his hand around hers.

His grip was firm but careful.

Nathaniel's eyes were on her face.

"You could have fallen."

"I'm fine."

"You nearly went over the railing."

"I said I'm fine."

He didn't release her immediately.

Neither of them moved.

Sophie suddenly became aware of how close they were.

His cologne.

The warmth of his hand.

The quiet between them.

Then Nathaniel seemed to realize it too.

He let go.

"You're reckless."

She rubbed her wrist.

"And you're dramatic."

"You nearly fell."

"I've fallen before."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

She looked at him.

There was something different in his voice.

Not irritation.

Worry.

It lasted only a second before his usual composure returned.

Sophie looked away.

"Thank you."

Nathaniel nodded.

"You're welcome."

She reached for the plant again.

He sighed.

"Leave it."

She turned.

"What?"

"The plant."

"You just spent ten minutes complaining about it."

"I've changed my mind."

Sophie smiled.

"Really?"

"No."

She laughed.

"You are impossible."

"So I've been told."

He walked back toward his apartment.

Then stopped.

"Just keep it trimmed."

Sophie looked at the vine.

"Yes, sir."

He turned his head.

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, sir."

He gave her a look.

She smiled innocently.

He disappeared inside.

Sophie stared after him.

Then glanced at the tomato vine.

"You're staying."

The vine, unfortunately, had no opinion.

That evening, Sophie was making pasta when she heard a knock.

She opened the door with a wooden spoon in her hand.

Nathaniel stood there.

His gaze dropped to the spoon.

Then to her.

"What?"

"You have music playing."

Sophie looked behind her.

"Oh."

"Turn it down."

"It's not loud."

"I can hear it through my wall."

"That's because your apartment is basically empty."

His eyes narrowed.

"Turn it down."

Sophie leaned against the doorframe.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Working."

"At home?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe the music is helping you."

"It isn't."

"What if I turn it down by one?"

"All the way."

She sighed.

"You're no fun."

"I've never claimed to be."

She started closing the door.

Then Nathaniel said, "It smells good."

Sophie paused.

She looked at him.

His expression remained neutral.

"Was that a compliment?"

"No."

"You just said my cooking smells good."

"I said it smells good."

"That's basically a compliment."

He looked mildly annoyed with himself.

"What are you making?"

She blinked.

"Pasta."

He nodded.

Then, strangely, he didn't leave.

Sophie tilted her head.

"Do you want some?"

Nathaniel hesitated.

"No."

"Okay."

She started closing the door again.

"Actually..."

She stopped.

He sighed.

"Maybe."

Sophie smiled.

"Maybe?"

"Yes."

"Use your words."

Nathaniel looked at her.

"I'd like some pasta."

"Wow."

"What?"

"That sounded painful."

His eyes narrowed.

Sophie laughed and opened the door wider.

"Come in."

He stepped inside.

For the first time, Nathaniel West entered her apartment without complaining about something.

He looked around at the plants, the half-unpacked boxes, the blankets, the little framed photographs on the shelf.

His gaze stopped on one picture.

Sophie noticed.

"That's my mom."

Nathaniel's expression softened.

"She looks kind."

Sophie smiled.

"She is."

There was a brief silence.

Then Nathaniel nodded toward the kitchen.

"Where are the plates?"

Sophie blinked.

"You know how to set a table?"

"I've survived thirty-four years."

She laughed.

"Fair."

She handed him two plates.

Their fingers brushed.

Neither mentioned it.

But when Sophie turned away, she caught herself smiling.

And when Nathaniel looked down at the plate in his hand, he realized something he didn't particularly like.

He had come over because her music was supposedly too loud.

He was staying for pasta.

And somehow, that felt like a much bigger problem.