Mr Right, Next Door!

He nodded in recognition. “The lady who writes the notes. What can I do for you, Mrs. Messina?”

“Miss,” she corrected, although she wasn’t quite sure why, or why she didn’t say “Ms.”

Biceps rippled as he propped the hammer against the frame and folded his arms, mimicking her stance. “Okay, what can I do for you, Miss Messina?”

Sophie was pretty certain he already knew. “You’ve been doing a lot of banging lately.”

“Renovating,” he replied. “I’m gutting the main bathroom, getting her ready to install a claw-foot tub.”

“Interesting.” The image momentarily distracted her. Rough and rugged didn’t go with claw-footed baths.

She smoothed her hair, as much to rein in her thoughts as to keep the unruly strands in line. “Well, I’m trying to build a financial model for a potential acquisition.”

He drew his lips together. They were nice-shaped lips, too. “Financial model, did you say?”

“Yes. I’m an investment analyst. For Twamley Greenwood,” she added, figuring the prestigious name might emphasize the project’s significance.

“Good for you.” Clearly, her employer credentials didn’t impress him. “What would you like me to do?”

Wasn’t the request obvious? Stop making so much blasted noise. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind keeping it down. Your loud banging makes concentrating difficult.”

“Little hard to bang any softer,” he drawled in reply. “By nature banging is a loud activity. Even the word—bang—” he let the word burst loudly from his lips “—implies as much.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. She knew that condescending tone. He wasn’t taking her complaint seriously. “Look,” she said, drawing herself up to her full five feet and five inches—a meaningless gesture since he still had at least a half a foot on her. “I’ve asked you several times if you could please keep the noise down.”

“No, you’ve slid notes under my door commanding me to ‘cease and desist.’ You haven’t asked me anything.”

“Fine. I’m asking you now. Could you please keep the noise down?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “No can do.”

No? “No?” she repeated.

“Told you, I’m gutting the bathroom. Do you have any idea what that entails?”

“Yes,” she replied. Visions of those biceps swinging a sledgehammer came to mind.

“You sure? Because if you don’t—” a gleam entered his brown gaze “—you’re welcome to come in for a demonstration. Maybe even do a little swinging yourself.”

“I—I—” Was he flirting with her? The audacity had her speechless. The image of those muscular arms didn’t help, either.

Taking a deep breath, more to regain her mental purchase than anything else, she tried again. Blunter this time. “Look, Mr. Templeton, I have a lot of work to do—”

“So do I,” he interrupted. He shifted his weight again, biceps rippling a little more. Challenging her or trying to distract her, Sophie wasn’t sure. He was succeeding in doing both. “It’s Saturday afternoon, not the middle of the night, and last time I looked, renovating my home, on my weekend, was completely acceptable. If the banging bothers you so much, I suggest you go build your model somewhere else.”

That wasn’t the point. Sure, she had a nice big office in the financial district where she could work, but Sophie didn’t want to go into Manhattan. What good was owning your own home if you had to twist your life around others’ wishes, and besides, she shelled out a lot of hard-earned money for this place. If she wanted to work at home, by God, she should be able to.

Which begged the question of how a guy his age managed to buy into this address in the first place. It had taken her twenty years of saving and paying off her education loans before she accumulated a sizable down payment. Maybe he didn’t mind having debt the way she did. Or he was a closet millionaire. But then why would he be redoing his apartment by himself on weekends?

Never mind; she didn’t really care. She just wanted to get back to work. “I would agree with you if we were talking about one afternoon, but we’re talking every afternoon for a month. That’s a lot of gutting.”

“What can I say?” he answered with a shrug. “I’ve got a lot of renovation to do.”

He was purposely ignoring her point. Sophie couldn’t help noting her analysts would never get away with copping such an attitude. Maybe this confrontation would go better if she’d approached him when dressed more professionally. She’d be the first to admit her cotton skirt and Polo shirt didn’t scream authority. Casual clothes tended to make her look girlish.

Still, she tried, jutting her chin and mustering her sternest voice. A take-no-excuses tone she’d perfected over the years. “What about the other tenants? How do they feel about all these renovations?”

He shrugged again. “No one’s complained so far.”

“Really?”

“You’re the only one.”

Sophie smoothed her ponytail. Time to make him take her complaints seriously; show him she meant business. “Perhaps when I bring this up to the building association you’ll hear differently.”

“Oh, right. I forgot your last note threatened to contact the association.”

At last, maybe they were getting somewhere. “Glad to see you read them. I’m sure you’d prefer not to make this a big, official issue.”

“I would, except for one thing.” The gleam reappeared in his eye. “I’m the association president.”

He had to be kidding.

“The other tenants didn’t want to be bothered with building maintenance issues so they gladly let me handle everything,” he continued. He unfolded his arms, jamming one hand in his back pocket and letting the other rest off the hammer handle. “Come to think of it, that’s probably why they don’t mind the banging.”

“Unbelievable,” Sophie muttered.

“Not really. Not when I’m the best person for the job. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some tiles I need to take down.” He reached for the door.

“Wait!” She shoved her bare foot forward to block the door. Thankfully he noticed. “What about the banging? What am I supposed to do until you’re finished?”

“The store around the corner sells noise-canceling headphones. If I were you, I’d consider checking them out.”

Sophie barely had time to slide her foot back before the door slammed in her face.

Five o’clock came early, and it came even earlier on Monday morning. Earlier still since Sophie had spent until almost 1:00 a.m. making sure the last round of revisions were done and in Breckinridge’s in-box before going to bed. Much as she longed to sleep in and make up for the late hours, she couldn’t. The overseas markets were already entering their volatile hours and she was expected to know what was going on. That is, she expected it of herself. She didn’t want to risk the chance she’d get caught off guard. Being prepared was something she prided herself on, like being efficient and goal-oriented. Although all three would be a lot easier with more than four hours’ sleep.

Then again, a lack of sleep came with the territory. If you wanted to get ahead, you put in the hours.

And, she intended to get ahead. So far ahead that eventually Pond Street and all the other ghosts from her past were nothing more than vague, faded images. Then once she’d made it, she’d retire early and sleep in all the mornings she wanted. She was already halfway along her timetable and if the rumors were true and Raymond Twamley was planning to step aside, she could be even closer. A full two years ahead of her schedule.

Until then, she’d always have coffee. She flipped off the plastic lid to see how much of the lifesaving liquid she had left. A quarter of caramel-colored liquid greeted her. Interesting, she thought. Her neighbor’s eyes had been a similar color, especially when they’d taken on that flirtatious gleam. Not that she cared. The man had shut his door in her face, the hot-looking, rude…

“Reading tea leaves?”

She didn’t have to look up to know who was asking. While normally she made a point of maintaining a professional distance from her colleagues, David Harrington was the one exception. A member of the firm’s legal department, he had introduced himself at the company Christmas party a few years earlier, and she’d quickly discovered he made the perfect companion. “More like trying to see if I could absorb the caffeine through my eyeballs,” she muttered.

A slight frown crossed his rangy features. “That’s obviously not going to happen.”