Terms of Agreement

Prologue

Aiden

W hat the fuck was that?

The knocking continued, and I scrubbed a hand over my face, over the layer of stubble now covering my jaw, and stared up at the ceiling of my new apartment. My new apartment… I blew out a heavy breath, my hand falling to my side as my gaze shifted from the ceiling, down past the cornices and bare walls, coming to a stop on the exposed wooden floors. The corners of my mouth twisted into an almost-smile—it felt strange, the muscles tight and on the verge of atrophy after almost a month of disuse. It had been the floors that had sold me on the place—she’d always preferred carpets.

Was it a smart decision, signing a lease based on what your ex-girlfriend would like least? Probably not. But I’d spent my life making smart decisions and look where that had got me.

The sharp rapping on my door pulled the corners of my mouth back down into a now habitual scowl and, with a groan, I pushed myself up off the sofa and made my way towards the door. It was new, the sofa, and it was not made for sleeping on. But I hadn’t bought a bed to replace the one I’d left behind.

Coming to a stop in front of the stack of boxes that had formed a haphazard sort of barricade, I shifted a few of the nearest ones to the side. I should unpack. Hell, I should already be unpacked, but I’d been here a week and all I’d managed to do was unbox the sofa and the fancy-looking coffee machine that my friends sent over like some kind of conciliatory prize.

‘Oh, you got your heart broken? You get a coffee machine—pods not included.’

I rubbed absentmindedly at the hollow feeling in my chest, forcing my thoughts away from that. There was no point in lingering on that —no future there. She made that very clear. We were done. Seven years over in a single afternoon. I turned my head away from the chrome coffee machine that gleamed like a smug bastard through the kitchen doorway.

With a sigh, I shoved past packages and boxes as I forged a path to the door. How had we ended up like this? How had I ended up like this? Twenty-nine years old and what did I have to show for it? My eyes caught on my reflection in the hallway mirror—one that I hadn’t noticed when I’d first moved in. What a fucking mess.

The knock came again, drawing my focus away from my dishevelled appearance. It was softer this time and there was a hesitation between the second and third knock, like habit had forced the third. Great, I was analysing knocking patterns now.

I’d only met one of my new neighbours—and that was by accident. She’d practically pounced out of the shadows when I’d gone to take the trash out a couple of nights ago. Ms Au, she’d said her name was. I grimaced, hoping it wasn’t her. Not that she wasn’t nice, but I’d signed a short-term lease. No need to get warm and cosy with the neighbours.

Leaning forward, I ducked down to look through the peephole and grimaced as a sharp spasm of pain twinged in my lower back. Just what I needed—heartbreak, losing more than half of my possessions, and putting my back out before even hitting thirty. Squinting, I peered through the peephole, my hand halting on its path to the doorknob. It was that girl—the one from the window.

I’d paid extra to have the movers arrive before seven. Choosing a Sunday, my plan had been to move in while the rest of the apartment block was asleep and to go unnoticed by any neighbours and busy bodies. Not that it’d worked…I’d been standing there, in the parking lot—proverbial tail between my legs—when movement at one of the windows caught my eye. The rest of Notting Hill had been asleep, but there she was, watching me. The minute she’d noticed me noticing her, she’d vanished, and I hadn’t seen her since. Not that I’d looked. The only times I’d left my apartment since unlocking the door last Sunday have been to accept food from the delivery guys and take out the trash.

I pressed closer to the peephole, my fingers splaying against the wooden door as I took her in. Her head twisted from left to right as she looked up and down the empty corridor. She was prettier up close. Her rich brown curls piled atop her head only emphasising the elegant line of her neck. My gaze travelled down her body, pausing for a moment at the creamy strip of skin peeking out above the waistband of her jeans. Jeans that fit her far too fucking well. With a jerk, I pulled myself away from the door as the sticky-tar-like feeling of guilt coagulated across my skin. What was I doing? Sure, she was pretty—beautiful even—but I wasn’t the guy with a wandering eye. I had a—fucksakes—no, I didn’t. My jaw tightened and my fingers clenched into a fist as anger and frustration melted away my misplaced guilt.

More cautiously than before, I returned to my spot, reaching the peephole just in time to watch her raise her arms in an effort to shuck back the sleeves of her oversized cardigan. If it weren’t for the cupcake clutched to her chest, she’d probably have pushed the sleeves back, but unable to do that, she’d resorted to lifting her forearms and giving them a subtle shake as the sleeves flirted with the frosting. I scowled, forcing myself to see the action as juvenile instead of endearing and fortifying my interior resolve.

But I didn’t look away. In the moment, I reasoned it was because if she knocked again, I’d have to answer. I had an excuse for not answering the first six times she’d knocked. But I’d have no excuse if she did it again. So, I waited, watching as she worried her lip. Waiting to see what she’d do next. After what felt like an eternity, she smiled and some of the stiffness slipped away from her shoulders. I frowned, irritated by the unwelcomed surge of interest that blinked to life at the sight of her smile. She raised the cupcake to her soft, pink lips and, just like the Walls of Jericho, my resolve crumbled; reduced to rubble, not by a magic horn, but by a fucking cupcake.

Before I knew what I was doing, I yanked open the door. She jumped, startled, and I scowled down at my hand. Why the fuck had I done that? A strangled cough drew my attention. Irritated, I looked back towards the woman in front of me, narrowing my eyes at the stinging brightness of the hallway’s overhead lighting. She was looking up at me with watery eyes, her cupcake-free hand rubbing a spot on her chest, as she all but choked on a mouthful of cupcake.

‘You’re the one that knocked, Cupcake,’ I rasped, my throat dry with disuse. ‘Why are you surprised?’ I could feel the familiar pressure and tightness building behind my eyes, my body longing to retreat into the darkness of my apartment. Why the hell had I opened the door?

‘I—Uh.’ She swallowed, and I blew out a breath, not even bothering to cover-up my growing frustration. At her or at myself—I didn’t care, but this wasn’t how I’d envisioned spending my Sunday afternoon. Even if I had been the one to open the door.

‘I’m Charlotte Hall,’ she choked out. ‘I’m in 3C—’ Her chin jerked to the floor above and she extended a hand into the space between us.

I bit down on any reply, battling my upbringing, and said nothing, leaving her hand hanging there as I crossed my arms across my chest to avoid rubbing at the now growing ache at my temples. I didn’t have time for this. I really needed her to go away.

Her pretty green eyes flitted down to her empty hand, and she swallowed, her fingers seeming to move of their own accord as she turned the rejected shake into a wave. A grimace flickered across her features, as her eyes tracked the movement of her fingers, but she plastered on a smile and returned her focus to me.

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, as her gaze sharpened, taking in my unironed t-shirt and bedhead, before looking towards my darkened apartment.

‘Right.’ Charlotte nodded, her eyes locked on the boxes that still lined my hallway. ‘You’re obviously busy, unpacking and all of that…’

I bristled, trying to taper the shock of anger that had crackled up my spine at the sight of her sympathetic smile. I didn’t need her sympathy. I straightened, shifting my weight and repositioning my body to block off her view into my apartment. Fucking nosy neighbours.

‘That for me?’ I bit out, staring pointedly at the cupcake in her hand, the one that now had a large bite taken out of it and had left a trace of frosting at the corner of her mouth.

‘N-no,’ she stammered, shaking her head and moving the cupcake from her side and hiding it behind her back.

‘No?’ I asked, cocking my head to one side, enjoying the flush of pink that spread across her cheeks.

I watched as her shoulders curled in a little and her gaze dropped to the floor. My smile grew at her discomfort. I was fully aware that I was being a dick. But I wasn’t interested in getting to know this girl—or anyone. And this… spite? It made me feel good—the best I’d felt in almost a month. So I clung to that feeling.

‘I…’ she began, her voice so small that I almost felt bad for her. But then, with a quick shake of her head, she straightened her shoulders and raised a pair of dazzling green eyes to meet mine.

‘I wanted to invite you for a coffee,’ she hurried out, forcing that insincere, cheesy smile back onto her face. ‘I didn’t know anyone when I moved here, and I didn’t know a thing about the area. Important things… like where all the good independent coffee shops are,’ she rambled on in a way that, at one point in my life, I could have found endearing. ‘So, I wanted to offer to take you to one and offer a sort of insight into the neighbourhood from a seasoned veteran. We can go whenever.’ She shrugged, her eyes wandering to the doorframe to the left of me as the pink hue returned to her cheeks. ‘You’ve obviously just moved in and will want to take time to settle before you—’

‘No.’

‘No?’ she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

‘No,’ I repeated more firmly, and I held her gaze, taking my time as I pulled the door shut on her wide-eyed expression. I leaned back against the door, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, wondering where I’d stashed the pain killers and praying they weren’t still in one of the boxes.

This close to the door, I could hear her soft ‘okay,’ and the shuffle of her sneakers as she moved away. Something in my chest twinged at the defeated sound of her voice, but I pushed it away. Sure, Charlotte Hall had done nothing to deserve my contempt, but the one that did—well, she wasn’t here.