Six
Danica
I jolt upright, heart hammering against my chest. The incessant bass thumping through the walls is followed by grunting—a deep, guttural sound that rumbles through the stillness of my bedroom—then a bang so colossal it rattles the framed photos on my wall.
I glare at the glowing red numbers of my alarm clock. Not even six o’clock, and he’s at it again. And it’s Saturday, my one day to sleep in… With each thud and crash from next door, resentment builds inside me like pressure in a sealed bottle. How dare he wake me at this ungodly hour?
I swing my legs out of bed, find my bathrobe, and yank it on, not bothering to tie it as I storm across the loft. My fingers curl into fists, knuckles whitening as I march toward the source of my discontent.
I burst into the hallway and pause just for a second outside his door, anger simmering in my veins. Then, with all the force I can muster, I bang. Knock. Knock. Knock . I don’t care if I’m waking up the entire building. Maybe they’ll understand my frustration.
The door swings open, and there he is—glistening with sweat, his defined chest heaving slightly, distracting washboard stomach. His gray shorts hang low on his hips and that Adonis belt points to what I’m sure makes him very popular. I hate to admit it, but something about his disheveled state sends an unexpected shiver down my spine, quickening my pulse.
“Seriously? Do you have any idea how early it is?” I rage. I’m tired of his disregard and the disaster that seems to follow him like a shadow.
He blinks, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and for a fleeting moment, I’m caught off guard. It’s not fair that someone so infuriating can make my heart race.
“Consideration. Ever hear of it?” I jab the air between us, punctuating my frustration. “People are trying to sleep, you know.”
He just stares, confusion and mild amusement playing across his features. “And you are?” His voice is steady, almost disinterested, as he studies me in my bathrobe.
My nipples harden. Traitors. “I’m Danica, staying across the hall at Anna Latourneau’s place. I’m housesitting for her while she’s gone.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And for your information, the walls here are about as soundproof as tissue paper.”
His gaze drifts over me. “How neighborly,” he says with a smirk. “Maybe you need something to help you relax?” His suggestion hangs lewdly in the air, his eyes glinting. “Maybe then you can explain why you left me with a three-hundred-dollar bar tab the other night.”
My mouth falls open. The gall of this man! Heat rises to my cheeks as I screech in disbelief, hands flailing. “You’re unbelievable!” No clever retort comes to mind, just raw indignation.
I spin on my heel. With every step back to Anna’s place, my anger simmers, boils, and bubbles over. How can someone be so oblivious to everything but himself?
I’m determined to go back to bed, but now, I can only toss and turn, my sheets a tangle of frustration. With each tick of the bedside clock, my anger simmers. Now, I have plenty of comebacks. I groan and give up, pushing off the comforter.
Padding across the wooden floor, I fumble in the kitchen drawer for the tea box, selecting English Breakfast—my morning anchor. The kettle whistles as if it’s chastising the world, and I can’t help but agree with the sentiment.
With the steaming mug cradled between my hands, I step out onto the patio, where the city is just beginning to stir. The early light paints the horizon in hues of pink and gold, a masterpiece that changes by the second. For a moment, I let myself be absorbed by the beauty, chipping away at the edges of my vexation.
I sink into the patio chair, tucking my feet beneath me. This place, Anna’s condo, is like a haven from another life, one where luxury isn’t just a word in glossy magazines. I was looking to move down here after finishing my degree, but I could never afford something like this. When Yardley told me about Anna’s job in Paris, the timing was perfect. But already, the idea of leaving this sanctuary at the end of the year weighs on me like an impending storm. I’ll never find anything remotely like this for myself, especially with the instability at Red Rabbit.
“Meow.” Mischa, the embodiment of grace and indifference, hops onto my lap. Her purr vibrates, and as I stroke her soft fur, the tension in my shoulders eases. She kneads my thigh, claws catching occasionally in the fabric, reminding me that comfort sometimes comes with its own sharp edges.
I sip my tea and allow myself a small smile. Maybe it’s not about affording a place like this or crafting the perfect verbal jab. Maybe it’s about moments like these—quiet mornings, the company of a cat, and the promise of an ordinary day unfolding. I’ll cherish this borrowed life while it lasts and worry about the rest later.
Mischa’s tail flicks, and her ears pivot toward the sound before I even see it—the low growl of an engine coming to life. I glance over the balcony just as my rude neighbor’s green Lamborghini rumbles out of the parking lot below. The early sun glints off its sleek body, a flash of envy on wheels. A tightness in my chest loosens. He didn’t take my parking spot last night. Small victories.
“Looks like our archenemy lives to drive another day,” I murmur to Mischa. She blinks slowly, utterly unconcerned with my parking wars or the man who seems determined to disrupt more than just my morning sleep.
Barefoot, I step back inside and carefully shift Mischa to her cat bed in the living room. She resettles with a sigh that might be annoyance or might simply be cat. I need to get moving, shake off the remnants of this morning’s confrontation and focus on the day ahead. Marisa will be at Early to Rise shortly, and I’ve got a list for the farmer’s market. Local veggies, fresh bread, maybe some of those artisanal cheeses that make me feel like I’m splurging on a budget that’s tighter than I’d like.
Speaking of budgets, today’s the day I start job hunting again. The thought sends a ripple of anxiety through me. Red Rabbit was supposed to be a stepping stone, but the layoffs have turned everything upside down. How do I explain to potential employers that I have just three months’ experience, but I ran the entire department successfully, even if the company is having problems?
“Hey, Danica, focus,” I chide, pulling on jeans and a soft sweater. “New job. You can do this. It’s not like you haven’t bounced back before.” But still, I worry I haven’t been at Red Rabbit long enough to make a good impression anywhere else.
I grab my purse, snatch the keys from the hook, and take one last look around. Mischa has curled up into a ball of indifference, asleep in the patch of sunlight spilling across the floor. Lucky cat.
“See you later, fluffball,” I say, closing the door behind me. I’m off to meet this day.