The CEO Enemy: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Next Door to a Billionaire)

1. Jess

Auto-Text Alert:

Your delivery has been left at your front door. Enjoy!

Excited, I hop out of the shower, singing along to “MMMBop” by Hanson.

I don’t want to leave my delivery out in the hall too long. Either it’ll get cold, or someone will walk by and snatch it, which sadly, has happened before.

Not on my watch.

The thought alone is enough to light a fire under my ass. Honestly, if that’s the worst thing that happens today, then I’m doing better than great.

Opening the front door, I inhale the fresh air drifting into my apartment. May’s warmth has replaced the chill of winter, and spring has firmly taken hold. My favorite season.

With a bounce in my step, I leave my apartment to pick up my order. It has been placed a few steps away, and excitedly, I twirl toward it. A considerable breeze blows through the open balcony doors, and I realize what’s going to happen a second before it does.

The front door slams behind me.

Happiness turns to panic. I jiggle the handle and swear under my breath.

Locked. Of course.

“Well, shit.”

I weigh my options. Here I am in my towel, yogurt-cucumber mask on my face, locked out of my apartment with a bag of food. The superintendent is several floors down, but I don’t want to take the elevator in my towel with no shoes—because, gross. Besides, he’s been giving me the creeps, especially with the way he stares at my boobs. Nope, I’m good.

I have two neighbors down the hall: Lottie and Antoine. But they left for Paris in the early morning and won’t be back any time soon.

Then I remember that someone just moved into the apartment next door and a brilliant idea comes to mind. Our balconies aren’t too far apart. I can get back into my apartment from theirs.

Since the apartment has been empty for a long time, I’m dying to know as to who they are. Lottie caught sight of a man moving in, and upon my return from my trip to Scottsdale, she cautioned me that he’s a very unfriendly character. Apparently, he didn’t even bother with a simple “Hi” and instead, seemed to communicate through growls. Classic Lottie, with her flair for exaggeration. He’s likely the regular friendly guy next door—poor Lottie just caught him in the midst of moving in.

After making sure the corner of my towel’s tucked in, I knock on the door. “Hello?”

I know someone is home because I can hear the TV news. There’s some movement, but it doesn’t seem like they’re coming to answer.

After a few seconds, I knock again, only louder this time.

“Hello? Anyone home? I need help!” I knock repeatedly. The door opens a second later. “Hi, there, sorry to bother y—whoa.”

I can’t believe I said that out loud, but I’m not even a little embarrassed about it.

He towers over me. The hottest man I’ve ever seen in my damn life.

This man is at least six foot one, rippling muscles, thick dark hair, chiseled jaw (under that thick weekend stubble), bright-green eyes piercing into my soul…and not a damn stitch of clothing on. Yeah. He’s standing there completely naked. And here I am thinking that me in my small-ish pink towel, wearing nothing underneath, is weird. My eyes keep straying south—they have a mind of their own. I can’t help but catch more than just a glimpse of the view below the horizon.

Yep. There’s his dick.

Believe me, I’m as surprised as anyone else here. Even in its “relaxed” state, it’s long and thick. Or is he half-hard? Because the size is quite impressive. Easily eight inches. Maybe nine. I’m staring…and disbelieving…and staring…until I realize what I’m doing and quickly avert my gaze back to his face.

My new neighbor looks alarmed, mad even, as if he’s rushed to the door without bothering to dress.

His plump lips turn down in a frown as he stares at my face and the thick yogurt mask I slathered on this morning.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes narrowed.

Crap. Why am I here again?

Right, I’m locked out. “Um, sorry to bother you, but, um, I locked myself out of my apartment,” I say, gesturing toward my door and the blueberry pancakes I ordered. As I speak, I realize how difficult it is to have a regular conversation when you’ve just caught an eyeful of all that.

“Well,” he huffs, “unless you slipped a spare key under my door when I wasn’t looking, then I’m not sure how I can help you.” He arches an angry-looking brow.

“Er…do you maybe want to put clothes on?”

“I’d rather close the door if you don’t actually need help,” he grumbles, already in the process of swinging it shut.

“Wait! Please don’t! I really do need your help.”

I manage to keep my gaze trained on his, mind still reeling. He’s a stranger who’s incredibly pissed off that I’m bothering him. I better be quick. Also, my pancakes are getting cold, so I really need to get back inside my place.

“So, Ms. Lockout Queen, do you need me to call the super or something?” he asks, scrutinizing me the whole time.

What a jerk. “No, thanks.” Mr. Grumpy King, I think, but I don’t say it. “Actually, our balconies are right next to each other. I was wondering if you would let me in so I could climb over.”

“No.”

I blink a few times. “I’m sorry?”

“I said no.”

“It will only take a second.” A glop of yogurt starts to slowly slide down my forehead. Oh no, not now, please not now! I silently plead with it to stick to my eyebrow. He won’t let me in if I start dripping yogurt everywhere.

“It doesn’t matter.”

All right. I understand that I barged into this grump’s morning while he was obviously indisposed, and he has every right to be annoyed that this random chick yelled that she needed help, then ogled his man-berries. That’s on me for panicking and not keeping my eyes firmly locked on his face. However, he doesn’t have to be an absolute chump-head about it. Lottie had understated this guy’s irritability. I crown him the Emperor Extraordinaire of Grumps, the undisputed grumpiness monarch.

“Look, I’m sorry we started off on the wrong foot,” I say, trying to take the high road, while casually flicking at my eyebrow, ensuring the gooey disaster stays put. I’m not going to get anywhere with this guy if he’s pissed off at me. I gesture to his nakedness and then to my towel. “Clearly, neither of us had our ‘social batteries’ charged for this early-morning rendezvous. But I promise, it really will only take a second for me to hop over to my place. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

He gives me a stern look. “Climbing between balconies is reckless and unsafe.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“And if you’re not? I’m not going to be held responsible if something happens to you.”

“Fine,” I say, attempting to keep the exasperation from my tone. “If I promise not to sue you if I get hurt, then will you let me in?”

He studies me for a moment, and it’s hard to get a read on him. His expression holds nothing but annoyance, though I’m hopeful I’ve gotten through to him, considering he hasn’t slammed the door in my face yet. I offer him a bright smile.

There’s a moment’s pause before he mutters something under his breath and steps to the side. “Fine. Come in.”

Thank God! I want to do a little happy dance, but well, I’m trying not to lose my towel.

Before entering his apartment, I grab my food delivery and give my towel an extra little tuck for good measure. As soon as I take that first step inside, plop goes the yogurt—not this again, and OMG—I catch it just in time. Then, discreetly as possible, I wipe it on my towel. I don’t think he noticed.

Crisis averted… for now. I’m in!

The place looks minimalistic. Sleek. Somehow bachelor-esque with all the black furniture and monochrome artwork. I spot a black helmet. He rides a motorcycle? Hot!

At once, I realize he was exercising. I notice his treadmill and weights near the balcony, and there’s a pile of workout clothes on the floor. He must have been on his way to the shower when I knocked. I should have known he works out. With that body, it’s safe to say he’s not the “lounge around all day” type.

“Just a second,” he mutters, storming down the hall, and that’s when I catch a glimpse of his other side, and oh, boy, it’s just as appealing as the first. I’m pretty sure I could bounce a quarter off his ass if I had the chance.

Awkwardly, I stay put, switching my weight from one foot to the other, playing with the paper bag in my hands. He returns wearing a simple pair of black boxer briefs. They cover his assets, but honestly, the outline still makes quite the statement.

“The balcony is this way.” He motions with his inked arm for me to follow him.

Dear God, his back is rippling with muscles, something I missed when checking him out below the waist. How does someone get that well defined? I don’t have the energy for exercise—unbelievable, I know.

I tear my gaze away to focus. When did I become so easily distracted by a man? True, it’s been a while since I’ve had any action, but I didn’t think it had been long enough for my knees to just go all wobbly in the presence of a tall, chiseled, tattooed, but let’s not forget, rather chilly…let’s be clear: masterpiece of grouchiness.

Once we step outside, reality slaps me in the face, and I wince. Crap. The balconies are a little farther apart than I originally thought. Not ridiculously far, only a couple of feet. The distance is still manageable. However, it does make this whole thing a tad riskier. Setting my bag of pancakes down, I move to the edge to get a closer look, trying to figure out what my best move might be.

“We’re really high up,” my neighbor says. “You know what, I’m going to call the super.”

“Nonono, absolutely not necessary. I got this. Easy-peasy. Just…stay there in case I slip or something.”

“I thought you said you could handle this?” He sounds even more irritated than before.

I glance back at him to find he hasn’t followed me out onto the balcony. He stands in the doorway, tattooed arms crossed, that frown still etched in place. Geez, doesn’t this guy have any other facial expressions?

“I can,” I tell him. “Doesn’t mean I’m immune to the effects of gravity. It might be easier if you come out and spot me. Just in case.”

He shakes his head, a protest clearly on his tongue. When he notices that I’m already maneuvering my right foot over the railing, he quietly steps out and moves closer to me. “I got you.”

The weight in his voice gives me a warm feeling. My heart flutters as he draws near. Deep down, I know that if anything were to happen, he would have my back. At least in this crazy endeavor. With those muscles, he’d definitely be ready to snap me back up!

But let’s be real here. I can already sense it. This is shaping up to be the most awkward moment of my life.

As I carefully maneuver my other leg over the railing, I try to keep my breathing even and focus on him, the grim culmination in front of me, in an attempt to avoid looking down. I stand on the other side of the railing, gripping the metal so tight my knuckles turn white.

“Talk to me,” my neighbor says.

At the sound of his deep, but surprisingly calming voice, I take a slow breath. “Okay…”

“Now, come back. Careful there. Don’t think about the height.”

Instantly, I have the urge to look down, and I have to fight it. “Easier said than done.”

“Hey, look at me.”

I lift my gaze to meet his green eyes. I have never seen eyes with such an enchanting shade reminiscent of lush pine trees, and it takes my thoughts away from my precarious situation. I could easily lose myself in the depths of them…

“You got this,” he says. “Slowly. No need to rush.”

Nodding, I take another deep breath, tearing my gaze away from the most distracting male specimen I’ve ever encountered. I figure it will be hard to pay attention to what I’m doing if I’m ogling him. Rotating, I face my balcony, and I’m slapped with a gust of wind that nearly sends me flying. The shriek that escapes is foreign to me, practically enough to make me backtrack and say, “Screw it.” The last thing I want to do is go splat, almost naked, on a Manhattan sidewalk.

No. Thank. You.

“Whoa there,” he says, grabbing me like his life depends on it. “Come back. Now.”

I can’t suppress a surprised squeak, my heart fluttering at the unexpected closeness. “Whoa, buddy, I barely know you,” I tease.

But after a moment’s pause, with his strong arms enveloping me from behind, I think I’m good.

I can’t stop now.

I’m almost there.

It’ll be way easier to follow through instead of turning back at this point. Cautiously, I stick my foot out until I feel the ledge. I find it easily and, in one smooth movement, I step over and grab my railing. Dear God, if anybody were to look up, they’d be treated to a firsthand view of what not to wear on a balcony.

Phewwww.

My adrenaline is through the roof. I’m proud of myself as I straddle the railing. Almost there.

Ufff. Thank goodness.

When I glance back at my neighbor, he still has that serious expression he’s been sporting since he opened the door. But I notice his shoulders slump and some of the tension leaves his body.

“See?” I say with a grin, lifting my other leg over. “Ha! Piece of cake. Told ya!” I shrug, waving it off like I’ve been doing this all day, every day. “Call me Lockout Queen by day, and Balcony Spider-Woman by night,” I joke.

I’m too focused on my triumph to notice that my towel has become loose. The next thing I know, I’m standing on my balcony all right, with my towel on the floor and everything on display for a complete stranger. Yes. I’m talking tits and delicate lady bits, officially making their debut. A balcony drop and a towel flop! Way to keep things interesting, life.

Seriously, though: piece of cake, my ass.

My neighbor’s eyebrows shoot up.

For the first time since we’ve met, that surly exterior cracks. His face maintains its stern expression, but there’s a subtle uptick at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I can see a piece of something,” he rumbles, rubbing the stubble along his jaw.

Blushing? Check.

Unforgettable? Yep.

Embarrassment? Absolutely nailed it.

“Well, at least we’re even now,” I say, picking the darn towel up and hurriedly clutching it to my chest. My cheeks are hot with embarrassment, but I try not to make a big deal of it. There is no need to make this moment any more memorable than necessary. Also, thank goodness I shaved this morning.

“Can you hand me my pancakes?” I ask, because: priorities.

The serious expression is back—so quickly that I think I might have imagined the other look. He picks up the bag of food and moves toward me. There’s a pause before he reaches across the gap to hand me the pancakes.

“You know,” he says, “you could’ve left the food in front of your door and circled back to it.”

Yeah, and risked locking myself out again?But I don’t say that. “Thanks,” I say politely. “Nice meeting you.”

“I don’t know about nice,” he grumbles. “We’ll say it’s been eye-opening.”

Desperate to end this interaction and figuring I have wasted enough of this guy’s time, I hurry back into my apartment (kinda angling sideways to spare him from any accidental ass exposure). I’m shaking, but I’m not entirely sure it’s from the little Spider-Woman stunt I just pulled.

It isn’t until I close the balcony doors behind me that I realize I didn’t even get his name.

Nothing like walking in on a naked man and then accidentally flashing him without even knowing who the hell he is.

He looks like a Gideon. Or a Roderick. No, wait, he could be a Damian. In no way is he a Peter (you know, as in Peter Parker, the civilian identity of my ultimate hero Spider-Man—the always-friendly neighborhood guardian).

From his cage, Pippin squawks and flaps his wings. Sometimes, he’s such a little grump, too, and that’s honestly one of the many things I love about him. But right now, it seems as if he’s laughing his ass off, having watched the whole thing. His cage is right by my balcony so he can look out when I’m away. Double-checking the balcony doors are closed, I walk over and open it, putting my hand in so the rescue parakeet can hop onto my finger. Sometimes he nips it, but not this time. Oh, no. This time, he happily complies, and I pull him out.

Petting him instantly puts me at ease. I’m good. Everything’s fine. I made it back inside safely. He will forget this happened. Just like me. Pippin lets me stroke his head a few times before half-flying, half-hopping onto my shoulder. His wings are partially clipped and still in the process of growing back out, which means he can’t go far. It’s the only reason I let him roam free at times.

When I got him, the woman from the rescue pet shelter, Rose, had warned me that he hadn’t warmed up to anyone. He just needed time. As surly as he can be, he can also be a sweetie. Not many people think birds can be as loving as cats or dogs. I know better.

“You are not going to believe what I’ve been just through,” I tell him. “I met a guy grumpier than you.”