Chapter Seventeen: The Neighborly Spark

Evelyn sat at her desk, her nails tapping lightly against the side of her thermos. The office was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after hours when most of the staff had either escaped or surrendered to another late night in the trenches. But not her—not tonight.

With her bag slung over one shoulder and her tablet tucked under her arm, Evelyn was on her way out. It still felt surreal, walking home instead of battling a crammed subway car or catching a questionable cab in Brooklyn. The apartment across from Theodore's was just a coincidence—a horrifying, ridiculous coincidence—but the perks were undeniable. No more thirty-minute commutes. No more stale pizza dinners on the Q train. Now she had ten extra minutes in the morning and just enough time to throw on mascara without looking like she was crying black tears.

She stepped out into the private lobby, waved at the concierge who now greeted her by name, and made her way toward the elevators.

By the time she reached her apartment, the hallway smelled like fresh linen and overpriced soap. Her boots thudded softly against the carpet, and she could already taste the glass of wine she'd been dreaming about all day. But as she reached her door, someone stepped out of the unit across the hall.

Not Theodore.

Thank God.

No, this guy was... someone new.

He looked like he belonged on a Vogue cover. Tousled dark hair, tan skin, casual hoodie, and grey sweatpants that did all kinds of justice to his figure. He held a plant in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other, juggling his keys with a boyish grin.

"Oh," he said, noticing her. "Hey there. You just move in?"

Evelyn blinked. "Yeah. A week ago."

"Cool. I'm Nate. Unit 1706."

He offered a charming smile. His teeth were obnoxiously perfect. Evelyn didn't even try to hide the once-over she gave him. Not bad. Not bad at all.

"Evelyn. 1704," she replied, quirking an eyebrow. "So I guess we're neighbors."

"Looks like it," he said. "You like Thai? I ordered way too much."

Her stomach growled in betrayal.

"Depends. Did you get spring rolls?"

He grinned wider. "Extra."

"Well, Nate," she said, giving him a slow, mischievous smile, "I'm not above being bribed by food."

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged on his couch, cartons of steaming food between them, and a bottle of wine open.

Nate was easy to talk to. He was a software consultant, had a dry sense of humor, and didn't bat an eye when Evelyn dropped the occasional expletive. In fact, he encouraged it. They swapped horror stories about landlords and apartments, and Evelyn managed to avoid saying anything about her boss-slash-not-really-ex across the courtyard.

But Nate wasn't stupid. He noticed her pausing when she mentioned work. He noticed the slight tightness in her jaw when she referred to "the office."

"Rough week?" he asked casually, pouring her another glass of wine.

Evelyn sighed. "Something like that."

He didn't press. Just nodded and handed her the glass.

Classy move.

What Evelyn didn't know—what she couldn't have known—was that across the courtyard, in Unit 1701, Theodore Thornton stood at his floor-to-ceiling window, glass of scotch in hand, watching her silhouette laugh.

He hadn't meant to look. He never meant to look.

But his eyes always wandered to that balcony now.

He'd noticed the lights flick on. Then the sound of muted laughter. And then him.

That man. That stranger. That walking hoodie-wrapped smile.

In her apartment.

No.

His.

Because that apartment should've never gone on the market. Not to her. Not to anyone. He'd kept tabs on the listings in the tower, and he'd seen her browsing housing websites during lunch breaks. It was a silent gift. An unspoken arrangement. Let her move on. Let her live better.

Not fall into the arms of a yoga-pants-wearing neighbor with perfect cheekbones and a six-pack of Singha.

His jaw clenched.

Why the hell did he care?

It wasn't real. It had never been real.

But there she was.

Laughing like she hadn't just been torn apart by headlines and HR meetings and Board members grilling her with suspicion.

She was fine.

She looked happy.

And that? That was the part that got under his skin.

The next morning, Evelyn walked into the office five minutes early with a croissant in one hand and iced coffee in the other. Her heels clicked confidently, her blouse crisp, and her smile smug.

She knew.

She'd seen the flicker of movement in the opposite tower last night. The glint of scotch. The very particular silhouette of a brooding billionaire in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up like he was preparing for battle with his own thoughts.

She didn't say a word as she passed his office.

She just tossed a small note onto his desk without entering.

"Try Thai sometime. It might help with the stick up your ass." – E"

The croissant was for her, but the note? The note was warfare.

The day passed with relative calm. That was, until lunchtime.

She was scrolling through her emails when her office chat pinged.

Theodore Thornton:

"My calendar says you blocked off 2PM for a 'vendor check.' Explain."

Evelyn Winterborne:

"Vendor = mental sanity break. I'll be in the building. Also: bite me."

Theodore:

"Do I need to remind you who signs your checks?"

Evelyn:

"Do I need to remind you that I manage your entire existence and could schedule a colonoscopy with one click?"

There was a beat.

Theodore:

"You went to his apartment."

Ah. There it was.

Evelyn:

"Who? Nate?"

No answer.

Evelyn:

"Are we asking questions now, Mr. Thornton?"

Still nothing.

Evelyn:

"Want to know what we had for dinner too? What kind of wine? What we watched after?"

Still silence.

She leaned back in her chair, triumphant.

He was jealous.

She could smell it through the corporate server.

The tension snapped at exactly 3:17 PM when he called her into his office under the guise of "discussing the quarterly brief."

She entered, leaned against the door, arms crossed.

"You rang?"

He didn't look up from his desk.

"You didn't answer my last message."

She smiled sweetly. "I didn't think it was a work-related inquiry."

He finally met her gaze.

And it hit her.

That look.

Possessive. Sharp. Unreasonable.

"Is it any of your business who I eat Thai with?" she asked calmly.

"No," he said. "It isn't."

Pause.

"But I don't like distractions. And I especially don't like my assistant fraternizing with random men in my building."

Her eyes widened. "Your building?"

"The company owns partial shares. Doesn't mean you can turn it into a dating playground."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said with mock innocence, "I didn't realize my social life had to pass through the Great Wall of Thornton."

He stood now.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

"This isn't a game, Evelyn."

"No," she said softly, stepping closer. "It's not. But maybe if you stopped treating me like a pawn, you'd stop getting surprised when I move like a queen."

Silence.

Just the crackling heat between them.

And maybe something darker simmering underneath.

When she left his office, she didn't slam the door.

She closed it.

Soft.

Final.

And if her hands were trembling slightly?

Well, at least he hadn't seen it.

Because damn it...

She still cared.

And that was the real problem.

End of Chapter Seventeen