-Jennie-
Every day, without fail, my hot neighbor tells me good morning.
And, every morning, I tell her to fuck off.
Today will be no different.
"Good morning, Jennie!"
The abrupt sound of her voice cuts through the morning air and slices away my good mood. Her voice brims with authority and I clench my jaw in irritation. Her voice and I share a love-hate relationship. It makes my panties wet, but I wish it belonged to someone who wasn't an asshole.
I rush down the stairs, my coffee mug clutched in my hand, and speed-walk towards my car. I pause on my way for what I give in to every morning, and my pride flips me off the second I cast a glance in her direction.
I can't restrain myself. Her voice demands attention, as if she were a queen, and shamelessly, I need to worship the view of her. She's standing in her daily spot on her porch. Gray sweatpants hang low on her waist, the drawstring loosely tied. My pride then rolls in its grave when my thighs clench together under my pencil skirt as my gaze falls to the skin disappearing beneath the waistband. Her dark-colored hair is a tousled mess, as if someone were pulling it all night—which wouldn't be a shocker to the world. There's been a regular cycle of women coming and going from her home.
She's Blue Beech's favorite. It's unfortunate the people who worship her don't know what a terrible person she is. This crazy-attractive person has done nothing but ruin my life and reputation.
My cheeks blush when she confirms she caught me checking her out with a mischievous smile.
"Fuck off!" I yell when I pass her.
She ignores my response and whistles loudly as if I'd catcalled her back. "Looking professional today, babe. I prefer today's skirt to yesterday's. It's tighter. Shorter. Sexier."
Arrogant prick.
I grip the door handle and stop before getting in. It's a dangerous game to play with her, but I can't stop myself. "I don't care what you prefer, jerk. I don't dress to please you."
Mental note: buy fifty of the skirts worn yesterday and burn this one.
I slide into my car while ignoring her laughter, slam the door shut, and situate my bag and coffee. I hold my hand up and flip the bird when I cruise past her. She only laughs.
Kim Jisoo, the person I've despised since sophomore year of high school, moved into the house next door three months, six days, and twenty hours ago. The jerk wore out her welcome within five seconds.
Correction: she was never welcome in my neighborhood.
If I had known the world's biggest jackass was shacking up next door, I'd have burned it to the ground. Being around her is the equivalent of menstrual cramps.
Her irritating morning game began our first day as neighbors. She scared the shit out of me the first few times, and I made a fool of myself—tripping, spilling my coffee on my white blouse, spraining my ankle once.
Initially, I ignored her, assuming it'd last a few days, but here we are—three months into me possibly being on my way to prison for neighbor homicide.
Jisoo does it for her sick entertainment.
The woman gets off on making me miserable.
I brake at a Stop sign and scrub my hands over my face while taking a deep breath. If there's any day I don't want to deal with her bullshit, it's today. I've been dreading this day, stabbed it on my desk calendar with a red pen as if it'd declared when I'd die.
But there's no avoiding it.
**
My office is on the second floor of the building.
I pass crowds of people and separate offices on my way there. To dodge the curious stares often filled with pity, I take the stairs in favor of the elevator. Cardio isn't my favorite morning routine, so my ass had better thank me for it later.
"Nuh-uh, nope. You turn around before I drag you outside and shove you in the trunk of my car, and we take a paid vacation until tomorrow," Yeri, my assistant, declares when I shuffle into the office, resembling a frazzled mess.
I drop my keys in my bag. "I'm not running from my problems."
"Maybe you should. Running from your problems is better than committing murder."
I groan. "Oh my God, I'm not running away or killing anyone today."
She raises a brow. "Though, tomorrow, it's a possibility?"
I signal to her computer with my coffee while passing her desk on the way to my office. "Work on a new résumé. I'm firing you."
She flips her shiny blonde hair over her shoulder. "Don't dial my number when the new one is lame and won't help you bury a body." A smile dances on her lips when I glance at her.
"I appreciate your loyalty, Yeri. You've earned yourself another week of employment."
"And I appreciate yours for not firing me after the six hundredth threat." She swivels her chair and looks at me. "Are you taking calls today?"
I shrug—an attempt to fake indifference. "Yes. I doubt anyone will call."
"More reason for us to haul ass out of here."
I sigh. "I'll be in my office if you need me."
But please don't.
I have a bag of mini Snickers, plenty of coffee, and a flask if worse comes to worst to survive this day.
She salutes me. "Sounds good, boss. I'll be on Pornhub, so please don't need me."
I can't stop myself from cracking a smile while shaking my head. "One of these days, I'm going to fire you."
"And that will be the worst day of your life."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I mutter before disappearing into the solitude of my office.
I shut the door, collapse in the uncomfortable chair behind my desk, and vacantly stare at the stack of papers in need of editing. This office is what I've wanted for years, what I've worked my ass off for. I'm the editor in chief of The Blue Beech Register. The number of scandalous stories in our small town is that of Sesame Street, but it's given me a job, experience on my résumé, and the opportunity to move up in the field.
**
"What the fuck, Jennie?"
I hear the very familiar and very pissed off voice in the reception area outside my office, and my back stiffens in my chair. Her tone is the opposite of what it was this morning when she was hanging out, half-naked, on her porch.
I toss the pen in my hand on my desk, preparing myself for the incoming shitshow when my office door flies open.
I need that flask, stat.
I straighten myself, squaring up my shoulders, and scowl at the person taking residence in the doorway. "Excuse you. Who do you think you are, barging into my office?"
Yeri's definitely getting fired.
The next task on my to-do list is hiring a secretary who hates my neighbor and won't mind taking a criminal charge for kicking her in the nuts.
The walls vibrate when Jisoo slams the door shut as if she owned the place, and she stalks the few steps until she's directly in front of my desk. She spreads her feet and crosses her arms across her chest. "Your neighbor. Your proclaimed enemy. The person whose dick you've wanted to ride since sophomore year."
Oh, this motherfucker.
"True. True." I sneer at her in repulsion. "And you wish."
She stares me down, and her tone turns serious-slash-pissed again. "Word is, you're poking around about Rosé's assault, so you can publish about it in your pitiful paper. What the fuck?"
I've been dreading this conversation. I knew she'd come roaring in here, prepared for war, and she wouldn't understand my reasoning for writing the details of what happened to her best friend's fiancé.
"It's a story worth reading," I reluctantly answer.
Jisoo's hands move from her chest to her pockets, and she shuts up long enough for me to appreciate the sight of her in her police uniform. I'm positive they're tailored to fit every inch of her body. Her hair is now brushed. The early morning view of Jisoo is nice, but, damn, so is this. I hate my attraction to her.
My eye-fucking assault breaks when she starts bitching again.
"It's a desperate attempt to publish something scandalous." She says the last word dramatically. "It's bullshit. Stick to your boring stories about food drives and petty crimes and keep your mouth shut about anyone close to me."
I wince at her insult but compose myself. "It's not a desperate attempt. The man was running drugs in this town, harassing women, and assaulted your best friend's fiancé and her father. They're giving her a slap on the wrist because her family is loaded, and that's bullshit. I'm a journalist, Jisoo. Reporting these stories is my job."
"Find another story." Her jaw clenches. "You publish it, and I swear to God, I will ruin your life in every way possible."
"Are you threatening me?" I swallow hard.
She leans forward and plants her hands on my desk, the smell of teakwood and citrus taking over my space. "Consider it more than a threat. What happened between us in the past will seem like a fairy tale compared to what I'll do. I will arrest every person you love. Every day, your mother and sister will get a visit from an officer. Do not fuck with me on this."
I straighten my palms and flatten my hands on my desk, mirroring her stance. "Acting like a dick isn't helping your case in getting what you want."
She scoffs and shifts closer. Her cool, minty breath brushes the side of my face. "I'm not one to beg, but I am one to make a point. Don't act like you don't know that I can destroy a person in one night, Ruby."
I flinch. It's known I despise my second name. I've never liked it because of the people I share it with, but my hatred for it increased after it was turned into a taunt—thanks to her.
Our lips are inches apart with neither of us dropping eye contact. This will result in one of three ways: one of us killing the other, us fucking each other, or me kicking her out of my office before either of the first two happens.
I pull away with the hope she'll do the same and sit back in my chair. "Leave my office, or I'll write a story about you."
She remains in her stance and releases a hard laugh. "Oh, sweet Jennie, you're smart enough to know you can't touch me. Don't act clueless to that fact and make sure you remember it. I will always have more power than you do in this town. Period."
That's not a lie.
But I hate her for pointing it out.
Jisoo is Blue Beech's golden child and she's basically royalty here.
She pulls away from my desk and takes a step back with tightness in her eyes. She knows this story will kill Rosé and Lisa. "Don't fucking run it, Jennie. Unless you want hell to pay."
"The story goes out in two days," I argue. "I need a front-page story."
"Print one about fucking puppies for all I care." She turns to leave but halts to throw me a cold smile. "And have a good day. It's a special one, isn't it?" She snaps her fingers and points one at me. "Shouldn't you be in a wedding dress?" She snaps again and places her fist to her lips, letting out an amused laugh. "Oh shit, wrong girl."
"Fuck you," I bite out while gripping the arms of my chair.
"Word is, we've already done that." She winks.
Oh, this motherfucker.
"I hate you!" I pick up the first thing I can—a stapler—and fling it her way.
Okay, not at her.
I can't exactly assault a police officer.
It hits the wall, leaving a mark, and falls to the floor.
"Whoa, I should arrest you." She grabs the handcuffs from her belt and holds them in the air. "You ever worn a pair of these?"
I flip her off.
"Is that an offer?" She swings the cuffs back and forth like a pendulum. "We can put these to enjoyable use."
I point to the door. "Get out."
"By the way, work on your aim." She smiles, taps my door with her knuckles, and leaves the room without shutting the door.
I take a few minutes to make sure she's gone before jumping up from my seat and charging into the reception area. "You're fired, Yeri. Quit watching porn and watch who comes into my office instead."
Yeri peeks up from her desk, faking innocence. "I wasn't watching porn. I was waiting to hear a live show while you two screwed in there. Figured it'd be much more entertaining."
I shoot her an annoyed glare. "Shut it."
"The sexual tension bled through these walls and practically gave me an orgasm."
"You can't have sexual tension with someone you hate."
"That's where you're wrong, boss lady. Hate sex is the best sex."
I retreat to my office and grab the flask.
Screw it.