Next Door Boss Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Also by Luke Steel

  Gabriel

  Demi

  Next Door Boss

  Luke Steel

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also by Luke Steel

  1. Gabriel

  2. Demi

  3. Gabriel

  4. Demi

  5. Gabriel

  6. Demi

  7. Gabriel

  8. Gabriel

  Also by Luke Steel

  Copyright © 2017 by Luke Steel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Luke Steel

  Hard Boss

  Hungry Boss

  Dirty in Charge

  Wicked Billionaire

  Filthy in a Suit

  Single Dad Boss

  Last Hookup

  Alpha Bodyguard

  1

  Gabriel

  I caught the doorman delivering the paper to my apartment front door that morning. Standing in the foyer, the door still open, I stop in my tracks: The front page of the business section, the headline is huge and blaring.

  All Work and No Play Makes CEO Gabriel Mangovan a Very Dull Boy Indeed.

  A little long for a title, isn’t it? Don’t they have editors at newspapers anymore?

  “Mangovan Companies is a multi-national building materials company purported to be worth billions. Fittingly, the man at the head of this cement empire has about as much personality as a building block. Walking into the sparse icebox he calls an office, one gets the impression of having been summoned by the Principal for some misdeed in class, and the ensuing exchange is a waste of his time.”

  The accompanying picture for the article makes me look like a goddamn supervillain. There’s no photo of my face. Instead, I’m in semi-profile, staring out my office windows, bent over a report on my desk. These are not the shots I sat for when the photographer declared it was picture time. He must have caught me when one of my assistants brought in a report for review—the interview had already run far over the allotted hour, and this was our none-too-subtle way of letting the reporter know we still had work to do that day. The reporter noticed:

  Not long after sitting down we were notified Mr. Mangovan had other pressing matters to attend to, and an assistant forced her way into the room to deliver a report. From this it is evident Mangovan is a man on the move. And by move, we mean he barely had the patience to sit for the interview in the first place.”

  I’m still standing in the hall in nothing but a robe and boxers, trying to make sense of this “great profile” my PR firm hounded me into giving The Sun. So far, I’m not seeing how this article is going to do us any favors.

  I flip through the rest of the feature piece and wince. Three more pages of ire and upset. Jesus, what the hell did I do to this woman? I’m trying to remember the interview and the reporter. Nothing sticks out. She asked questions about Mangovan, commented on our iconic headquarters, asked some generic questions about mountain biking. How could it have turned out this damn bad?

  “Single-word responses and terse glares marked the rest of our interview. It’s difficult to recall anything at all about the man personally, given what seems an almost pathological need to conceal even a hint of warmth or personality.”

  Okay, the “terse glare” thing I do remember. The reporter was pretty enough, very put together and coiffed the way media people always seem to be. Big lips and hair, thick makeup. But she also wore a very deep V-neck blouse that kept falling open when she leaned over. And she leaned over often—to check her bag, her phone, the sound on her mic, whatever. Which was why, after a while, I deliberately turned to the side a bit so she wouldn’t think I was staring down her shirt, and kept my eyes on her so that she wouldn’t think I was a disrespectful creep and an article like this wouldn’t happen.

  Well that didn’t work.

  Son of a bitch. I’m holding the paper in one hand and my tablet in the other, and just then, I feel the device vibrate a few times. I have email.

  Many emails. Profuse apologies from the PR firm, some exclamation points from my VP of business development. People are seeing the article and the reaction is the same as mine. I don’t come off well here. As far as the business section of The Sun is concerned, Mangovan is run by a dullard.

  Trying to put this in a good light for myself, being dull is a whole mess better than the headlines they used to write about me. “Mangovan The Monster” is one of the more memorable ones. Maybe I overcompensated. This article was supposed to bring Mangovan Companies into the light a bit. Building materials isn’t sexy, but business (and lucrative contracts) are helped along by people. Well, we won’t be trying this again. For a while.

  Meow

  I’m still rifling through the newspaper when I simultaneously hear the sound and feel the brush of fur on my ankle. I look down and see a very large orange tabby cat at my feet.

  “Whoa.” The cat doesn’t look up at me as it winds round about my ankles. “Where did you come from?”

  I live twenty floors above the street, accessible only by private elevator. I don’t own any pets. A strange cat on my doorstep is as much a magic trick as it is a mystery.

  The surprise guest winds about my ankles two more times, then pads cautiously through my front door. I’m so surprised, I don’t try to stop it. Trailing behind, I watch as the orange tabby brushes up against the table in the foyer, then sets out across the wide expanse of my apartment and heads straight for the living room and toward the windows. It looks up and around as it goes, but never back at me, not even once. Like he owns the place.

  I’m kind of in awe of the thing. Once in the living room, the cat brushes against one of the deep leather chairs and then sniffs the long leather sofa cautiously before jumping up onto the thing. The cat stretches out on the sofa like a conquering invader settling in to see his enemies driven before him and listen to the lamentations of their women. He surveys the space, and then, finally, deigns to look up at me with mint green eyes.

  I don’t speak cat, but that calm, expectant look seems to say, Nice place. You just going to stand there or what?

  He watches me watch him as I lower myself to the cushion to his right. I think I hear a light purr as I settle in, and his striped orange tail begins a lazy flick back and forth. We watch each other for a moment or two as I sip from the coffee cup I’d left on the table. I’m happy to toss the newspaper on the table and forget it for a little while.

  “So where did you come from, hmm? Don’t find many cats roaming the halls of the penthouse.”

  We both start at the sound of running bare feet on the hardwood floor just before a woman in white comes skidding through my front door. I’d left it open.

  She seems out of breath as she turns in a panicked semi-circle just inside the foyer, and then her eyes go wide when she spots us at the far end of the room. She’s a blur of white in a long tank dress and no shoes, and an explosion of curly auburn hair is pinned back in a white headscarf, tied to the side.

  “Ray!” she cries out when she sees him on the leather sofa. Then her green eyes, the same color as the cat’s, pop up to me. “Oh my gosh,” the woman gushes. “You found him. Oh, thank you so much. I’m so sorry!”

  The woman hurries further into the room, and the cat tenses on the cushion next to me. She stops moving when he stands up and emits a low growling sound in warning. Her hands are immediately up.

  “Ok,” she says. “Nice and easy, why don’t you get up off the c
ouch and he’ll pop down with us.”

  I realize, late, that the woman is looking straight at me as she’s speaking.

  “You’re talking to me?”

  “Yes,” she says, her eyes flicking to the cat, then back to me. “Just slowly inch toward me.”

  “Are we negotiating the release of hostages? You can have him back.” I don’t know what has the woman so worked up, but the cat is looking back and forth between us like we’re bickering parents. I point at the beast. “I’m assuming this guy belongs to you.”

  What happens next is a bit of a blur. The woman starts waving her hands frantically as I stand up and reach for the orange tabby cat—I ascertain his name is Ray—and the cat regards me scornfully from his throne. I lean over to pet the guy. “That’s a nice kitty.” All seems well until I make contact with his fur. Without warning, the orange tabby turns into a bloodthirsty vampire—and not the Bela Lugosi slinking kind, but the twenty-first century, I know Kung Fu, I kill you now kind, latching onto my hand, and flipping onto his back so that he can sink teeth and all four paws of claws into my arm.

  Surprisingly (thankfully) the cat’s grip isn’t hard. Less of a bite and more like mouthing my hand with teeth. It still hurts a bit, but none of the teeth or claws break the skin. That doesn’t mean that Ray doesn’t look like a little berserker, clamping on my palm and kicking his hind legs up on my arm before he turns me loose and proceeds to run back and forth on the leather couch like a thing possessed. Both the woman and I stand back as the cat whirls faster and faster across all three leather cushions of the sofa, darting in and out of the folds.

  “Just stand back,” she says to me, and from her voice I can tell that she’s witnessed this phenomenon before. “He’ll stop in just a sec.”

  Ray stops mid whirl and looks at her. I’m amazed when the woman holds her arms out to him like a mommy welcoming her youngest home from school. The cat doesn’t growl this time. In fact, the same cat that hissed at her just moments ago now leaps willingly up into her arms and props himself up on her shoulder as she scoops up under him. And just like that, he’s a docile, cool customer all over again.

  If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. I gesture to the purring football of fur in her arms, now calmly regarding me over her left shoulder.

  “I have never seen anything like that in my life. Does this cat have split personality or something?”

  The woman leans back and strokes the orange tabby’s head. “No. He’s just a psycho.” She says this conversationally, and then makes a pouty little moue at the feline. “An irresistible fluffy puff. But a total psycho. He likes to meet people and get close to them, but he won’t let you pet him or pick him up if he doesn’t leap into your arms first. Otherwise…” she winces and gestures so I have to look behind me. “Otherwise, that happens.”

  Seems that I came out of this cat encounter of the third kind a lot better than the sofa: there are slices and holes, both large and small, in all three leather cushions. Looks like he also got both arms for good measure.

  “Un-fucking-believable.” I’m more in awe than angry. I saw it happen and I still don’t understand how the sofa got shredded so fast.

  “I am so sorry. We just moved into the building and Ray got out when I went to check mail this morning. I’ll pay for the damage, you have my word. I start a brand-new job tomorrow.”

  Cat’s a bit of a Houdini, too, if he got up to this floor. There are four floors between my penthouse and the rest of the condos below, and my floor is only accessible via a private elevator with an exclusive entrance and the fire and service stairs. Kitty here must have found the service stairs.

  “And who are you?” I know my voice is a little gruff. But from the news article, to the feline hell raiser, and now a frantic beauty staring up at me with big green kitten eyes, it’s been an interesting morning.

  “I’m Demi,” she says, transferring Ray from her right shoulder to her left so she can offer me her hand. I notice Demi’s hand is silky soft in mine, but I’m also keeping a wary eye on the cat.

  “Um, you sure it’s a good idea to keep him that close to your jugular, Demi?”

  She laughs. A pretty sound. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he’s actually very friendly. He just requires careful negotiation. And he shows love through aggression. It’s what kittens do. He was a rescue, and so he probably got lost or taken from his litter too soon. He’s very lovey most of the time. I’m working on training him.”

  I must have looked a little skeptical because Ray turns his head a full 180 degrees on his neck and hisses at me, then goes back to purring indifferently over Demi’s shoulder.

  Demi smiles at me. “See? He likes you.” Demi continues to rock and hold the feline, and now I have an opportunity to really look at her. She’s beautiful, no denying it. Wide, clear eyes and smiling, high cheeks. Pretty pink lips. I can’t detect any makeup, and yet she looks fresh-scrubbed and dewy all over. The white is a gorgeous contrast to tanned, honey-toned skin. She’s got a tall, athletic figure, though full in the hips which creates a very nice, feminine line that calls for a long, slow touch to follow the curve. Demi has pretty, even teeth and her smile is as sunny as the morning light. I reach for my forgotten coffee cup and take a sip, even though it’s cold now.

  I catch her peeking furtively at me over the cat’s fur and that captures my interest. I’m used to being the object of female attention; it comes with the money. Plenty of women flirt with me—unfortunately few are very good at it—but Demi’s interest doesn’t seem calculating or coy. If anything, she seems a little skittish. Even embarrassed by it.

  “So you’re still training him. I take it you and Ray haven’t been together very long?”

  She smiles, sheepish. “No. I got him right before I moved so I’d have something from home with me. I get lonely.”

  “I’m sure he’s a handful.”

  “Oh yeah. He’ll be a lump for hours and then he’ll start chasing ghosts around the house. Total cat for brains.”

  I play along and lean down to poke at Ray. He batts a paw in the air at me, playfighting. “I don’t think there are ghosts in this building yet. It’s still kind of new.” When I look up, Demi and I share some airspace. Her eyes get a little wider. There’s surprise, and a little swell of heat there.

  “You’re very patient with him.” I lift my cup again, subterfuge so I can check out her body again. She strokes Ray as she talks to me. I even like the graceful, delicate lines of her fingers. “They say being owned by a cat is a little like a BDSM relationship. Lots of pain and scratches, but you get the most out of it when you give up control.”

  I nearly spit out the coffee as I’m sipping it.

  Demi’s eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. That was totally inappropriate. I’m— “

  “No, no,” I say, holding a hand up. “I’m a big boy. I got what you meant.” Interest more than piqued now. The agitation in Demi makes me think there’s something naughty behind the good girl façade.

  “Jeeze, I’m just all over the place. The move, the job. This building is a labyrinth.”

  I don’t tell her that she’s right. By design. My design. My company built it and I still own a third.

  “How did you get up here, Demi?” I’m curious. I think the door must not have shut all the way when they delivered the paper today, but I want to confirm.

  “You mean move here?” She brightens. That’s not what I meant, but her face is alight and I can see her puff up a bit with pride, I don’t want to interrupt her. “Oh, I just finished my master’s program and was lucky to land a job here in the city. And then a good friend of mine is… well, I mean, she recommended the building.” Something about that last part rings a little hollow, though I don’t know why. The price-points alone make the building exclusive—not the type you casually recommend. I used to have general oversight over the condominium board that governs applications to buy units, but I set it aside after the remaining third of
the building was sold out. I suppose it’s not really my business now, other than curiosity about who my neighbors are.

  I realize that Demi is looking at me, her head tilted as though puzzled. I know that look. I’m not what anyone would consider a talkative guy. That’s one part of the article that interviewer did get right.

  But just thinking about the article is putting me back in a foul mood. And turning to the table where I’d tossed it aside just reminds me about the sofa. My scowl must have said it all, because Demi is rushing forward again.

  “I should get going. Let you do whatever it is you had planned for today.” She turns to the still open door, but not before I catch her take one last peek at me as she turns. I remember too late that I’ve been in nothing but an open robe and boxers this whole time. Nice to meet you, neighbor.

  Demi continues to chatter, stopping just inside the door. “But please, please do send me an invoice for repairs for your furniture. I’ll make sure to get you the money. Thankfully, the new job starts tomorrow and I’ll be all set to get that to you in no time. I’m in 16C.” Ray’s tail twitches past her face twice, as though he’s signaling to her it’s time to go.

  I reach for something to say as I lean on the door. “Well, congrats on your new house, finding your cat, and on your new job. Where will you be working?”

  Demi rolls her eyes. “Well, don’t congratulate me yet. I just happened to read about my new boss in the paper this morning.” She winces when she says, “Guy sounds like a real asshole.”

  I feel my temperature drop a few degrees. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Check out the Business section in the Sun today. I’ll be working for Lex Luthor on the cover there. Gabriel Mangovan.” She gives a dramatic shudder. Ray meows in protest. “Hopefully he’s not as big an asshole as everyone says he is, but with any luck I won’t have to deal with him anyway. The company is what I’m here for and this is a great opportunity.”

  “Well, I’m glad for you then,” I say, and its only force of will I don’t say it through clenched teeth. I look closer at Demi now, let myself take a slow ride down her body. The dress flows to her ankles, yet is still form-fitting, and I have a suspicion that Demi didn’t dress for visiting because I see the shadow of nipples and a hidden space between her thighs through the thin fabric. A lot of soft curves and angelic looks. I feel an evil supervillain smile coming on after all.