1
Millie
“Swear to God, Addison, I’m this close to going next door and yelling at those guys,” I grumble to my sister. I grit my teeth again as the pounding and screeching and hollering echoes through the shared wall of our businesses. I’ve tried my best to not let the sounds bother me. I’ve mustered every ounce of patience I have.
But it’s finally gotten to me.
“So do it, Millie,” says Addison. “Go over there and bitch ’em out. Come on. Be the badass girlboss I know you are.”
She packs more blueberry bath bomb mixture into the mold she’s holding; it’s been one of our bestsellers since we started Fizz & Glow. The shop doesn’t open for another half hour and we’re using the time to squeeze in another few batches.
Our idea for Fizz & Glow started three years ago, right after I graduated from college. Addison had texted me a link to a bath bomb recipe; I thought it looked fun and picked up the supplies on the way to her apartment. It was the first time either of us had made bath bombs, but we both quickly discovered how much we loved it.
Soon, we were experimenting, creating our own recipes, talking about how cool it would be to start a business selling them. And then our what ifs started turning into real plans.
Since then, we’ve put our hearts and souls into the business, doing everything we can to support it, including moving in together so we can save on rent and put more money into the business.
For the first two years, we only sold our bath bombs online. But we just recently opened a brick and mortar store in a cool little shopping center. When Addison and I saw the retail space, we both immediately fell in love with it.
If only we’d known about the asshole neighbors next door.
Another thundering bang reverberates through the wall behind us, and I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Well?” says Addison.
“On it,” I say. I peel off my dye-stained gloves and throw them on the counter. With indignation pounding full-force in my chest, I burst out of the shop and storm around the corner to the auto shop we share our back wall with.
As I approach, the bass of blasting music rumbles through my sternum. The whirr of drills and the relentless clinking of metal on metal and the overlapping male voices all become louder and more crisp.
“Hey, cutie,” one of the mechanics says as I walk into the auto shop.
“Seriously?” I scoff, glaring at him.
“Easy, there,” another one says. “He was paying you a compliment.”
“You compliment the men who walk in here, too?” I snap.
A third guy laughs. “Spunky. I like it.”
I’m about to tell him off, too, but then a fourth voice speaks up—a lower, much more commanding voice.
“What the fuck, guys?” the voice says, and when I look over, I see a tall, fit, incredibly handsome dude come out from the back office. I don’t know if it’s because he’s older or what—he looks like he’s in his mid-to-late 30s—but he gives off such a confident vibe.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he says to the other guys. His reprimanding eyes slide over to me and soften. “Sorry about that.” He extends a hand. “I’m Rex. How can I help you?”
I’m so flustered by Rex’s good looks that I’m unable to speak for a second. My God. His shoulders. His neck. His jaw.
And for all his ruggedness, for all the oil stains on his clothing and his hands, the guy’s got the bluest, most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. You could drown in eyes like that.
You’re not here to gape, dummy. You’re here to tell him off.
“I own the business next door,” I say, my words sharp. “You know, the one your shop shares a wall with? And you’re making so much noise over here I can’t hear myself think.”
He frowns. “I didn’t realize the noise was an issue.”
“Well, it is. You’re not the only one running a business around here, you know.”
He studies me for a second. “What’s your shop’s name?”
“Fizz and Glow.”
He nods. “And your name?”
“Millie.” I’ve never spoken my name so bitterly before.
“Well, Millie, I’m really sorry about the noise. We’ll keep it down.”
I know he’s being incredibly polite and reasonable about this. I know I should just thank him and be polite in return. But I’m so flustered by him that any chance at a rational response is obliterated.
“You should be sorry,” I say. Oh my God. I’m making a fool out of myself. “And if it happens again, I’m filing a complaint.” Stop, Millie. Just shut up and leave.
Rex doesn’t smirk or look offended or anything, though. He just stands there, calm and collected, looking at me with those stupidly gorgeous eyes of his.
I let out a little huff and turn on my heels. I’m out of there before anyone can say anything more. And I don’t slow down until I’ve made it back to the safety of my own shop.
Once inside, I fall against the wall and let out a long breath.
“Well?” Addison calls out from across the shop. She’s busy restocking the shelves now. “How’d it go? Please tell me you ripped someone a new one.”
“They’ll be quieter now,” I say.
“What? That’s it? They’ll just be quieter?”
I push myself off the wall, regaining my composure. But as I cross the shop to join my sister, I pass by my reflection in one of the decorative mirrors on the wall and notice something disturbing.
My high beams are on.
I flush with heat. Frantically, I adjust my shirt, hoping I can hide the evidence of my arousal. You are not turned on, I tell myself. You. Are. Not. Turned. On.
“What is wrong with you?” Addison says when I finally reach her. “What the hell happened over there?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head too many times. I grab a handful of bath bombs from the box she’s brought over and start arranging them on the shelves.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” my sister says.
“It’s nothing, Addison,” I say.
“Okay, okay,” she says, holding her hands up. “Fine. I’ll shut up.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “For now.”
2
Rex
My heart rate is still up and there’s still a steel rod in my pants after Millie leaves. Through sheer willpower, I force the hard-on away.
But there’s nothing I can do about my heart.
As I turn around and start to walk back through the garage, one of my crew members, Eli, gives me a smirk. “Nice ass on that one, eh, Rex?”
I set my jaw. “Shut up.”
“What, you telling me you wouldn’t want to—”
“Don’t even finish that fucking thought, Eli.” The words come out in a warning growl.
Instantly, the smirk falls from his face. “Sorry, boss.”
I head into the back office, trying to remember what the hell I was in the middle of doing when Millie walked in. I scan the mess on my desk, eyeing invoices and other papers, but it all looks like gibberish to me now.