Neighbors with Benefits (Anderson Brothers, #2) by Marissa Clarke
For Stephanie
Keep on being incredible.
Chapter One
Michael Anderson, CEO of Anderson Enterprises, stepped onto the curb, buttoned his jacket, straightened his tie, and then, with a Guinness Book of World Records worthy string of curses, grabbed the abomination from the floorboard of the limousine.
If this turned out to be some elaborate joke perpetrated by his brothers, heads were going to roll.
The Anderson family chauffeur, Jacob, held out a leash. “You forgot something, sir.” The rhinestones embedded in the leather winked in the sunlight, mocking him. He snatched the leash and shoved it in the outer pocket of the powder blue pet carrier.
Jacob’s face remained completely expressionless, which was a good thing, because after the morning Michael had had, losing his shit on a busy New York City street was a very real possibility.
Fortunately, the doorman of his upper West Side apartment building kept his eyes at face level, so Michael made it to the elevator without incident.
He should have gone back to the office after his appointment with the shrink, but decided to take the rest of the day off—his first day off in over a year. But there wouldn’t be another one. He vowed he wouldn’t let this ludicrous situation get in the way of his productivity. He’d brought Anderson Auctions to the top of the heap, and it was his “self-centered, single-minded, rigid inclinations” that had allowed him to accomplish that, and now he was supposed to believe it was those very things that were bringing him down. Just thinking back on those words his therapist had used rankled.
The creature in the carrier whined as the elevator doors slid shut.
Yeah. Like dealing with one more needy thing was going to help him “loosen up.”
“Rigid,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the button for his floor. She’d actually called him rigid and self-centered. Self-centered. Surely this therapy regimen was a joke. Only, he knew it wasn’t. He’d been seeing Dr. Whittelsey since he was fourteen. She’d helped him through lots of hard times and had never steered him wrong yet—or rather she’d helped him steer himself—and she wasn’t the type to joke. Ever.
Before the elevator door even opened, he could feel the bass vibrating in his chest.
Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom.
Shit! Ever since his neighbor had brought in a house sitter, his home life was in chaos. He gave a snort. Home life. More like the time when he slept or entertained dates. His only real life was the office—which Dr. Whittelsey said was the root of his problem.
He’d lost his interest in “the kill”, as his dad called his unwavering desire to win, and in order to stay at the top, he needed to get it back and he’d try anything. Even this.
He glanced down at the blue box and grimaced. How Whittelsey thought shaking up his routine would help was beyond him. No way would it work.
Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom.
He shoved open his apartment door and then slammed it behind him with a bang, causing the creature in the box to shift to one end. The carrier tipped, and he almost dropped it.
This was unacceptable. When he came home, he didn’t want to hear a bunch of noise from next door. He must have called the guy at the security desk to file complaints a dozen times since the house sitter moved in three weeks ago. There were six units on this floor. Why did she have to live next to him?
Growling, he retreated to his kitchen and set the carrier on the floor. It had never been like this when Ellen Braxton lived next door. Sure, she’d been a pain in the ass the first few months with her Mrs. Robinson routine, but she’d backed off and had been nothing but the perfect, invisible neighbor since. She’d evidently gone off to traipse all over Italy, and someone he hadn’t met was living next door. He’d never even seen the house sitter, but he’d heard her. It was like she was a one-woman nightclub over there.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and placed it, along with his keys, in the bowl on the kitchen counter—like always.
The thing in the carrier made a high-pitched whine.
“Okay. I don’t like this any more than you do.” Leaning down, he opened the wire carrier door and the beast bolted out in a blur of black and white fur. “Hey, get back here.”
He didn’t remember its name. Hell, he didn’t even know its gender. Sighing, he stood and smoothed his tie. It didn’t matter. He only had to deal with it for three weeks, and then his life could get back to normal. Really, how hard could it be? Feed it, water it, take it out four times a day. Piece of cake.
“A dog,” he muttered, striding toward the wet bar in his living room. He’d never had a dog. Not even as a kid. This was a horrible idea.