Ch 005: To Press Charges Or Not?

CHAPTER FIVE: TO PRESS CHARGES OR NOT?

ZOEY

———

Like a deer caught in headlights, I stepped out of my front door, slow and awkward. My eyes glued to the ground.

Shame? Yeah, probably. But also a weak attempt to hide the blush that had completely taken over my face.

All I could see were his shoes.

Crocs.

Seriously? He wore Crocs to come here?

If this were someone else, I’d have burst out laughing. But this was my boss. The same man who just caught me red-handed watching him get undressed… from my own window.

“What? You’re not gonna look me in the face?” His deep, honeyed voice came.

Well, Zoey, there you have it. You either pull yourself together and face him, or keep standing here like some guilty little raccoon caught in the trash.

I blinked furiously, trying to shake off the heat crawling up my skin. Slowly, I raised my eyes.

Past the Crocs.

Past the faded jeans hanging a little too low on his hips.

Right up to the reason I’d landed myself in this whole mess in the first place.

Shirtless. Toned. Sculpted like a freaking Greek statue.

I froze. My throat tightened with sudden dryness.

Holy hell.

The man looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine. And he was just standing there, towering over me by a full six inches by eight, all casual, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing to me.

Was he trying to tempt me?

To toss me a bone, knowing full well I’d grab it like some starved dog?

“Miss Anderson.”

His voice snapped me right out of my shameless little eye-fest. I blinked fast again, finally dragging my gaze up to meet his eyes. Those intense, sharp, beautiful ones that could convince a nun to risk it all on a weekday.

I swallowed. My knees didn’t get the memo, though. They were still threatening to fold under the pressure of his god-like presence.

Okay. Time to pull the classic dumb-and-clueless card. Because judging by his sculpted abs and that croc-wearing confidence, this man screamed lawsuit energy. He looked like someone who’d sue me for sneezing in his direction.

So, I smiled. Wide. Desperate. Uncomfortably tight.

“Oh hi, Mr. Gallo! How did you, uh… how did you know I lived here?”

He raised a brow at me, his expression blank and unamused. I could almost hear him thinking, ‘Really? That’s your opening line?’

I cringed mentally. Alright, maybe that wasn’t my best move.

But was I about to back down? Nope. Already dug the hole. Might as well decorate it.

I scratched the side of my head, pretending to be deep in thought.

“Could it be… maybe… that I accidentally mentioned my new address out loud and someone overheard? And you overheard them?”

Girl. Stop talking.

He scoffed, folding his huge arms across his annoyingly perfect chest. Then, he leaned just slightly forward and stared at me.

“Are you done?”

My smile twitched, but I nodded like a bobblehead. “Mhm.”

“Good,” he said, voice smooth like sin. “Let’s start with a quick reminder that watching someone undress without consent is one hell of a crime. I could press charges. Voyeurism. Invasion of privacy. You do know what that means, don’t you?”

I swallowed, nervous as hell now.

As if to really ruin my life, he leaned in even more. Close enough for me to smell that ridiculously expensive cologne.

“You’d be facing jail time,” he murmured. “Anywhere from six months to a few years. Plus a fine. Probably over a thousand dollars.”

I blinked.

In that moment, I knew one thing for sure: I officially did not like this man. Not one bit.

My palms were sweating, and my heart was trying to burst out of my chest. My brain could already script the headlines.

‘DIVORCED, DESPERATE, AND NOW A PEPPER-SPRAYED PECKER PEEPING FELON!’

I shivered at the thought. God.

That awful gossip blog—Everybody Loves Patricia—would eat me alive. I’d rather let the earth swallow me alive than live to witness that.

After a beat, he finally leaned back, and sweet baby Jesus, I could finally breathe. I must’ve looked like a criminal on trial, sweating like a goat at a barbecue.

“But that’s not the reason I’m here,” he said coolly, hands slipping into his pockets. “I’m not pressing charges. I’m used to women practically eye-fucking me everywhere I go.”

Excuse me?

I didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or punch him in the throat. The audacity dripping from his lips was thicker than honey, and somehow, I was still standing there, blinking like a confused owl.

That little mental note I made earlier about disliking him? Scratch that. I full-on HATED him now.

“I actually came to talk to you about something else,” he continued, his stare still holding mine hostage. “I came to ask that we… forget about our little moment the other night.”

Oh. So we were finally going there.

It stung a little that this was how he chose to bring it up. Like it was a task on his to-do list:

‘Tell the nosey neighbor to forget the hot, unexpected sex.’

“I believe we can both agree that what happened that night was…” he paused, like he was trying to find the most polite way to murder my ego. “Something we both did impulsively. A heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. A mistake, if you’ll call it that.”

Wow. Undeniably, that kinda hurts.

But sure, let’s call it what it is.

“You’re right,” I said, managing a tight smile. “It was a mistake.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared. As if waiting to see if I’d flinch.

Nah. Not today, Satan.

“Good,” he finally breathed, and extended his hand toward me. “Let’s start this on a clean slate. As boss and employee. And neighbors. No more peeking through windows.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin, and I swear I saw the corners of his smug little mouth curl up.

Oh, he was loving this. He was going to milk this window incident until the day I died. Possibly even at my funeral.

But I took his hand anyway, gripping it firmly. My insides tingled at the warmth and firmness of his masculine hand. But I did not let it distract me.

“Deal,” I said. “No more sneaky peeks. Though, for the record… You should really consider curtains.”

Chew on that, you prideful jock!

“Sharp mouthed, huh?” He nodded. “Nice.”

As our hands slipped apart from the handshake, he gave me a little mock salute and started walking backward, still facing me.

“Goodnight, Miss Anderson.”

I didn’t reply. Just clamped down on my tongue so I wouldn’t yell “jackass” after him. My jaw was tight. My fists tightened. But I kept my cool and watched him strut off.

Then, he stopped at his feet again.

He cocked his head and scratched the back of it. “That reminds me…”

I narrowed my eyes. “Reminds you of what?”

“I didn’t get a thank you from you.”

A what now?

My eyebrow shot up. “Thank you? For what?”

I half expected him to ask for a ‘thank you’ for not pressing charges against me.

“For that night.” He said instead.

My other brow joined the first one. Oh, we were really going there again? Didn’t he just give that whole Oscar-worthy speech about forgetting it ever happened?

I almost laughed. The audacity this man carried could fuel a rocket.

“You didn’t thank me properly for driving you all the way back to your friend’s apartment. After you, you know, gave me the address?”

Wait—what?!

My breath caught, eyes going wide like a deer that just got hit with full headlights.

“But it’s fine,” his voice dipped in mock disappointment as he shrugged those annoyingly broad shoulders. “Humans can be so ungrateful sometimes.”

And with that final ego-filled punch and a charming smile, he turned and walked away, heading for his apartment building.

I just stood there, frozen, watching his retreating figure. My mouth hung slightly open.

He was the one who dropped me off at Camille’s apartment that night?