I SIGH DEEPLY WITH FRUSTRATION; these dreams about my neighbour are becoming more and more intense. I just can't get him out of my mind. It's getting so bad now, I'm sure I can feel his hands on my body, his soft—looking lips on my full ones, his muscular body on mine…

Shaking my head, I quickly snap out of another daydream before getting my ass out of bed. I pull on a robe and make my way to the en—suite. I need to get moving or I'll be late for my meeting with Karen.

Long story short, I've liked my neighbour for a while. I don't know his name and I don't know what he does for a living, but what I do know is that whenever I see him, I can't help but think about all the unspeakable things I wish I could to do to him.

I always think about what his type is, praying it's someone like me; short, thick, long brown straight—sometimes wavy—hair, and a mixed complexion. I expect I'd know what his type was if I could just find some courage to actually approach him.

I've lived on his street in the West End for two years now, but we've never once spoken to each other. I don't think he's even noticed me. We live in a street full of old, three—storey townhouses. I know he leaves his house usually around seven in the morning, always dressed in a black suit, and his short hair is always immaculately styled with whatever product he uses. He's got money, clearly, everyone who lives around here has. He drives an Audi R8, sometimes a Jag, and occasionally, I see a Limousine picking him up. I rarely see him with a woman, but when I do, they are just as gorgeous as he is.

Lucky them.

I'd say he's about five eleven, a medium build and he's fit like an athlete; his body is built like a God. He doesn't get home until around eight most nights, and then he runs, late, around ten o'clock.

I know what you're thinking; I'm a stalker or something, but it's not like that, I swear. The guy is just so stunningly good—looking; gorgeous, and his brown skin makes you want to bite him, only to find out what he tastes like.

Or maybe that's just me.

I love living in the West End. My Mum and Dad are both solicitors, though they don't really practice anymore. They ran a very successful Law firm in Central London before opening several more branches in all the other major cities. That was until they decided to move to the Caribbean three years ago.

They helped me set up my beauty salon before they left and bought me this house. I still had to work hard for it, though. I went to college, got a job, studied business at University, and then decided I wanted to run my own business. I don't like people telling me what to do. I'm fiercely independent. Even more now I have my life back on track.

My salon is everything. I treat my staff well and in return, they work hard for me. I worked at six different jobs during my school years, and if there's one thing I learned, it was that if you treat your staff well, you get ten times more out of them. My parents knew that, too, and they always used to tell me, 'Don't be a bitch just because you come from money.'

Now I'm twenty—seven and running my own business, I understand what they meant. Having money doesn't make me better than anyone, and it sure as hell doesn't mean I can treat people however I want. I know a lot of people who think they can, though, and I feel sorry for them. Why are people so mean to each other? In what 'guide to life' is that written in?

Not mine, that's for damned sure.

***

I sigh with impatience while standing in the queue inside my local coffee shop. The fresh scent of coffee speaks to my soul as I watch the steam from the equipment behind the counter fill the air. I rushed to get here, and in return, skipped my morning coffee. Anyone who knows me knows how important my morning caffeine fix is. Mainly because I've been so tired lately…

I idly wonder if the heated dreams about my neighbour is the reason.

Last night's dream was particularly hot.

Pushing my explicit thoughts away, I turn to face Karen, my salon manager. Discussing my business always gets my full attention, and I'm grateful because I need to get that man out of my head.

"So, I think we should consider setting up a partnership with a fitness centre. Our customers are always asking for gym recommendations and while we can do all the treatments, it would be good to be able to tell them where to go for the best workout facilities."

"I agree, babe, it could work well for both parties."

Karen's been with me since I set Peaches up four years ago, and not only is she my employee, she's my best friend.

"That's what I'm thinking. If we can set up a system that alerts the gym we've recommended their establishment, they can give us a percentage of the membership fee."

"Exactly."

"Finally," I mumble as I reach the counter. "Two Americano's, please."

We wait for our drinks and then make our way over to a plum leather sofa at the back of the shop. We meet here every Friday morning before work to discuss anything business related. We also talk about everything else in—between.

"Do you have any fitness centres in mind?" Karen asks, flicking her long, red hair off her shoulder. She relaxes into the corner of the sofa and crosses her legs.

"Nah, I'll check out the top five in the area next week. I won't recommend anywhere I don't like myself." I blow the steam away from my coffee before taking a sip.

"Oooh, so you're going to be a mystery shopper for the week, huh?"

"Uh—huh," I nod. "I'll visit them in the mornings so don't expect me in until after lunch."

"No problem. I don't know why you still come in. It's not like you need to."

"I know, but you know I like to be involved as much as possible." I like to know everything.

She smiles softly. Karen is beautiful. Olive flawless skin, big blue eyes, and long red hair. She's tall and slender and looks like a supermodel. She always has her hair and nails done and is the perfect representative for Peaches, my salon. It's been in the top five rated beauty salons in London for the past two years. She knows I accept nothing but perfection but feels the same, and that's why we get on so well.

"Soooo, how did your date go Saturday night?" I ask her a while later, looking around and noticing how busy it's getting.

"Bloody awful. We went to Sushi Palace and he kept spitting out everything he didn't like, which was basically everything he tried. He was such a baby. I couldn't get away from him fast enough. He's called a few times since, but I haven't answered. I'm surprised he expects me to after that performance."

"Oh, dear..."

"Shame because I really liked him, but I need a real man, ya'know? What the hell is wrong with men these days?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I answer dreamily. I wonder what the guy from across the street is like. I hope he's manly.

"Why don't you just ask him out? I know people who could find out who he is. Even find out his bank balance."

I chuckle. "Are my thoughts that obvious?"

"When you're thinking about him? Yeah." She rolls her eyes. "You're a beautiful girl, Miah. You must know that from all the guys falling at your feet."

"I wouldn't say men are falling at my feet." I scoff. I've only dated a little – and the last guy I dated…

Let's not go there.

I'm not sure if there's something wrong with me, because I do get asked out regularly, I just can't be bothered. Give me a bowl of ice cream and a hot steamy book any night.

"They are, even that guy that came on to you yesterday outside the shop." She smirks. "Now, he was gorgeous."

I shudder at the memory of the guy with the unwashed hair and soiled clothes outside Peaches yesterday. "Shut up." I playfully punch her arm. "And I've almost approached my neighbour plenty of times actually, but then I see him with a woman—"

"Excuses, excuses."

I laugh. "It's not. Honestly."

"Then let's make a bet."

Oh no, Karen loves bets… "What kind of bet?"

"By the end of the month, you must have at least spoken to him." She raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of her coffee.

"Uhh, I'm not…"

"I dare you."

I stare at her blankly for a moment while her dare fully sinks in. I never say no to a dare, but that's our secret. Now, she's using it against me.

"It's for your own good," she adds, reading my expression well. "Just a hello will do. I don't want you to find out the man's life story. Come on, Miah, two years you've liked him. Life is way too short to not take chances."

"I take chances all the time," I say defensively.

"Not with your love life you don't," she snaps back. "I know that last guy was an asshole, but every guy isn't him."

My stomach knots. "I know that."

"Well, then. Look, if you don't do it, then I want a raise."

I gape at her. "I just gave you one!"

"So? Talk to him then." She says it as if it's that simple.

I narrow my eyes at her and sigh. "Fine. I'll talk to him, okay?"

She grins. "Good. Twenty—one days left."