Figuring the less said about that awkward topic, the better, he focused instead on the woman standing in front of him—the very cute and seemingly single woman with whom he shared a bedroom wall. He held out his hand to make the introduction official. “Your name is Victoria, right? I hear you’re a divorce lawyer.”

She nodded as she slid her hand into his. “I run a family law firm here in the city.”

Interesting—her own firm. He knew her last name was Slade from the mailbox next to his, so he made a mental note to Google her later. “Let me guess. You’re off to squeeze in some work right now.” He pointed to her laptop bag and winked. “I have several friends who are lawyers, so I know the drill. You guys are always working.”

“Actually, I was just heading out to do some work.” She stepped into the hallway, putting them very close to one another as she turned and locked her front door.

“So how do you like the building so far?” Ford asked conversationally.

She turned to face him once again. “Oh, like any place, it has its positives and negatives.”

Perhaps he was reading her wrong, but he got the distinct impression from her pointed look that she was including him in this assessment.

So . . . he was one of the “positives,” was he?

Suddenly, he had a feeling that Victoria the Divorce Lawyer or Something was going to be a great addition to the building.

He stepped a little closer, his tone teasing. “If you’re on the fence, you obviously haven’t seen all the building has to offer. I mean, you really haven’t lived until you’ve experienced the wonder that is our common storage room.”

That got a slight smile out of her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Just be sure to watch out for the guy in 4B,” he warned.

That caught her attention. “Why? What’s wrong with the guy in 4B?”

“He’s a borrower,” Ford whispered. “Pots, vacuum cleaners, stepladders, heck, the guy’s even got two patio chairs of mine. And you’ll never see it again, except maybe on eBay.” He paused, sensing that he had her hooked. “But that’s nothing compared to the people in 3A.”

She waited. “What’s the situation with the people in 3A?”

“Long story. I should probably fill you in over coffee sometime.”

It took her a half second, and then she smiled. “Ah . . . I see what you did there. That’s pretty clever, sneaking in the coffee invite that way.”

He grinned, guilty as charged. “So, is that a yes?”

“No.”

Ford waited for the punch line. Kidding!

Then he waited some more.

And . . . now this was getting a little awkward.

He cocked his head, seeing no reason not to be direct. “Sorry, but last Friday at the bar, I thought we had a vibe going.”

“We did.” Her tone was surprisingly pleasant for someone who’d just rejected a guy without a second thought. “But unfortunately, I’m not interested in joining the cavalcade.”

“The cavalcade?” No clue what that meant.

“Of women coming in and out of your place.”

He smiled, because, well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Obviously, he needed to clear the air here. “That cavalcade. Look, I’m not sure what you—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against casual dating. I’m a big believer in it myself, actually. Between the blonde, the brunette, and the redhead you undoubtedly have on deck for tonight, it looks like you’ve got a nice arrangement for yourself here. And under different circumstances, I’d probably say, hey, rock on with your frisky self. But as the person who has to share a wall with you, these antics with the partying, and the penis pops, and the late-night hookups showing up on your doorstep—and mine—are starting to wear a touch thin. And frankly, it all seems a little . . . juvenile.”

Ford blinked.

“But hey—to each his own, right?” With a smile, she gave him a wave in good-bye. “See you around the building, Ford. And thanks for the tip about the guy in 4B.”

Without so much as a second glance in his direction, she headed for the stairwell, pushed her way through the door, and disappeared.

Ford stood there, taking a moment to digest the fact that yes, that had just happened. Some perfect stranger who didn’t know jack-shit about his personal life had just given him a smug talking-to.

All of a sudden, Victoria the Divorce Lawyer or Something didn’t seem like such a great addition to the building, after all.

* * *

WANTING TO GET some writing done that morning, he grabbed his messenger bag from his loft and then texted Brooke on his way to the coffee shop. Just yesterday, during dinner, she’d asked what his new neighbor was like. At the time, he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Victoria Slade, Esquire, but now he could give his friend a full update.

Just met the new neighbor. She SUCKS.

He shoved the phone into his bag, Victoria’s speech still ringing in his ears.

Fine. Perhaps bringing the bachelorette party back to his place wasn’t something he would do under normal circumstances. Admittedly, he’d been off his game that night, not wanting to be alone. And yes, he did feel a little guilty about the situation with Charlotte. As soon as he’d seen her on his doorstep last night, he’d known that Brooke had been correct, and that he had, indeed, given Charlotte the wrong impression. But in his defense, he’d been trying to be a gentleman last weekend and not hurt her feelings. As he’d learned the hard way, having any response other than “Hell, yes” to a woman who strips off her clothes in one’s living room was some damn tricky business.

But . . . juvenile?

Hardly.

He got along just fine with women. He’d never had any complaints when it came to dating, at least not in recent years—although, admittedly, he generally kept things superficial enough that there was never much to complain about. And, granted, he was pretty careful about the women he went out with. Either they were like him and not looking for anything serious, or they were women who were in the market for commitment, marriage, and kids, but who were also savvy enough to understand that he was the dating equivalent of a layover. A brief, hopefully fun, pit stop on the way to their final destination.

It wasn’t that he’d entirely ruled out marriage for himself. Or, at least, living with someone. But he’d learned in his twenties, from his short forays into semi-real relationships, that women expected more than what they got from him on an emotional level. They wanted—probably not unfairly—an openness and trust that he just couldn’t deliver.