⌠ neighbor ⌡ o1.

Maybeth Singer sat at the bar in The Drawing Room, a cocktail lounge conveniently located ten minutes away from her apartment. The room was as dark as a theater accented by vanilla lamps hanging above the square tables. Eligible bachelors came and went, but Maybeth gave very little of her attention away. Being here wasn't her time to flirt, but to reflect.

Straightening her posture, Maybeth grasped her frosty drink, and the chill traveled up her arm. She squinted at the man that sat beside her who had drowned himself in one too many drinks and began muttering incoherently. Maybeth was too dignified to display herself like he did to the public; everything about her was perfect, from the neatly winded bun on her head, to her smooth violet sweater and unwrinkled skirt. Her limit was always one drink.

Suddenly the door of the lounge opened, scattering beams of light into the subdued room. Maybeth looked beyond the man washing away his worries in a chain of drinks. Spotting the man who now entered, her jaw dropped. He stopped and immediately investigated the place. Maybeth recognized him; he was definitely her neighbor. In the few meaningless encounters she'd had with him, Maybeth had felt silently condemned . She knew she hadn't done anything wrong. Maybeth remembered warmly welcoming him to the building, then days later asking him how he liked living in the complex so far, but he reciprocated her small talk with hardened apathy, and Maybeth hadn't a single notion why.

His imposing frame intimidated her, and the looks he gave her weren't the most inviting. He was quite handsome, though. She didn't know his age, but he looked between late twenties and early thirties. He was tall, lean, and had broad shoulders that filled out his ebony trench coat to the t. Not a single lock of hair was out of place, gelled respectively to frame his firm face and chiseled jaw. He stood slightly over six feet tall and walked with a suggestion of aristocracy in every step. Maybeth doubted that this man would back away from a challenge.

Setting down the necessary bills for her drink, Maybeth stood up and brushed her sweater off. Without looking up, she fastened the buttons of her raincoat and slid her bag's strap over her shoulder.

Her action caught his attention and he paused just inside the room to stare at her. Maybeth hated that superior glare that burned straight through her but refused to look away, in fear she would seem weak or even scared of this man. She made her way to the exit, which he was partly blocking. Something danced briefly in his dark eyes and she swallowed nervously. Slowly he stepped aside, but not enough to allow her to pass. The hard set of his mouth drew her attention. Her determined gaze clashed with his. Twin brows as richly dark as his hair rose slightly, and a glimmer of arrogant amusement shone from his eyes.

"Well, if it isn't my little neighbor who is so fond of talking," he spoke in a clean English accent.

Maybeth gritted her teeth, refusing to acknowledge him. "If you'll excuse me, please."

"Of course," he murmured. His mouth slanted with an amused grin as he gave her the necessary room. Maybeth felt like running and her heart was pounding as if she already had.

Maybeth hastily brushed past him and stopped outside to place her hand over her heart. She wondered, what he must think of her being in a place such as The Drawing Room?

Anxiously she brushed the hair from her face and stalked down the sidewalk to the nearest bus stop. He wouldn't say anything. He only held interest in tormenting and looking down at her. It would be out of character for him to strike up a conversation with her, when he blatantly disliked her so.

The next day, Maybeth stepped onto the elevator and came face to face with her neighbor. Her first instinct was to turn around and walk out again. His eyes darkened with challenge as they met hers, and she refused to show how uncomfortable he really made her. With as much pride as she could muster, Maybeth moved to the rear of the elevator.

His eyes flickered with merciless thoroughness over her flushed face. With deep, even breaths she struggled to disguise her nervousness.

"Tenth floor, correct?" he murmured.

"Yes," she croaked. She'd been so flustered she hadn't even punched in her floor number. Clutching her bag nervously, she kept her gaze centered on the orange light that indicated the floor number above the elevator door.

"I have to admit it was a surprise to see you at The Drawing Room last night," he said smoothly, enjoying her discomfort.

"Excuse me?" she returned.

"You do not strike me as the type of woman who frequents such places."

"And how would you know about the type of woman I am?" She rebutted. Her back and shoulders ached with the effort to stand straight and stiff. If he knew anything about body language, he'd get her message.

"I read people quite easily," he said and chuckled softly. Mischief danced briefly in his dark brown eyes, and with a determined effort Maybeth looked away.

"What a lovely ability that must be, to be able to read people you don't even know," she told him firmly. Maybeth couldn't recall a time when the elevator made its ascent more slowly. She relaxed when it came to a grinding halt on her floor. The minute the door swished open she rushed out. In her haste, her shoe snagged on the thick carpet and propelled her forward. With a cry of alarm she went staggering into the wide hallway, the contents of her bag flying out. The wall opposite the elevator halted her progress as she was catapulted into it, catching herself with open palms.

"Are you all right?" A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She turned and gave a convulsive jerk of her head. Humiliation robbed her of speech. The dark eyes that had been probing hers were filled now with concern.

"I-I'm fine," she managed.

"Let me help you with your things."

"No!" she cried breathlessly and scrambled to gather her belongings. Lipsticks and coins, a granola bar and old balled up receipts. She shoved it all back into her bag. "I'm fine. Just leave. Please. That's all I want." Her hands shook as she took out her key. She didn't turn around, but she could feel his eyes watching her. Her whole body was trembling by the time she stepped inside the apartment. She closed the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes.

Several moments passed before she was able to remove her coat and her bag on the kitchen table. She hung the coat in the hall closet and went back into the kitchen.

Dinner was heating on the stove and she poured herself a glass of water. A sharp knock at her door caused her to lift her head abruptly. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Elijah."

"Who?"

"Your neighbor."

Groaning inwardly, Maybeth closed her eyes, dreading the thought of seeing him again for any reason. Hesitantly she turned the lock. "Let me assure you that I'm perfectly fine," she said, opening the door.

"I thought you might be looking for this." He stood in the doorway, between his fingers he held a rolled up sliver of paper that had also fallen out of her purse. He flattened it out and read it, "Who is Christopher?"

"A guy."

"From that bar?"

"Maybe," she said, though it was. Christopher scribbled 'call me' under his name, with his phone number and an immature drawn winking face. She hadn't given him the time of day, but some men at the lounge were encouraged by Maybeth's constant rejections. He dropped the number off in front of her and she shoved it into her bag, forgetting to throw it out later. "If you've come to hear about my love life-"

"I haven't." The expression in his eyes hardened. "I don't want to ever see you there again."

"You have no business telling me where I can and cannot go." How dare he try to boss her around. Her hands knotted at her side in outrage. She snatched the paper from his hand and when he moved away from the door, she promptly closed it.