STILETTO SISTERHOOD - Book Two

Priya | You've made your bed

Seven days after moving her into Genie's brownstone, Priya unpacked the last box at the stroke of midnight.

Given the tight timeline, she'd hired a team of professional movers to go through her parents' townhouse, pack everything up and shipped it off to a short-term storage facility, while she carted her belongings into a U-Haul.

Six boxes and fourteen bins of clothes and sundries later, Priyanka Seth no longer lived in Chelsea. Genie's guest room was tight with cracking plaster walls but trimmed in detailed crown moulding and bits of exposed brick showing through gave the space an edgy yet modern feel.

The floors were rough but original hardwood. If she deigned to upgrade the second floor the way she had the main level—this place would truly be something.

"Thanks again." Priya heard the fuzzy sound of a female voice and pressed against her bedroom window, and watched as a pretty blonde waved to the neighbouring unit before skipping down the street.

Each morning she saw a different woman leaving his place. A couple she recognized as regulars. Tuesday and Thursday's women were always the same, but the remaining days of the week were all varied as the line-up of gelato at Bartolli's.

Wandering around to the kitchen, Priya smiled at the note Genie left on the professional grade stainless steel fridge. A walk-in that would've brought a tear to any Michelin star chef's eye.

Welcome home. Be sure to try a bottle of burgundy. '85 was a brilliant year.

"Thank you, Genie, don't mind if I do." Tonight was her first official night in the brownstone. Rich wine seemed like just the thing after a long Sunday of unpacking before she dove into the Oculus brief to prepare for the closing meeting next week.

The cellar was in the basement. Rows of cedar wracks and dim lighting. Priya roamed, taking it all in. Slipping bottles from brackets and stroking her thumb across the weathered labels. Genie was a proud collector of some of the best vintages around the world. After the disaster in her brownstone, she'd lost a significant fortune in rare wine. Some of which she'd gone to great lengths to replace.

Returning upstairs with the suggested '85, Priya popped the cork and sighed at the rich, earthy red.

Let it breathe, she could almost hear Genie chiding, and made sure to empty the bottle into decanter.

Twenty minutes and it would be perfection. Just enough time to scrounge up an at-home cheese board.

Music ripped through the walls. A sudden sharp blast so loud Priya dropped the now empty burgundy bottle. Glass struck hardwood and shattered. Scattering shards of dark green glass across the kitchen and into the living room like a bomb.

"Scheisse," she cursed and pressed a hand to her chest. The music thumped so loud she'd barely heard the bottle break. Whoever lived next door was trying to wake the dead with Kings of Leon.

Barefoot, she carefully tiptoed around the shrapnel and stalked out the front door. Furious, she marched down her steps and up the short stack to the neighboring unit and beat her fist against the door.

It took almost two minutes and a lot of pounding before the music dropped and the locks clicked. The door pulled open and a in the haze of Priya's anger, she vaguely registered a scorching display of male perfection.

Dark hair  pulled away from a strong, compelling face. Liquid honey eyes bright against dark gold skin and a whole lot of sweaty muscle. 

"You," she thrust a finger at him. Dressed in workout gear and dripping sweat, he blinked at her with stunned eyes. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" she demanded. "What the hell is the matter with you?"