Arrogant Neighbor

Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Fabiola Francisco Arrogant Neighbor All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and contains material protected under the International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Dedication For the people who aren’t afraid to dance in a storm. Chapter 1 Josh My jaw ticks in frustration. The first thing I see as I step out of my house this morning is my neighbor’s large trash can out on our shared driveway. For the third day in a row. Doesn’t she see it when she comes outside? She has to leave for work and return home … How difficult is it to put it away? The bin has wheels for god’s sake. Shrugging off my anger, I look away from the trash can and take a deep breath. I’ve got a big meeting today and don’t need my irresponsible neighbor to interfere with it. If only the nice older woman still lived there. Unfortunately, she almost set her house on fire, and her kids decided it was best for her to live with one of them. Since then, I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with a mess of a woman who couldn’t care less when I bring up tips for upkeeping her property. Instead, she brushes me off and tells me to stop eating limes that sour my mood. It’s infuriating. I get into my car and turn the ignition. I have more important things to focus on. Like driving a few towns over to meet with my client. Making my way through town, I pass the bay where it seems the ocean meets the street. It’s something that pulled me to this town when I was looking to relocate from the Midwest. Never having lived near the ocean, it was a shiny object luring me in. That and my job was nearby back then. If I had to choose between living in a small town bordering Georgia or near the beach, the decision was easy. Between the palm trees, sunshine, and white sand, it’s like I live in paradise. It almost makes up for the obnoxious neighbor situation. I drive out of town, passing the sign that invites you to return and jump on the highway toward Crimson Creek—a name that thankfully doesn’t describe the river that passes through it. Jazz music fills my car through my Bluetooth speakers as I make mental notes for my meeting. My client wants to expand his business, and hiring a marketing and business consultant is the way to go. He wants to increase profit on his ranch, and I’ve got ideas from building real estate on the land to increasing his sales nationwide. Now I need to convince him that my ideas are the best. He’s been hesitant about having people roaming his land, but in order to grow, we must be open to change. That’s what my grandfather always told me. As I leave the coast behind and exit the highway, the houses have more space between them, and white fences divide the land. With my GPS guiding me, I drive down a long street and turn onto a gravel road. The gates are open for anyone to enter. The ranch house appears in the distance, and my tires kick up dust as I drive toward it. I already know I’m going to need to get my car washed after this. It was filthy after I came to meet with Wade last time. I park and step out, the smell of hay and manure in the air hitting me right away. Nothing like country living. Shaking away those thoughts, I put on my game face and grab my laptop bag. “Hey,” Wade says, rounding the house. “Hi, I’m a little early. Hope that’s okay.” I walk toward him and shake his hand once we meet halfway. “Just got finished doing some work, so it’s perfect timing. Let’s go to my office, and we can talk.” I nod, following him into the home where his office is. I’m used to meeting with people who have businesses in a separate location than where they live. This is a new experience, but I can handle a change in environment. Once we’re settled, I bring out my laptop and open to the screen with my presentation. “We spoke about a few options,” I begin, going straight in. No need for small talk. We’re not at a bar for drinks. “I saw your e-mail with suggestions, but I don’t want city folk wandering around when I’ve got a ranch to tend to.” “Many ranches increase their profit by catering to those people you’re disregarding. Ranching can be about cattle and about providing an experience for those who don’t have the chance to enjoy