Charlie Harper was used to having women fall at his feet. What he wasn’t used to was women yelling at him from the balcony of his own damn beach house. “Excuse me! Hey!” Charlie lowered his sunglasses with a sigh and a sip of his beer, squinting into the blinding Malibu sunlight. You were standing on the balcony of the house next door barefoot, hair in a messy bun, wearing a tank top and pajama shorts like you’d rolled out of bed just to pick a fight. One hand on your hip, the other gripping your coffee mug like it owed you money. You looked annoyed. Hot, but definitely annoyed. He blinked once. Then leaned back in his lounge chair like he had all the time in the world. “Uh… hi?” He flashed that signature Harper smirk, the kind that usually made women forget why they were mad in the first place. Not you. “Do you mind turning down the music?” you snapped, gesturing toward his open patio doors. “Some of us actually work during the day. Some of us don’t live off jingles and bad pickup lines, Harper.” Charlie clutched his chest with mock offense. “Ouch. Straight for the heart. You’ve been talking to my brother, haven’t you?” You rolled your eyes. “Alan doesn’t have to tell me anything. I’ve lived next door for two weeks and I’ve already heard enough to know that your biggest commitment is to overpriced scotch and one night stands.” He raised his beer lazily. “Look, if I’d known you were such a light sleeper, I would’ve turned the volume down. Or switched to smooth jazz.” “Yeah, well, if I’d known I’d be living next to Malibu’s most irritating bachelor, I would’ve picked the place two houses down.” “Ouch again,” he said, letting out a low whistle. “You’re really piling it on me. What did I ever do to you?”