“OH, MAXIMUS! YOU’RE SO FUCKING BIG! OHHHH…. YESSSS, YESSSS, YESSSS.”

I opened my eyes.

Seriously? At the crack of dawn? Didn’t these people need to sleep? At all?

What kind of name was Maximus, anyway?

I punched my pillow aggressively and burrowed under it while the screamer moved into the high-pitched segment of her climax. It really was quite incredible how thin these walls were.

Although, I hadn’t noticed as much bedroom activity next door when all my other neighbors were still living here. I used to hear TVs, radios, doors slamming shut, children screaming, and the odd domestic squabble, but since the Great Exodus started nine months ago, the corridors had slowly fallen silent. Sometimes, I imagined myself as a survivor of some apocalyptic event. The only girl in the world, living on her own.

Well, not entirely on her own.

I had one other holdout on my floor. The only other person unwilling to give in to the sight of dollar signs. I didn’t know how much the neighbors who left were offered for their homes, but they were practically jumping out their windows into their moving trucks. One by one, I’d watched them go. Until only two of us were left.

Me and Sex God.

My one-bedroom apartment was just slightly bigger than a chocolate box, but it was as cute as a button, and in the ridiculously expensive housing market of New York, there was nothing not to like about it.

The noises from next door had stopped so I dug myself out from under my pillows. The room was filled with sunlight. It was not quite the crack of dawn, after all. I was not a morning person. I like my sleep in the mornings, every goddamned second of it. I squinted at the alarm clock. It was not due to ring for another half-an-hour. It felt as if my eyelids had just started to drift down again when the damn thing rang.

I slammed my hand down on it.

Muttering curses at my neighbor for ruining my sleep, I dragged myself away from my lovely bed. And my bed was a very lovely place. Silk sheets from Italy, Siberian goose down-filled duvet and pillows, antique damask bedspread from England. Yeah, my bed was my greatest indulgence.

I stumbled to the bathroom and landed on the toilet seat. As I reach for the roll of toilet paper, I heard flushing from my neighbor’s apartment. Probably flushing down used condoms, at least five, I thought sourly.

By the time I had brushed my teeth; my fury at my neighbor’s nocturnal activities stealing my sleep had abated. At this time of the morning, there was only one thing on my mind: coffee.

I was passing through the living room on my way to the kitchen when my gaze fell on an envelope lying on the floor next to my front door. The insignia on the envelope and the large PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL stamp was unmistakable. It was another letter from the law firm of Noble, Noble, and Flaherty. Since all mail was dropped off downstairs they must have sent one of their little minions by to hand-deliver it.

First thing in the morning and before coffee! I felt my anger and resentment rise again. The persistence and nerve of these people. Thinking that everyone had their price.

Wondering what the new offer would be, I snatched it off the floor and tore it open. When I caught sight of the amount my mind went blank.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. My knees were suddenly so weak I had to sink down on the piano stool by the door. Holy crap. Wow, ripping out small apartments and converting them into luxury homes and penthouses for super-rich big shots must be a really profitable business.

I was staring at a figure that had to be twice what my apartment was worth—no, probably more than that. With that amount of money, I could find an even bigger place, go on vacation, buy that dreamy bed from Liberty, add to my collection of pillows…

I turned on the stool I was sitting on until I faced the upright piano. I ran my fingers over the keys. Having absolutely no musical talent I never could master the instrument, but I could play a couple of old tunes.

My two index fingers met in the middle and began to tap furiously. Chopsticks. I remembered my grandmother laughing. The sound of her laughter was like an echo from the past. All the hours I’d spent sitting on that stool with her came back to me. Even though she knew I didn’t have a musical bone in my body she never stopped believing in me.