Landlord Wars(3)

Now that I heard it out loud, it sounded ridiculous. “No, actually. There’s been a small snafu where the plan is concerned.”

I sank onto my queen bed and tipped my head against the beige-upholstered headboard, the pulse of a headache brimming behind my eyes. “Guess who lives in the flat above mine?”

“Paul?”

“What?” The unexpected reminder of my ex triggered my gag reflex. “Not Paul. Landlord Devil.”

I gnawed the corner of my thumbnail. Should I move? Find a place where Elise and I could both be on the lease? But no affordable apartment I found would be as nice as this one or even located within city limits. I’d be returning to longer commutes and rationed sleep. As the breadwinner, that was problematic. It was no good when your weight fluctuated due to stress and exhaustion. If I got sick, who would pay the bills?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I breathed in and out again. There was no room for anxiety. I had to get that shit locked down, or the house of cards would collapse.

“Wait, who is Landlord Devil?” Elise asked.

“He’s the asshat who runs the building.”

There was a pause, then, “Don’t most landlords live onsite?”

Leave it to Elise to get to the crux of the matter. “He’s not only the landlord. He’s also the owner.”

“Oh. Ohhh…yeah, that’s no good. Not if you’re trying to stretch the boundaries of your contract behind the owner’s back.” The munching continued, and she let out a heavy sigh. “Look, Soph, I can get a job. Really.”

My hand clenched at my sister’s blasé attitude toward taking on another job. “You already have a part-time job,” I said with a strained voice, “and you’re still in nursing school.”

She made a carefree sound. “I can get another job. I’m ready to move out too, you know.”

I reached for a tissue on the nightstand, tears burning my eyes. I only cried when I was frustrated, never when I was sad. “There’s no way you can work two jobs and finish your program.”

She let out a harsh sigh. “Then what do you propose? If the owner is uptight and lives above you, there’s no way I can stay the night as often as we planned.”

I threw the wadded-up ball of tissue at the trash can and missed. “You can stay with me once I smooth things over. Overnights are allowed in the lease. I just need to make sure I’m on the owner’s good side.”

Was that even possible?





Chapter Two





Max





I thumbed a scratch on the Roadster and frowned. I couldn’t believe Jack had signed a tenancy with another irresponsible woman. Sophia was just attractive enough to be a problem.

I sank into the front seat of my car and searched for my assistant’s number. The car had to be taken in to get the scratches buffed out every few months, thanks to parking on the street. Parking on the street was by choice, but it was a pain. In the long run, though, it made sense, as I rented the converted garage to a graduate student who needed the space more than my vehicle.

“Yes, Mr. Burrows?” Derek said.

“Call the car detail company and schedule an appointment. Oh, and draw up a list of appropriate tenant rules.”

“Tenant rules?”

“For Jack’s new roommate. He’s found another one I find questionable.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Add something about maintaining household orderliness.”

There was a pause, then, “I’m not sure that can be dictated.”

“Word it in such a way that it can.”

If I’d known I’d have to deal with rude, social-climbing tenants, I never would have agreed to Jack subletting the second bedroom. He’d insisted, and I’d caved because his intentions were good, but there was nothing I hated more than greedy, self-centered people.

“Ms. DuPont called again this afternoon,” my assistant said. “She wishes to schedule a lunch appointment with you.”

My ex might have had a change of heart after months of separation, but I hadn’t. “Tell her I’m not available.”





Sophia





I crawled up the last steps to my apartment, sweat dripping down the middle of my back, and breathed through the pain of a throbbing heel blister. In an attempt to maintain some form of sophistication, I’d been wearing heels to and from work. The walk to work was only four blocks, but September in San Francisco could be the warmest time of the year, and my swollen feet were paying for it.

I opened the front door. “Hello?”

Jack was standing in bare feet, shorts, and a faded black hoodie pulled up over his head in the kitchen on my left, his body bent at the waist. The light from the mostly empty fridge illuminated his face.

He straightened and looked over, shoving the hoodie off his head. “Hey, how was work? You don’t happen to have any food around, do you?”

I kicked off my heels. “Are you foraging incognito style? What’s with the—” I waved at his head.

He flashed me a goofy grin, his light, wavy brown hair falling over his forehead. “It fits my mood. I’d hate to have to come face-to-face with a delivery person.”