“Never mind. I’m busy, and you shouldn’t be barging in when I am working. Also, I’m speaking to Simon,” I correct him.
“You might want to add I still hang out with my imaginary friends to your dating profile,” he suggests sarcastically.
I frown and look around for my cat. “Simon, where are you?”
“Careful, you might be stepping on him,” asshole jokes.
I shush him with my hand. “Mind your own business.”
“Some people are trying to work, but with your monologue, it’s almost impossible. Who cares about your dating profile? Shouldn’t you be doing it on your own time.”
I glare at him for a second, then, continue to look for my cat. “Simon, you ungrateful feline. Where are you?”
My cat is pretty independent. If he had opposable thumbs, he’d be serving his own food. Maybe making dinner for the two of us. He is an important part of my life. He even decides what I will order for dinner when I don’t have time to cook. I just set the take-out menus in front of him, and he pounces on top of the one I should pick.
The almost fifteen-pound cat likes to climb furniture, trees, walls … you name it. He always finds a way to get on top of everything, and he loves to visit the neighbors. He’s pretty social. The cool thing about this building is that the sequence of balconies keep him within the apartment, or so I thought, because it’s obvious that the right side of the balcony isn’t some kind of forbidden west wing.
“Lady, why are you ignoring me? As I mentioned, you should be cleaning the place and leaving soon.”
“I’m not sure what makes you think that I’m here to clean.” I glare at him. “This is my place—more like I’m subletting it from … a friend.”
He frowns. “No, this is private property, not some Airbnb that you can just crash in whenever you want. If you leased it off of Craigslist, you might want to alert your bank. Unless, you paid cash. Then you’ll never see your money back.”
“My friend got me this place,” I argue. “He said I could use it until next year.”
“Your imaginary friend, Simon?”
I glare at him. “It’s none of your business.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Everything that happens in this building is my business. Who gave you access to that apartment?”
“Clyde Daniels,” I answer and glare at him. “Who are you?”
His jaw twitches. He studies me carefully. “How do you know him? Are you his side dish?”
I laugh, but then I understand the implications. That shitty bastard. “Has he had some in the past?” I stand up from my seat and study him. He might be hot, but if this guy is covering for Clyde, he’s getting a piece of my mind. “He better not have a mistress, or I’ll castrate him.”
“So, you know Sheila,” he says in deep thought and shrugs slightly. “That makes more sense, except, her friends are different from you.”
“I’m not sure if I should take that as an insult or as praise.” I chuckle.
He shakes his head. “Nothing against women from California or Colorado, but they dress differently. You have the Colorado vibe, and she’s never lived here.”
“This is me, and I haven’t lived here for a long time. I’m world made,” I joke and give him a bright smile.
He gives me a thoughtful glance and asks, “Do I know you? Did you use to live in Los Angeles?”
“Nope,” I answer. “Never lived there. So, who are you?”
“The last one to know what’s happening in this building,” he protests and grabs his phone.
“Clyde, when you said you needed the place, I thought you’d be commuting or moving in temporarily. Not that you’d be letting some crazy stranger crash the place.” He nods, looks at me, frowns and studies me closely, while he listens attentively to the other side of the line.
I hope Clyde is clarifying this mess. This is so uncharacteristic of Sheila. Usually, she has everything under control. Then again, she only helps me with my career. This is the first time I asked for a personal favor. I’m usually the one who makes calls or reaches out to people when she needs a reservation or a product that’s almost impossible to get.
“I see. Well, this isn’t going to work for me. She’s fucking noisy.”
He runs a hand through his hair and continues listening, while walking around his balcony. That’s when I spot Simon. Hot guy turns to look at where I’m staring, and he grunts. “There’s a fucking cat in my house.”
“His name is Simon,” I clarify.
“I need her out of here by tomorrow,” he tells Clyde. “She has a cat.”
“A very vicious cat,” I press. “He’ll smother you in your sleep, if you’re not careful.”
He glares at me and continues his conversation, “Well, then I’ll find her a place.”
After he hangs up the phone, his attention is on me. “You can stay here, temporarily.”
I lean forward and point at him menacingly. “Listen, chump, I’m not moving out until I finish my project and not a day before. Unless… Do you own the place?”
He shakes his head. “I own most of the building, except for that side of the penthouse.”
“Then you have no jurisdiction over it, do you?” I ask and go back to the table and email Sheila.
To: S. Daniels
From: P. Brassard
Tuesday, June 10th
Subject: Leasing Contract
I know you said this place didn’t required a contract, but… Can you send me the leasing contract or whatever written agreement you have with the owner, please? The guy next door is implying that I shouldn’t be here. I thought you had everything under control.
Thank you,
P
“There. I’ll have the proper paperwork soon,” I tell him, because he seems like the kind of guy who might evict me based on a technicality. I don’t have a leasing contract.
“Do you?” he counters. “It sounds like they are letting you stay here for free.”
“No, I pay rent,” I argue and gather my things from the table. “Clearly, we have to establish some rules because you are distracting to my daily work.”
“Lady, you’re the one who is babbling nonsense about dating, while I’m working,” he grunts.
Oh my god, can he stop the growling and the grunting? What is he, a wild animal?
“How can you call that work?” he asks.
I smile at him. “You know what that means?”
He shakes his head.
“Only one of us has a fun job and the other has a sad life,” I announce, using my most condescending voice. That’s gotta drive him nuts. “Anyway, I’ll be working from the terrace since it’s so charming and peaceful. So, expect more of me.”
I turn around and sway my hips toward the apartment.
“What about your cat?” he calls after me.
Halting, I take my time to look over my shoulder. “Simon?”
“The cat.” He tilts his head toward the small roof, covering part of his balcony.
“His name is Simon,” I clarify. “He doesn’t like to be called, cat. Please, don’t try to pet him. You two are not in that place, yet.”
“Can you call him?”
I chuckle. “Yes, I could, but he’s exploring the neighborhood,” I say and leave the door open so Simon can come back whenever he wants. Maybe the next place we move into should be a house.
Seven
Him
Monday, June 8th
I’m not a misanthrope nor a sociopath, as Sheila and Clyde called me over the phone. There’s a huge difference between hating people or having a disorder, just because I don’t agree on living next door to that woman. Persy.
What kind of name is Persy?
The nonsense she spoke about and the nerve she has to be irritated with me for interrupting her job.
Who has a job that requires dating online?
If that’s what she does for a living, well, she’s right: her job is more fun than mine. Still, she has to go.
I fire a text to all parties involved in this stressful chaos. Is she really paying rent? Nate didn’t say anything about setting up a lease or collecting rent. Nor that there’d be a woman next door and not Clyde.
Ford: I can’t have that woman next door.
Nate: There’s a woman at my place?
Nate: Is she hot?
I glance back to the penthouse. She didn’t close the door, and I can spot her bronzed curls bouncing as she moves. Is she dancing? There’s no music. God, I want to hold onto those hips.
Stop fantasizing about the neighbor, I order myself.
Leaning forward, I realize the place has too much blue, lilac, pink and orange. Looks like there’s a sunset stuck in the apartment.
Ford: She isn’t allowed to change the furniture.
Nate: You didn’t answer my question, is she hot or not?
Ford: Why does it matter?
Nate: If she is, I’ll pack my shit and move in with her.
I stare at her. From where I stand, she looks blurry, but that doesn’t mean I erased what I saw earlier. A delicate round face, big dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, a full-kissable mouth, and the hourglass body under that flowery dress is tempting.
Ford: She’s okay if you’re into her type.
I never lie to my brother, except today. He doesn’t need to know that she is beautiful, that her voice is enchanting, or that she’s funny. It doesn’t get any hotter than molded curves, tanned legs, and the word flexible.
The things she said were outrageous and hot. She’s into Game of Thrones. My dream girl moved right next door … if I had one. I would bend the knee and surrender to her if she could make all my fantasies come to life. And that’s exactly why she has to go—now.
Sheila: You better stay the fuck away from her.
Sheila: BOTH OF YOU!
Nate: Who is the forbidden fruit?
I grin. Nate wants to tease Sheila. She hates us, and giving her a hard time is all we can do to reciprocate her shitty attitude. Yes, I’m too old to be doing this, but I join the game.
Ford: Some woman named Prisy or Pissy?
Sheila: Persy.
Ford: She’s looking for a man.
Nate: I can be her man.
Sheila: Chad, I swear if you do anything to her, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.
I grunt because I hate that she can use my name. She’s always referring to us with our old nicknames. They weren’t endearing. It was a way to say the Chadwick twins are wicked and troublemakers—be aware.
Nate: Can I have her then?
Sheila: Same goes for you Wick.
Nate: Why is she so important?
Clyde: That’s Sheila’s client. She loses her, and we lose our income, so be kind to her.
We might not play nice, but the last thing I want is for these two assholes to be living with my father and Clyde’s mother because of me. I send a text to Nate outside the chat group.
Ford: I am swamped. Can you get a background check on this woman?
Nate: I’m forwarding it to you right now. She’s harmless, as long as you stay away from her phone.
Ford: So, you knew?
Nate: Of course, I knew. And you’re a fucking liar. She’s pretty hot.
Ford: Why couldn’t you warn me about her?
Nate: It wouldn’t be as fun.
I read the document he sends me. She studied journalism and has a minor in psychology. Wait, she also has a graduate degree in clinical psychology. She hosts a lifestyle podcast and posts her entire life on social media for everyone to see. Okay, I get why he’s telling me to stay away from her phone. My heart stops at the word, sexologist. Is that even a career?
Ford: How much is she paying us to rent the place?
Nate: Paying? I’m not getting a penny. They are borrowing the place.
Ford: She said she is paying rent.
Nate: Fuck, no. Those two aren’t making money out of this deal. I said yes because I owed Clyde a favor, but he’s pushing it.
Ford: It’ll irritate them if we are the ones who collect the rent, won’t it?
Nate: I like how you think.
I make my way to my apartment, and I find the cat sitting on my coffee table, right next to my laptop. He glares at me and moves his paw close to the keyboard. Is he taunting me?
“Simon, is it?”
Meow, he answers.
“This isn’t your place,” I warn him. “Go back to your owner.”
He pushes himself up and jumps on the couch, giving me one last glance, before he continues exploring my house. I’ll deal with the animal later. I knock on the door that connects the apartments and open it. She jumps and glares at me.
“What do you want?” she shrieks irritated, her nostrils flaring.
“Listen, I just spoke to Sheila, and we have to come to an agreement,” I state, hoping she didn’t talk to her yet.
“Really?” she asks and, narrowing her gaze. “If you think that I’m going to leave—”
“You may stay for the time being,” I agree. “This penthouse belongs to my brother. How much is Sheila charging you for the place?”
She sighs. “Three thousand dollars.”
Fuck. The Daniels know how to take advantage of everyone.
“Listen, I’ll make this legal because you don’t have a leasing contract. Our lawyer can draw it up for us. You can stay in this place for a year—”
“I need it at least until the end of next summer,” she says urgently, and adds a sweet, “Please?”
I don’t know if it’s the voice, her big brown pleading eyes, or the lingering smile on her lips that convince me to say something so stupid like, “Okay, how about if we agree on August 31st of next year?”
She gives me a bright smile, and I swear, I smile along with her.
“As long as you don’t interrupt me when I’m working, though.” She has the nerve to add. “I can’t have you barging in while I’m in the middle of a podcast.”
Does she not understand that I’m doing her a favor? I sigh, because she has no idea what is really happening.
“Here’s how we’re going to compromise,” I say. “You keep your voice down during the day, and I’ll only charge you fifteen hundred dollars a month. That’s half of what you were told to pay. And as a bonus, I’ll throw in this month for free.”
“I can’t type in silence and also, I have a show to record.”
“Once a week,” I remind her. “Tell me what day you’ll be causing havoc, and I’ll be gone.”
“You can’t just decide when I can record,” she argues. “I have live casts on my social media almost every day—meditation and yoga on the Persy channel.”
“Practice inside voice, sweetheart,” I say smirking at her. “I’ll be dropping the contract off later today.”
“Send it to my lawyer,” she says and goes to her purse, where she searches around for a long minute, until she finds her wallet.
“Here,” she offers me a business card. “She handles all my deals.”
“Why would you need a lawyer for this? It’s a simple transaction.” She might be hot, but this woman is infuriating.
“I am not signing a piece of paper that controls my voice for money,” she answers, and there’s fire burning in her brown eyes. “Do you think I’m here by choice? This is my only option at least until the end of the month. If this is such an inconvenience for both of us, I’ll be out once I get my next check.”
The smile is gone. That sweetness that seemed to be wrapping around her has disappeared. All I see is a woman who might rip my head off, even when I’m a foot taller than her. I feel like a complete asshole, but backing down isn’t in my nature.
“We’ll come to an agreement, then,” I say and turn around.
“Never open that door,” she warns me. “Not as long as I live in this penthouse. That’s a violation of my space.”
I sigh and say, “Wait a second.”
Walking toward my kitchen, I gr
ab the key to the lock from her side and go back to her place. Setting it on the coffee table, I take a better look at the house. It has all the furniture, but she changed the frames, added family pictures, and there are decorations everywhere. I hate it, and yet, I like how it feels—like home.
“This key locks your side, so no one can enter. It works for both doors,” I explain to her. “Sorry for barging in without announcing myself.”
I close the door and hear the sound of the lock closing on the other side. Fuck. Now I feel like an asshole for rushing into the house. Scanning the business card she gave me, I email Nate, asking him to draw up a contract and send it to this woman. I really need some quiet time for fuck’s sake. She might have the voice of a goddess, but she is distracting as fuck.
Ford: She can stay, but under my conditions, and she pays ME the rent.
Clyde: We need that money.
Nate: Dude, I let you use the place because you needed it for a friend, not to make money off of said friend.
Clyde: You owe me, Nathaniel.
Nate: It was a fucking reservation, not money. What she is paying will offset the cost of the cleaning people.
Clyde: She can clean her own stuff.
Nate: I like my place clean and in order to ensure that it is done the way I like it, We hire people to do it.
Clyde: My mother asks why we can’t be like a normal family. You two are the reason we can’t have nice things.
I text my brother outside of the group chat.
Ford: Can you get the management company to draft a contract once you have it, email it over. I’ll get her to sign it. I’m not looking forward to the next family reunion.
Nate: We should tell him that Dad is the only reason he has had nice things.
Ford: Don’t be petty. He’s not our problem. Dad loves his mother, and I guess that’s what matters.
Eight
Her
To: P. Brassard
From: N. Brassard
Monday, June 8th
Subject: Leasing contract
Okay, where did you get this management company? They don’t know shit about leasing contracts or if they do, their tenants can take them to court. Also, who lets someone occupy a property without signing a contract? This is all fishy, but the company is legit. I fixed all the absurd requests they tried to add. You should have a normal—legal—lease. I just scared them with a lawsuit for trying to add clauses that are illegal in Colorado. Oh, and I got the price knocked down to twelve hundred. You should invite me to dinner with all the money you saved today.
Wrong Text, Right Love Page 5
