by Nikki Chase
The knocking stops.
I open the door and see a beautiful man. Like, belongs-on-the-cover-of-a-glossy-magazine beautiful. He's probably in his late twenties or early thirties.
With his sunglasses off, he no longer looks douchey. It's his eyes that make all the difference. With his brilliant green eyes in full view, he looks friendly and approachable. I have to admit they me a little weak in the knees.
“Piper Ford?” He asks, in a voice that's smooth as butter.
“Yes.” I give him my sweetest smile. I open the door just wide enough to fit the width of my body and no wider. If the gap between my legs and the door is too big, McClaw might decide to run outside into the hallway.
He cocks his head and stares at me, making me nervous from his intense, undivided attention.
Why is he looking at me like that? Is there some pillow marks on my face? Or worse, some dried drool on the corners of my mouth?
I lift my hand up to my face and act like I’m absent-mindedly rubbing my mouth.
“Have we met before?” He asks.
“I don't think so.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, smiling. He snaps his fingers, obviously happy that he has solved the mystery. “Were you at the Westfield Center last week?”
“I was, actually.” Have I really seen this hotness in front of me and not noticed?
“You had a guitar with you.”
“Yeah,” I say, lighting up. Maybe he’ll be more inclined to show some sympathy if he's a fan of my music. “Did you hear me play?”
“No.” He gives me a strange half-grin, half-grimace. “But I did almost hit you with my car.”
Before I can stop myself, I squint my eyes at him. Oh my god. He is the guy from last week, the one in the flashy convertible, the one who almost killed me.
I raise my hands up to cover my mouth as my jaw drops. Have I screwed up my chances of avoiding homelessness by giving him two middle fingers?
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I was in a… It was a really bad day for me.”
“Okay. That's not actually what I’m here for, though,” he says. He combs his hair back with his fingers and pauses awkwardly. “I’m the landlord, and I’ve been told that you were going to pay the rent on the first of the month, and I don't see the payment. You’re behind by a whole month.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m late. I’m doing my best and I’ll pay off everything, I promise,” I say, stumbling all over my words.
“When?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, when can you make the payment?” He asks.
“I… Uh, I get paid the day after tomorrow. I’ll cut a check for the rent right away.”
“Oh,” he says, lighting up. “Is that going to be for both months?”
“Um… That would be for last month’s rent.” I give him an apologetic smile. “It's just because this is the summer and lots of my students are going on holidays, going to summer camps… I promise you, I’ll make up for it once the summer’s over.”
“Okay, I don't really… I’m sorry you're going through difficult times, but I can't help you out, you see. I can't just wait for you to maybe come up with it in a few months, when summer’s over.”
“Are you going to evict me?” I ask quietly, bracing myself for the answer.
I’ve been dreading this very thing for weeks; it keeps me up at night. Now that it's finally happening, I don't know how to feel. There's dread swimming in my stomach, but also relief, like I’m just glad to finally see an end to this torturous limbo state between being a tenant and an evictee.
He takes a deep breath and looks away, thinking, before he says, “I’ll give you three days to pay everything in full—the rent for both months. After that… Well, that's all the grace period I can give you.”
“Can't you give me more time?” I ask.
I know I’m the one who hasn't been fulfilling my part of the deal, but he's obviously not hurting for money and a part of me resents that he’s not willing to give me a little help.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I think you’ll be happier living somewhere you can afford.”
“Like where?” I ask.
This is the smallest, cheapest studio I could find that's within walking distance of my campus. I could move further away from the city, but I’d have to waste time and money on public transport. I’d end up spending about the same amount of money.
“I don't know.” He shrugs. “But my property manager shouldn't have rented this apartment out to you in the first place. Your income is not high enough, and your credit score is pretty bad.”
“My credit score?” I frown. What is he talking about?
“Yeah. You know, it's how they keep track of the way you handle debt.”
“Yeah, I know what a credit score is, but I always pay my bills on time.” I grew up with a dad who forgot his bills all the time, in a house that got its gas and electricity cut off all the time, as well.
“Just not your rent, huh?” He laughs at his bad attempt at a joke, then grows quiet when he realizes I’m just staring flatly at him. “Maybe you forgot your credit card payments.”
“I don't have credit cards.”
“Well, it must be something else, then, because your credit score is bad.”
“Or maybe you got me confused with someone else, maybe one of your other tenants. I’m sure my credit score is fine. I’m careful to keep it that way.”
“Not possible,” he says with complete confidence.
Okay, so I guess I must be the one who's wrong, then, I want to say. But I bite my tongue. He might just decide to eliminate the “grace period” and make me move out right away.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he says.
He digs into the pocket of his jeans and my gaze automatically follows his movements, focusing on the bulge in his jeans.
He clears his throat, and I immediately look back up at his face, heat spreading across my cheeks.
Shit. He must've seen me stealing a glance at his package.
“Call me if you need to talk to me,” he says as he hands me a black rectangular business card.
I reach out to take the card, realizing that I didn't even see him take it out of his pocket because I was more interested in something else in that vicinity that belongs to him.
As our hands touch, his skin grazing mine, I suddenly get the urge to feel him everywhere else on my body, even the parts that nobody else has ever touched. As if shocked by an electric current, I jerk my hand away.
“Raphael,” I read out the name on the card.
“That's me,” he says. Putting his sunglasses back on, he turns back into a douche instantly. It's like magic. “Call me any time,” he says before he turns and walks away down the hall, his footsteps muted by the beige carpet.
I don't actually know what he can do to me. Could I be living on the streets in three days? Will I get some time to pack up and move out? I have no idea.
Despite my dread of the possible eviction, I’ve never actually looked up my rights as a tenant. Maybe I’ve been purposely avoiding the information because I’m still in denial that I could lose my home.
That possibility suddenly seems so real, though. I could be homeless three days from now.
Chapter 5
Raphael
I take a moment to collect myself at the door.
I hate this. I have to do this, but I hate it.
It’s not like I need the money anyway. Two months’ rent, on this tiny little studio, is nothing to me. But there’s no other way.
I pull up the digital version of the lease on my phone. Piper Ford. Based on her date of birth, she’d be twenty-one.
Sorry, Piper. I know what it’s like to be broke and desperate, but I can’t help you. I have my own problems to deal with, and your late rents are making my life harder.
I raise my hand up and knock. It takes a while, but finally I hear a reply from inside the apartment and the door opens.
She still has that pretty face, though, and she's still hiding underneath baggy clothes that only show hints of her tantalizing curves.
“Piper Ford?” I ask, not quite believing my luck.
“Yes,” she says with a dazzling smile.
Holy fuck, how do I have a tenant so hot and not know? I’m firing Teresa for sure now. If she can’t do her job as a property manager, the least she could do is be my wing-woman.
“Have we met before?” I ask, playing it cool.
“I don’t think so,” she says.
She doesn’t remember me. Well, I’ll make sure she remembers after this.
“Oh, I know. Were you at the Westfield Center last week?”
“I was, actually.” She gives me another gorgeous smile.
I thought Piper looked pretty back at the mall parking lot, when she was angry. But those pink, full, plump lips look even more kissable with the corners curled up.
I mention the guitar and the almost hit-and-run to jog her memory. That should be enough to break the ice.
Then, I take a deep breath and ask her about the rent, hating every moment of it.
I don’t like to ask for money even when I have none, so this goes against every instinct in my body. Not to mention… Asking for money from a girl this beautiful really goes against every instinct in my body.
What my body really wants is to get on top of her and make her moan and sweat. Instead, I’m making her sweat for all the wrong reasons.
“Are you going to evict me?” Her eyes, big as saucers, stare at me in anticipation. The muscles in her face are tense. Obviously, she’s terrified of my answer.
To be perfectly honest, I already have the eviction notice printed out and folded neatly. I have it in my hand right this moment.
Fuck, those eyes are hypnotizing. I look away. I need to remember why I’m here and just do it.
I take a deep breath, ready to deliver the bad news.
But when I look back at that face, I don’t have the heart. I want to pull her into my arms and shield that innocence from the world. I want to stroke her shiny blonde hair and tell her she’s going to be okay because I’ll take care of her.
That would be fucking creepy, though.
So instead, I stuff the eviction notice back into the back pocket of my jeans.
Instead of kicking her out for being one whole month late on her rent, I give her three more days.
If this was a scene from porn, she’d be dragging me inside and taking her clothes off, thanking me for being such a nice landlord. She’d ask me to wipe out her debt as she gets up on the bed and spreads her legs for me…
But this is real life.
Instead of thanking me, she asks for even more time although, according to Teresa, she was supposed to pay the entire amount yesterday.
I tell her about her bad credit score, and she responds by insisting that it’s fine. She even tries to tell me I got her confused with someone else, but there’s no way in hell I’d forget someone like her.
“Not possible,” I say simply.
I fish my business card from the front pocket of my jeans. I watch with interest as her gaze travels down with my hands and lingers on the front of my jeans.
Interesting. The corners of my mouth pull up. She wants me. I can almost see her swallow down her lust and blink away her arousal when I clear my throat.
The red flush in her cheeks tells me everything I need to know.
Yes, baby, I know. And you know I know.
She turns her attention to my business card, which really doesn’t warrant that kind of focus. But okay, if she wants to move on from that moment that we both know just happened…
“Raphael,” she says with a voice dripping with honey. It makes me want to run my tongue along her lips and taste her, then make her scream the same name while she gasps and shudders under me, her face just as flushed as it is now.
Fucking hell, what is this girl doing to me? She fills my brain with filth just by saying my name.
I decide the dirty scene playing in my brain needs to happen. This may not be porn; everything may not happen instantly. But I know I want her in my bed, and I get what I want. I just have to be patient.
I put my sunglasses back on and tell her to call me any time. I want to say a joke about booty calls, but I restrain myself. She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes.
It’s almost painful to tear my gaze away from Piper. I want to take a picture so I can continue to look at her as I go about my day, but again… Patience is key.
I may be walking away, but the hunt has just begun.
“Rafe!” Diana exclaims as she swings the door open. She takes one look inside the office and looks away. “Oh my god! Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m done.” I laugh while I zip up my fly. I take a seat on my leather swivel chair and put on my suit jacket.
“What the hell, Rafe?” Diana says. “This is not a changing room. I don’t understand why you can’t just wear your suit from home.”
“It’s not very comfortable.” I shrug. “You try wearing business suits every day and see how long you last. You have it good, with your light tops and cardigans.”
“Why don’t you wear light tops and cardigans every day?” Diana raises one eyebrow as she takes a seat across the desk from me.
“I would, but you know how our dads would react. I don’t want to be constrained by socio-normative gender ideals, but those old geezers wouldn’t get it.”
Diana grins. Neither one of us has siblings, so we’re less like cousins and more like brother and sister. We’ve always shared the same dumb sense of humor.
“So? Have you done it?” She leans over the desk and looks at me with big, expectant eyes.
“What?” I run through the list of Diana-related things in my head. I don’t remember promising her updates on any of the ongoing projects.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” She narrows her eyes at me, then sighs in defeat. “The proposal, of course!”
“Oh, that.”
Since Piper opened her front door this morning, I haven’t been able to think about anything other than her.
I’m lucky I didn’t cause an accident on the drive to the office. Instead of thinking about the colors of the traffic lights, I was thinking about Piper’s pink lips, strawberry-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘oh, that’? How did it go?” Diana insists.
“I decided not to do it.” I shrug.
“Stop pulling my legs. Come on. Everyone wants to know.”
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. I’m an emissary sent by our parents,” Diana says with a big grin. “They’re very interested. They’re already talking about how we’re going to divide up the work between my kids and yours.”
Wow.
After sleeping on it for a whole week, I woke up this morning certain that the fake engagement thing is dumb. But maybe it’s genius.
I don’t know. The jury’s still out. I can’t decide if it’s a good idea right now, but this is definitely not the time to fold. I put on my poker face.
“Yeah, actually…” I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m really nervous about it. I don’t think I can do it.”
“What are you talking about? You’re Raphael Holt. Girls love you. A lot of hearts will be broken when your engagement is announced. This girl would be crazy to say no.”
“I don’t know, Di,” I say. “She’s pretty great herself.”
“Oh?” Diana puts her elbows on the desk and rests her chin on her hands. “Tell me more about how great she is.”
Shit. I haven’t really thought this through.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear it.” I know that look; she’s like a shark who has smelled blood now. I need to come up with a good story.
�
�I do. I promise you, there’s nothing I want to hear more than how great your fiancée is.”
“Well, she’s not my fiancée yet…” I try to buy some time.
“Go on…” Diana smiles. “I like the ‘yet’ in that sentence. Come on. Let’s start with… What does she do for a living? Does she work in finance as well? Ooh, do I know her?”
“No, you don’t know her,” I say quickly. “She’s, uh, a student.”
Yeah. That’s a good answer, right? Generic. There are thousands of students in this city alone. I can probably convince one of them to be my pretend-girlfriend.
Or, even if I end up choosing someone who’s not actually a student, almost everyone has been a student at some point and can probably play the role convincingly.
“Oh, so she’s younger? How old is she?”
“Twenty-one,” I blurt out. I don’t know why I said that. Must be because of Piper’s age that I saw on the lease this morning.
“Twenty-one.” Diana looks pensive as she does the mental calculations in her head. “She’s almost whole decade younger than you.”
“Eight years is not quite a decade, Di.”
“Yeah, it’s still a pretty big gap.”
“She’s really mature for her age.” I can feel myself losing grip of the lie. It’s taking on a life of its own now, as I say random things I don’t actually mean or understand.
“What does she study?”
“Music.” Again, my mind flies back to Piper and her guitar.
“She sounds interesting,” Diana says. “Twenty-one seems young for you, but if you’re happy, I can’t argue with that.”
“Good. Because I don’t care what you think about her. I like her.” I give her a grin, hoping I look like a man who’s deeply in love.
“Aww…” Diana’s face breaks out into the kind of weird smile that she gets when she’s watching some chick flick.
That’s what a successful lie looks like, ladies and gentlemen.
She exhales loudly and gives me a smile. “God, I’d love to stay and hear more about her. But I have this meeting in, like, ten minutes.” She grimaces, then adds, “And Miranda will be there.”
“Is this the one with the supplier from China?” I ask.
