Landlord Wars: Chapter 2

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.”

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.”

I hefted my computer bag onto the marble counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, with expensive-looking rattan stools for seating. The barstools and the rest of the furniture in the apartment didn’t match Jack’s faded sweatpants style, but it was sophisticated and nice, and I wasn’t complaining. “I’ve been meaning to ask—did you pick out the furniture in here?”

He laughed. “Why? Doesn’t it look like me?”

I shook my head sheepishly.

“I did not pick out the furniture in the apartment. My best friend has much better taste than me, and I couldn’t be bothered at the time.”

Best friend? Must be a girl. Even my rich ex-boyfriend didn’t have taste this good, and he had a diamond-encrusted Dubai First Royal MasterCard his mom got him for his twenty-fifth birthday. There’s a lot of stupid shit you can buy with a card like that, but it can’t buy good taste.

“You’re welcome to whatever food I have,” I said. “I wouldn’t want you to have to venture out into the wild.”

He kicked up another smile. He was handsome, with an athletic build and a playful disposition. Before my ex, I would have found it awkward to live with a man that good-looking and not trip over my own two feet. But ever since my breakup, I hadn’t been able to muster up any energy toward the opposite sex. So Jack was safe. I appreciated the easy smiles, though. Made living with him pleasant.

Landlord Devil, on the other hand, whose preferred expression was a sneer, was a whole other issue that I hoped would get better in time. Fingers crossed.

“I know, right?” Jack said. “Why return to the land of the living when I can stay in for a week or two?”

Despite the easy smile, I got the sense Jack was hiding from something. He stayed in way too often for a good-looking guy in his late twenties. “Hey, what’s the deal with Max Burrows? He slipped this letter under our door this morning.” I reached for the piece of paper I’d stuffed in my bag and handed it to Jack.

• No loud noise between 10 P.M. and 8 A.M.
• No pets.
• Notify landlord of needed repairs within 24 hours.
• Apartment and common areas should be kept clear of debris and strong odors, and maintained in an orderly fashion.

Max had double-underlined that last part, the ass.

Jack’s eyes quickly took in the letter, and his face drew down as though he’d smelled something rotten. He looked up, balled the paper, and tossed it basketball-style into the trash, where it hit the side and fell on the floor. “Ignore him,” he said and picked up the note and dropped it in the trash.

I paused for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. “Why’s he so uptight?”

Jack shrugged. “That’s his normal first impression. Also, I might not have chosen the best roommate last time. But that has nothing to do with you. I’ll talk to Max.”

That was a relief. “Thank you.”

I lowered myself onto one of the rattan barstools and squeezed the bottom of my foot, rubbing circulation back into it. The blister wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, but it hurt like a bitch. I tipped my chin up in his direction. “You look very cozy over there in your sweatpants. Seems like you spend most of your time working from home. You ever need to go in to work?”

He stretched his arms over his head, his mouth gaping in a yawn. “I’m not conventional when it comes to routines. I get my best work done between the hours of midnight and four in the morning, and no one I work with cares.”

“No wonder I never see you.” I limped into the kitchen and washed my hands before pulling out a forties-era green mug I’d found in a vintage shop on Polk Street and my favorite fruity tea. I filled the mug with water and placed it in the microwave, then punched in a cook time before turning around.

“There’s something I wanted to run by you.” My hands began to sweat. Rocking the boat went against the grain, and I felt like I was already screwing this up.

Jack reached into one of the upper cabinets and held up a bag of kettle corn. “This up for grabs?”

“It’s all yours.” The microwave beeped, and I flinched. I was acting like a scaredy-cat, and I needed to relax. People asked for favors. Especially when they lived together. Like grabbing the mail or emptying the dishwasher. This was no big deal. “What do you think of my sister staying the night?”

Now that Landlord Devil wasn’t intimidating me with his power suit, I decided it wasn’t up to him who stayed in the apartment. It was up to Jack.

Jack tore open the top of the popcorn and poured the contents into a large bowl. “Yeah, sure.”

“For a few nights?”

He shrugged.

“Or a few weeks?”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up. “You want your sister to move in?”

I bit the inside of my lip. “Not move in, because that’s against the sublease. Maybe stay for several days out of the month?” I offered him a shaky smile.

Jack set the bowl down. “Sophia, I don’t mind if your sister needs a place to crash. Not sure I’d be up for a sorority of girls at the place…” He shook his head as though to clear it. “On second thought, that’s probably fine too.” He grinned.

My eyebrows rose. Jack didn’t come across as a player, but what the hell did I know? “It’s like that, is it?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly. But lately I’ve been antisocial for various reasons, and I should probably get over it.”

There was a story there I hoped to hear one day. “You’re doing better than me. It’s been almost a year since I broke up with my ex, and I haven’t gone out once.”

He nodded. “We’re a perfect match. We can sit around and cry while watching romantic comedies.”

I chuckled and pulled out the steaming mug. “You paint a charming picture, but I’m trying to have a life now that I’m living here.” I dipped the tea bag in the mug and limped back to the barstool.

“What’s wrong with your foot?” he asked. “You hurt yourself?”

“Women’s fashion hurts me.”

He shook his head slowly. “Why do women wear high heels?”

“Because men think we look hot in them?”

He held up his hands. “I personally don’t care.”

“You say that now, but if a woman walked in wearing a miniskirt, with long legs in heels…”

“I’d marvel at how she balanced and think of nothing inappropriate.” His look was expressionless, which gave him away. He was trying too hard, and I saw right through it.

“Sure you would.” I held up my bloody heel, careful not to flash him in my work skirt. “We do it with a pound of flesh.”

He cringed. “Got it. Keep in mind, we’ll look even if you wear comfortable shoes, so don’t blame us.” He scratched his stubbled jaw and seemed to consider something. “How old did you say your sister was?” His tone held interest.

Oh, hell no. “Stay away from my baby sister!”

He grinned devilishly. “Noted. Besides, I’m damaged goods with all the baggage I’ve got going on. I’ll take the kettle corn and resume my video-game marathon with strangers in the privacy of my bedroom.”

I laughed and watched him pad down the hallway. We had the perfect setup with en suite bedrooms on opposite sides of the hall. I never heard Jack once he entered his room.

The tension from a long day of work eased from my shoulders. With Jack’s support, my sister staying the night was doable.