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I took the elevator up to my floor today, which was a risky move I typically avoided. Not for me—the elevator never caused me problems. But the person getting in next to me dropped his phone on the ground just outside the elevator, slipping out of his bag, and he didn’t notice until the second before the doors shut. I politely pretended not to see anything as he muttered a string of curses, mashing the 1 button as if pressing it thirty times in a row would make the elevator go back down. Knowing my little black cloud, someone was going to nick the thing before he got back there. I probably owed him an apology.
But it turned out my bad luck was extending to me today, because I got out on my floor and turned to where Miguel Sanchez was standing there, at my goddamn front door, and I stopped with my blood running cold.
He was wearing that look of mock concern he wore all the time around me, the fake emotions he would put on to look right for María, and I was boiling. I wanted to push him down the stairs. Of course he knew where I lived—he’d been involved in kicking me out—but to just show up brazenly like this?
He locked eyes with me, and I sucked in a breath. Keep it cool. Exploding at someone never got results. I had to insinuate myself into the right situation to do something about him. Had to play my cards carefully, play them right. I furrowed my brow, approaching him slowly.
“Miguel?” I said. “What are you doing—how do you know where I live…?”
“Hi there, London,” he said. “I know it’s weird, me showing up at your doorstep, but I have something you need to hear about. Privately.”
I folded my arms. “I have a cat. He’ll hiss at you.”
“I’ll be okay getting hissed at.”
I wanted to turn him away here and now, tell him to get the hell out of here, but that wasn’t going to do anything but antagonize him. I sighed, hard, pushing past him towards the door. “Keep it quick, okay? And forget where I live. It’s messed up.”
He followed me into the apartment, and lo and behold, he spotted the notice letter on my kitchen counter from Leon Realty. Earl stood up from the windowsill, looking with his fur bristling at Miguel. For once, the cat had good sense.
“So, you already got the notice,” he said. I frowned, playing dumb, picking up the letter.
“This? I saw. It’s ridiculous. But why do you know about—”
“I’m a consultant to their group. I saw your name on a list of people they were trying to clear out.”
Oh, so he was playing this like he was the good guy. Like he’d seen I was in trouble and came in to rescue me. Was that the play all along? Why he went with a predatory landlord’s firm and turned them towards me? I folded my arms.
“Clear out? For what? What in the world have you been scheming? And are you even allowed to do that behind María’s back?”
“They want to renovate this whole complex. And… they need everyone out for it.”
“And you decided to help me? By going through the records to pull up my address—which I am pretty positive you’re not legally allowed to do—and showing up here to tell me, when you could have just messaged me?” I threw my hands up. “This is the epitome of this meeting could have been an email.”
“I couldn’t afford having this be on any servers, or anyone overhearing… I could get in trouble for contacting you about this.”
“Well. My savior.” I sighed, dropping my arms by my sides. “Okay, Miguel. Spit it out. What’s your play here? What do you want?”
“Do you have a place lined up you’re moving to? Leon has a fund dedicated to keeping people in safe residence in the event of—well, things like this. If you want, I can give you help with applying for it, and they’ll give you a short-term residence at a reduced rate or even free. They won’t make you jump through hoops, just…” He shrugged. “They don’t want people to know about it, and they definitely don’t want me telling my friends about it. But Queen Pearl is going to be in trouble if something happens to you.”
“Hence the clandestine meeting at my apartment. This would have been infinitely less weird if you’d showed up at my office to ask to discuss something outside the office.”
He scowled. “I’m trying to help you. Yes, I could have done it better, but don’t treat me like I’m here to start a fight.”
He might as well have been. But I wasn’t losing my temper. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d lost my temper, and I attributed half the reason I’d done well in sales to that. This was no different. Selling him on getting the hell out of my life.
This short-term stay was obviously his end goal here—why he was getting me kicked out of here to begin with. I didn’t want to find out what would be waiting for me there.
But I didn’t want him ramping up. Better to have him think he was winning. So I sighed, hanging my head, and I said, “Okay, okay. Well, this is weird as hell, but I guess thanks for the help. Sure. I’ll apply for this short-term residence thing. God knows I’m going to need it if I’m getting kicked out of here basically tomorrow.”
“Good. Good, all right then. Here,” he said, and he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over. “All the directions for applying. Let me know if there are any problems. I can lean on people in systems to get it pushed through.”
“All righty then…” I took the piece of paper like I might have taken a dead mouse Earl was offering. “Will do. I owe you one, Miguel.”
He gave me his wicked little smile. “You can always tell me more about that client you’re working exclusively on now, if you want to pay me back.”
“Buzz off. Ask María. We both know she dotes on you.”
“On me? You’re her favorite, and everyone in the agency knows that. But don’t get me started.” He turned away, shaking his head. “Fine. I’m going. Ahí luego.”
