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“Misunderstanding?” I offer.
“Yeah, that.” She smiles a little wryly. “I must seem very foolish to agree to live with you especially after you admitted that you lied, but I am serious when I say I have run out of options. This is my grandma’s apartment, and it’s the only tie I have with her. The co-op board said they only accept couples, so I just need you to act like my fiancé for the meeting, and once the title transfer is signed, I’ll say we broke up. It’s only one meeting.”
The contract is simple, probably a basic agreement she found on the internet. The requirement is for more than one meeting. I glance up at her. She flushes.
“One meeting and a year of living together but we can finesse that.”
I’m all for the living together. I reach for my pen. “Done.”
Chapter Two
HARLOW
My grandmother taught me stranger danger when I was five or six. My dad was never around enough to give me much advice other than “don’t give away the milk for free,” and my mom was busy trying to contort herself into the woman she thought my dad wanted her to be to have time to parent me. Mom always wanted to be a woman taken care of.
If it weren’t for Grams, I probably would be a feral child on the streets. Or I guess a feral adult on the streets since I’m twenty now. A whole two-zero. I’m an adult, according to everyone, and by that, I mean my still-distracted mom, the government, and the debt collectors.
The last set is the scariest. They’re always blowing up my phone. They’re more dedicated than the weird stalker guy from high school who thought we were a couple because I happened to give him my milk one day, and he then decided to climb through my bedroom window the night of winter formal.
This is just a long way of saying I know better. When Mr. I Lied About Everything on My Dating Profile said that his name wasn’t even Rick, I should have gotten up and left. Instead, I’m smiling and nodding and handing over the contract that I wrote up last night after a shit ton of internetting. I’m not certain it would hold up in a court of law since I basically copied and pasted from a bunch of different things, but the final product read decent. A lot of what I read on the internet is that it’s the intent that matters. My intent is to get this guy to pretend to be my fiancé so I can take control of my gram’s apartment, and presumably his intent is to be paid the $1000. It’s all the cash I have in the world right now.
Grams once said I had more feelings than sense. She’s not wrong. I’d be a Pinocchio myself if I didn’t admit that the man sitting on the opposite side of the booth is so attractive I have a hard time keeping my jaw from falling onto the table. I think that’s why I’m not as scared as I should be. This guy’s hot! He’s more than hot. He’s like the kind of guy that you cross the street to meet, the kind that you accidentally on purpose trip in front of hoping he catches you, the kind that you watch covertly from across the bar hoping against hope that he looks your way, falls in love, and you live happily ever after. He’s the kind that has never, not even once, given me the time of day. In other words, he’s too good-looking to drag me into a back alley and make a skin suit out of me. He could have any woman he wants.
But then again, if that’s true, why is he on a dating app? Why is he reading the contract like it’s an agreement between him and the president of Amazon?
He’s probably poor as hell, I tell myself. The silence stretches on until he reaches inside his jacket pocket. I tense up like an idiot because really, what is he going to do in this place? Pull out a gun and shoot me in the face?
Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. Instead, he pulls out a fancy pen—the kind that has a cap—and then scratches something out on the contract.
“Wrong name,” he explains as he writes.
“Oh, of course.” Because he’s a lying liar who lies. What are you doing, Harlow? Get up and run out of here while he’s busy rewriting your contract. I don’t listen. My butt is glued to the seat. I tell myself it’s the condo. That’s why I’m still here and not because inwardly I’m drooling over his loosely tousled black hair, the sharp cut of his jaw, and how his shoulders make his suit look as expensive as a new car.
“Here. Corrected and signed. When should I show up?” He places the cap back on his fancy pen and tucks the writing instrument away. My eyes are drawn to his long fingers and the fact that he looks like he’s had a manicure. Maybe he’s a model.
“What do you do for a living?” I blurt out. My brain catches up to my mouth a half second later. I clap my hand over my mouth and then wave at him. “Never mind.”
“I’m a developer.”
“A—” that doesn't seem like a job of someone who is poor as hell. I eye his suit again. Maybe it is as expensive as a new car.
“I’m a little down on my luck right now,” he adds with a small smile. “The payment will get me out of a tight spot, so let me know when I should show up for the meeting. Has it already been scheduled?”
I gather myself. His financial condition doesn’t matter. I’m one step closer to getting my gram’s condo permanently. “Friday. At ten. This address.” I point to the clause in the contract. “Just come to the front door and I’ll buzz you in. The meeting is in the library on the first floor. Would you mind wearing the suit you have on? It’s very fancy looking and will impress the board.”
His slight smile makes a reappearance. “No problem. I’ll see you on Friday then.”
Chapter Three
CAL
“Calix Line, haven’t seen you in forever.”
I look up from my notes on the Newtro deal to see Harlow’s real date standing at the table. “Rick.”
A wide grin splits the man’s face. “Right. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me since we didn’t get much time to talk at the Shift’s charity shindig.”
I didn’t remember you, Rick. I only know your name because I stole your girl. Since I wronged this guy, I search my memory bank and stop at an image of him standing about ten feet away from me as I was talking with Tee Shift about her new foundation to fund more art students at Bellingham University. She’s worried about AI overtaking the arts and wanted more money. I gave it. “Nice time?”
