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“In what way?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, visibly prickling. “Not for the purpose of this.” She moves a finger between us. For the purposes of whatever this thing is. This thing that can’t be marriage. “You need a good story. A romantic link to someone with my kind of background and perceived connections. Given that gossip has already started, you need me. What I need is my trust fund. I also need to know I’m safe.”
That’s twice she’s said that now. “Safe from what, exactly?”
She presses her fingertips to the paper, sliding it across the table. I pick it up and unfold it.
It’s an eviction notice. Looks like the building has been sold.
“You’ve got to move out.” My gaze lifts, and I seize my chance. “I’ll help you find somewhere better. Along with that job.”
Her mouth twists, but it’s not quite a smile. “If only it was that easy.”
“It can be.”
“Look at the date,” she insists.
The notice is dated two weeks ago. “Have you found anywhere yet?”
“Considering I only got the notice this morning, no. According to the landlord, we were all mailed individual notices two weeks ago. Strange how none of us in this apartment received them.”
“It’s a ball ache, sure.” I feel myself frown. I mean, I get how this might make her feel unsafe, kind of.
“Did you notice the name of the company?” Her tone is curiously flat. “Forbes Property Group LLC. That’s one of my father’s companies.”
“Okay.” I guess that is a little strange.
“He’s bought the building. A building that has no internet footprint—no listing showing it for sale.”
“Private sales happen,” I say, not sure which of us I’m trying to convince.
“He bought it to make me homeless.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can, because he’s thrown every obstacle he can in my way. You think I’m exaggerating,” she says like she knows what’s going on in my head.
But her dad loved her. Didn’t he?
“I have a degree, Troy. An Ivy League education. I have corporate work experience. I’m smart and personable. And every interview I’ve had ends the same way. They’re impressed, and I’m excited. They talk contracts and start dates. Then suddenly, the position isn’t available anymore.”
“It happens.”
“Yes, it happens the same way buildings that aren’t for sale get sold. But for it to have happened six times?”
I open my hands in answer. Just because it hasn’t happened to me, doesn’t mean it’s totally implausible.
“And a building in Inwood? It would be the ugly boil of his portfolio.”
“Gentrification,” I reason. “Or maybe he doesn’t know about the specifics.” I glance at the notice again. “I’m sure the man has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies.”
“I could go on.”
I make a gesture that’s not exactly an invitation.
“Let me see. My job, the roof over my head,” she says bitterly. “The way he turned people against me. How invitations dried up. How recruiters can’t or won’t place me. And, oh! He canceled my medical insurance.”
“What?” I lean forward like I misheard.
