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“Why didn’t you want to leave him in the apartment?”

This time when she doesn’t answer, my desperation starts to sharpen. And I know it’s obvious because my voice cracks when I step closer and say, “Charli… Just talk to me. What’s going on?”

It isn’t until I reach forward and lightly touch her hand that she finally lets out a stuttered, tension-filled exhale.

“I had to vacate my apartment because… umm, because there’s mold. And Milton was getting sick,” she says in a whisper.

My eyes narrow. My lawyer spidey senses are tingling, telling me she’s not being completely truthful. But even with that half-truth, I feel the need to comfort her, to fix this.

My eyes dart back to the cat. “Is he okay? Did you call the vet?”

Surprise passes over her face as she looks up at me. “He’s fine. He just needs to be out of the apartment. Hence…all this.”

Charli was going to sleep at the office. Because she doesn’t have a safe place to sleep.

What the fuck.

I don’t know where to aim my anger—or my shock at my anger—so I return to my default.

“What did your landlord say? There’s no fucking way you don’t have tenant rights. Send me your lease. I’ll take a look and then call your landlord. He needs to⁠—”

“Lucas.”

I force my attention back to Charli standing in front of me. “Sorry. Did you call him?”

She rolls her eyes, and the action is so normal that it inadvertently calms me down. “Of course, I did.”

“And?”

She shrugs. “And…I have to leave the apartment while they do an assessment.”

“So you came to the office.” It’s a statement, not a question. “What was the plan after? How long do you have to be out of the apartment?”

She scuffs at the floor with her shoe. “I don’t know. Could be a few days, or it might be a few weeks if the mold is bad.”

I blow out a frustrated puff of air. “So you were just going to live in the conference room for a few weeks? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

She shoots me a glare. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she hisses.

The venom in her voice—especially mixed with a tinge of embarrassment—brings me back to reality. I’m being harsh. Panicking at the thought of Charli being temporarily homeless isn’t an excuse.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…” I wince and rub my face. “What was your plan?”

She nervously nibbles on her lower lip. “I…don’t know,” she finally admits. “I only thought through this weekend.”

Even that drives me a little bit crazy. She was going to sleep in the office this weekend.

I make the decision without conscious thought.

“Come on. You can stay at my place this weekend.”

Her eyes go impossibly wide. “Uh…what?”

As soon as the words are out there, the rightness clicks into place. She obviously can’t stay at the office; I wouldn’t be able to leave her here. And I have a condo with plenty of rooms, so…

“Stay at my place this weekend,” I repeat, surer this time.

Charli lets out a bark of laughter. “I can’t stay with you. That’s insane.”