A Matter of Taste (The Valentine Society #2)

Chapter One

My copy of Fangs falls out of my hands as someone bangs on the bathroom door.

I scramble for the magazine, face heating even though there’s no one here to witness my embarrassment.

It feels like getting caught watching porn—though it’s not!

It’s tastefully erotic photographs of vampires living their luxurious lifestyles, which is very different.

But my roommates would never let me live it down if they caught me with something so ridiculous.

Fantasizing about undead aristocrats is one of my few self-indulgences.

“Nora! Nora! Nora Rivers!”

“What?” I yell, shoving the magazine to the bottom of the stack atop the toilet. They all fall over, scattering across the tile, and I hiss out a curse as I bend to gather them again. “Christ’s sake, can I not have a minute to myself?”

“It’s an emergency,” my roommate shouts back.

I roll my eyes, stacking the magazines. In Sophie’s world, an emergency could mean anything from “she ran out of liquid eyeliner” to “she saw a spider on the wall.”

I flush the toilet to keep up the facade I was using this bathroom like a normal person instead of hiding from the world with my spicy magazine.

This is the only place I can get any privacy, and as Sophie’s interruption proved, even that privacy is limited.

At least I fixed the lock last week, so she can’t barge in during my showers anymore.

I open the door and falter. Sophie is standing barely a foot away, hands clasped in front of her chest and eyes teary.

Her face is splotchy, her poorly dyed blue hair in more disarray than usual.

She looks genuinely distressed, which makes me feel bad for assuming this was another “I found a dead fly on the windowsill” type of emergency.

“Sophie,” I say, softening. “What’s wrong?”

“You have to come and see.” She grabs my wrist and tugs me along, giving me no choice but to follow.

She half drags me through our messy little studio apartment, which is cramped and chaotic with only thin divider screens to section off our three separate living areas.

We barely make it through without knocking anything over, and then it’s out into the hallway with its mysterious stains, down the creaking stairs, to the front door of the apartment building.

When I see the bright orange notice waiting there, my stomach drops. Other tenants are already gathering around, murmuring to each other, but I push through to read what it says.

The first line, in bold, damning letters, hits me like a fist: CONDEMNED.

I lean in, the words blurring as panic takes hold. The main details sink in: unfit for human occupancy or use. Effective immediately.

“We’re being evicted,” I whisper, straightening. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. I mean, we always knew this place was unsafe. There are the cockroaches, the broken carbon monoxide detectors, the lack of hot water… that one incident with the black mold…

But there’s a reason we’ve stuck around despite all of that: we can’t afford to live anywhere else in this goddamn city.

Los Angeles is the most beautiful place in the world, in my opinion.

Unfortunately, a lot of people seem to agree, thus the skyrocketing prices.

Despite the problems, this apartment complex was an incredible find because of how affordable it was.

That’s why my roommates and I have hung on for years, especially as rent all around us climbed steadily upward.

The landlord is a scumbag, but at least he didn’t raise the prices too much. Speaking of which…

“Where’s Mr. Wilson?” I ask aloud. I barge back into the building, Sophie following in my wake with her hands fluttering like distressed birds.

I head to the landlord’s office, but I’m unsurprised to find it locked and dark.

Empty. I jiggle the handle and peer through the window, but it confirms what I’ve already suspected: that piece of shit is long gone.

He’s always proved difficult to find whenever there was an issue.

He’s likely halfway across the country by now to avoid the fallout from this.

Probably sipping margaritas on a beach somewhere.

“Nora?” Sophie asks in a small voice from behind me. “What are we going to do?”

I’ve always been the levelheaded one. The mom friend. The one with all of the answers.

But as I stare at the landlord’s locked door, that orange notice burning bright in my mind, my stomach sinks. I pride myself on being prepared and practical, ready for anything, an anchor in the chaos that always surrounds me. But right now, I’m at a loss.

The pressure weighs on me, pushing me down until I feel small and helpless.

“I…” I swallow with a dry click. The words I don’t know are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to voice them aloud and face her disappointment.

I’m supposed to be the person my friends can rely on.

I need to be that person for them now. “I need a minute,” I say, and rush back up the stairs to our apartment.

I head back into the bathroom, lock the door behind me, and try not to panic.