Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
My apartment was silent as I sat at my dining table, eyes fixed on my laptop screen, reading through every single sentence of Robert’s rental agreement.
“Damn it,” I sighed when I finished, shoulders slumping.
It looked next to impossible for Robert to fight the eviction. The agreement was filled with complicated legal language, all designed to essentially give the landlord free rein with minimal notice. How scummy.
I wished I could say I was surprised, but becoming a lawyer had shown me a whole other corrupt side of the world. People stabbed each other in the back for money. Tricked people. Scammed people.
Sometimes, I wondered if all rich people were inherently evil.
But I was a corporate lawyer who lived in a three-bedroom high-rise apartment all by myself. So, what did that make me?
Greedy, immoral scum, a tiny voice whispered in my mind.
I ignored the voice, picked up my glass of red wine from its marble coaster, and set the rim on my lips. As I sipped, I started researching the terms in the agreement. Maybe there was a loophole or some obscure state law that could protect Robert from being screwed over.
By the time I finished the glass of wine, it was clear: I’d hit a dead end. There was nothing Robert could do. Nothing I could do. His landlord had meticulously covered every base, ensuring Robert had no real power as a tenant.
I rubbed my hands over my face, dislodging a few blonde strands from the clip holding my messy bun. I wanted to help. I was willing to set aside more time to guide him through this mess, but there was nothing I could offer him.
How had he ended up renting a cheap unit in the first place?
Mike’s family home had been a gorgeous house in a pretty suburb. Sure, Robert had always been a little scruffy, with his stubble and grown-out hair, but he clearly did well for himself. His family had owned nice cars, and he’d paid for Mike’s college fees.
I chewed on my bottom lip, furrowing my brow. In the past five or so years, something must have happened to him.
I shut off my laptop and carried my empty wine glass to the kitchen, passing modern stainless-steel appliances and marble countertops. I loved my kitchen, just like I loved my entire apartment. It was all high ceilings and cream-colored curtains, big windows, crown molding, and marble accents. I’d purchased it after my first big promotion at work, and I still remembered the thrill of holding the keys— my keys—for the first time.
I’d been so happy because I finally had a home. Not a rental. Not a college dorm. Not my family’s house.
No, this place was mine .
I rinsed the wine glass and set it aside, knowing I’d use it again tomorrow night.
That was my routine: wake up, get dressed, grab coffee and breakfast, go to work, have dinner, do more work with a glass of wine, drink tea before bed, and sleep.
Yes, the routine was a bit boring, but I liked the predictability.
Well, I mostly liked it.
Lately, I’d been noticing more and more how quiet my apartment was. As much as I loved how spacious it was, I couldn’t ignore the two empty bedrooms.
When I bought the place, I told myself the extra bedrooms were a good investment and that I wanted plenty of space for my future family. I wasn’t old by any means, but I was turning thirty soon, and people had started asking when I’d settle down.
I hadn’t had a serious relationship in years. I went on dates now and then, but none of them led to real connections. Sometimes, it felt like the whole marriage-and-kids thing was slipping further out of reach.
But I couldn’t be ungrateful. Plenty of people would love to live in a big apartment like mine.
I was sure Robert would.
He hadn’t aged much since I’d last seen him in college. Back then, he’d been friendly and hospitable every time I visited. But Mike had complained about him, hadn’t he? The memory surfaced: Mike calling his dad a deadbeat who was never home and shirked responsibility.
I’d found it odd at the time. Robert had owned his own construction company, so I’d assumed he was hardworking and cared about his family.
But what did I know? Maybe Mike was right. Maybe Robert had gotten himself into this mess through his own irresponsibility.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I had to stop speculating and start preparing for bed. I was exhausted, and tomorrow would be a long day. I had a meeting with one of Ashcroft’s biggest clients, a pharmaceutical company merging with one of their competitors.
I brewed myself a cup of green tea, added honey, and walked into my bedroom. After changing into my pajama dress, I slipped under pale pink sheets that matched the aesthetic I’d chosen for my room.
If I wanted to, I could change the color scheme of my bedroom to neon green tomorrow. The best thing money gave me was the freedom to make my own choices.
Yet somehow, I was always accused of making the wrong ones.
Was it the same for Robert? Had he ended up where he was after a series of bad decisions?
I pushed the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on it. Instead, I picked up my novel—a historical romance set in the late nineteenth century—and sipped my tea.
A few days later, nervousness crept under my skin as I waited for Robert to show up at my office. I’d scheduled this meeting to give him the bad news, but I hadn’t expected to feel so much dread.
I didn’t want to disappoint him. But facts were facts, and there was nothing I could do.
A gentle knock sounded at the door before Robert stepped into my office. He looked a little more put together today—his hair combed and his jeans less worn. Still, he was a far cry from the usual suit-and-tie clients who walked in and out of this space.
“Good morning,” I said, shaking his hand before sitting down behind my desk.
Robert offered a polite smile. “Morning Brooke. Thanks for meeting with me again.”
I nodded, threading my fingers together and resting my hands on the desk. “I looked over everything and did some research on your situation. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do.”
Robert’s smile faltered, but he nodded, accepting the blow. “I figured as much. All the legal jargon made it pretty clear I didn’t stand much of a chance. I just wanted to try. The place isn’t much, but it became home for a while.”
The disappointment in his voice seeped into me like acid. I hated feeling powerless. “The agreement was… unconventional,” I said. “It gave the landlord way too much control. Did you have anyone look over it before you signed?”
“I didn’t.” He sighed. “I figured it’d be fine. Clearly, that was a mistake.”
“Your landlord’s a scumbag,” I said bluntly. “If you decide to rent somewhere else, I’d be happy to check over the contract for you.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s very generous of you. Thank you. And thank you for trying.” He hesitated before continuing, “I’d like to pay you for your time. I know it’s valuable.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a battered leather wallet.
I shook my head quickly, holding up my hands. “No payment necessary. Consider it a favor.”
Given what he paid in rent for that tiny unit, my hourly rate was likely far beyond his budget. The last thing I wanted was to take his money, especially when I couldn’t even offer a solution.
He frowned. “You took time out of your busy schedule to help me. I have to pay you for that.”
I locked eyes with him. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was winning arguments.
“I can’t accept cash,” I said firmly. “Clients have to pay through the company. If you try to pay the firm, they’ll find out I took this on off the books. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
Truthfully, the partners probably wouldn’t care if I spent an hour helping a friend. Still, I knew my words would deter him from trying to pay me.
“Alright, no payment,” Robert conceded, slipping his wallet back into his pocket, but he didn’t look happy about it. “I still want to reimburse you for your time.”
I tilted my head, puzzled by his insistence. Why was he so determined to make things even? Most people would gladly take free help without a second thought.
“Let me at least take you out to dinner,” he offered.
I froze. Dinner? My mind immediately conjured an image of us sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, sipping wine while a candle flickered between us.
“No, it’s fine,” I blurted, feeling my cheeks warm.
Where had that idea come from? I was jumping to conclusions. He probably meant something casual—a local chain restaurant, maybe some beer, and small talk.
Clearing my throat, I forced a polite smile. “That’s not necessary, Robert. Really.”
My tone was firmer than I intended, and something flickered across his face. Was it disappointment? Maybe I was imagining things.
“Well, I can’t force you,” he said with a soft laugh. “But if you ever change your mind, the offer stands. You came through for me. I won’t forget that.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I said.
He stood, towering over me with his broad, fit frame. Today, he wore a plain white t-shirt that clung to his shoulders and showed off his arms in a way that made my chest tighten.
What was wrong with me? Maybe I needed to go on a date if the mere presence of a man was enough to elicit this kind of reaction.
Then again, my most recent dates had been with bankers and doctors in crisp, ironed shirts and black slacks.
None of them had looked like him .
“Don’t be,” Robert said. “I’ll figure something out.”
For a moment, he shifted forward like he might reach out, but then he stopped, stepping back instead. “I’ll let you get back to work. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
In reality, I doubted it. We hadn’t crossed paths in years before now, so the chances of it happening again seemed slim.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, smiling as he waved goodbye. “Take care, Robert.”
The moment he left my office, a pang of disappointment settled in my chest. I wasn’t sure why.
Maybe it was simply that I appreciated someone being kind to me. Sure, my friends were supportive, and my colleagues praised my work, but something about Robert’s gratitude had touched me.
A memory from our earlier meeting surfaced in my mind: his deep voice, warm and steady.
Angel, he’d called me.