Chapter 11 #2
“No, I’m signing a contract.“ I turn to Adam. “You should have told me there were competing offers.”
“Bea,” Adam says, but I hold up my hand. I’m not about to get into a bidding war with Mike, of all people.
“The cottage is mine, and I’m not about to let some van-dwelling, ponytailed cosplayer take it from me.” There’s no sweetness in my smile now. “Go on. Run along to your little audition. The adults have some real business to take care of.”
Mike laughs and takes a seat in the empty chair. He reaches for an almond croissant, but I slide the plate out of reach.
“No,” I say. “These aren’t for you.”
“Bea,” Adam says in warning, but he stops when I glare at him. I’m done playing nice.
Mike breathes in slowly and leans back in his chair. “Who are they for?”
“My new landlord. Now, scoot.” I make a shooing motion with my fingers.
Mike drums his fingers on the bistro table before he rounds on Adam. “You told me that one of your dad’s lawyer people was interested in my rental.”
My rental?
“And she is one of my dad’s lawyer people. If I had told you it was Bea, you wouldn’t have agreed,” Adam says. To me, he says, “Same with you. You’re both welcome.”
Wait. “What are you talking about?” Oh my stars and Shakespeare. Mike Benedick can’t be the owner of my beach cottage.
Adam helps himself to my untouched cup of tea. “I saw how weird you both were after the birthday party. And then Mike’s been extra—“
“I’m not doing this,” Mike cuts in, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not living on the same property as her.”
“Excuse me?” I stare at Adam, who is trying hard to keep his chill. “He’s living there?“ Now I contemplate taking the last of the pastries and shoving them in Adam’s face.
“I told you that the owner is renovating the main house. I did.” He pulls up his phone and queues up his text. “See?” He smiles as if he’s cleared everything up.
The owner indeed. I really hate my brother right now. “No one said anything about renovations.” What kind of noisy mess will I be moving into? So much for hearing the ocean. “You should have disclosed that,” I say to Mike. “It should have been included in the contract.”
He’s getting more annoyed by the minute. “You’re right. And that omission”—he stares daggers at Adam—“proves that I’m not going to be the landlord you deserve. So you don’t need to sign. We can tear this up. No big deal. I’ll find another renter.”
“Will you, though?” Adam asks with the most good-natured smile, accompanied by a scrunch of his nose. “Or were you just speaking in hyperbole when you mentioned you’ve had a tough time finding a renter who is cool with the construction?”
“I’m going to kill you,” Mike says.
“No, you won’t. I run fast. And I sign your paycheck. Come on, Bea’s not so bad.”
It’s my turn to cross my arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“She works like a dog. And she’ll be out walking a fleet of them.
So you’ll never even see her. This is a good thing.
Sign the contract. Hand over the keys. Pretend that fence is a literal ocean separating the two of you and move on with your lives.
” Adam checks his phone. “Love to stay, but I’ve got a pitch to make to some investors.
I’m sure you’ll let me know how this turns out.
” He leaves. Smug and chill. Oh, he’s going to pay for this.
Meanwhile, I need a place to live, or at the very least send all my cacti that are being hauled from Del Mar as we speak.
I can handle a little hammer-pounding.
I uncap my favorite pen. “Why don’t you want me to be your neighbor, Mike?”
“Because you’re difficult. Your expectations are too high.
You’re used to a Del Mar mansion, not some 1940s beach cottage.
You’ll wheedle out of our contract the second you find a crack in the plaster or realize the concrete pavers slope, and then I’ll be…
” He trails off. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. ”
“Awfully judgy of you.”
“You could rent a brand-new condo on La Jolla Village Drive.”
“And still be stuck in forty minutes of traffic every time I want to walk by the beach.”
“If you take Torrey Pines, it’s only twenty.”
“And if I sign now, I can walk to all my new clients.”
“Beatrice.” He stays my hand with his own. “This is a bad idea.”
“Because my little brother’s your boss?”
He looks delightfully annoyed. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“Mike, you were only too willing to rent your charming beach cottage to me, and for a reasonable rate, when you didn’t know what I looked like or what my name was.
Now that you do, well, this becomes a very open-and-shut case of discrimination.
You want to fight me in court, waste some of your reno money over litigation? ”
“This right here. It’s exactly why I don’t want you to rent my place.”
“Keep saying things like that, and you may actually hurt my feelings,” I huff in frustration. “Come on. It’s true what Adam said.”
“‘This is a good thing?’”
I sigh. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
“I’ll know.” I expect a guttural groan, but instead I see a fleeting smile. Mike sighs. “Fine. Let’s do this.” He scrawls his signature on the last page. “I should warn you about the quirks of the property.”
“Oh?” I put my fountain pen to paper.
“Your parking space is in the garage, and there’s no easy access from it to your half of the property. You’ll have to park and then walk up the exterior stairs and cut across my place.”
“Pass.”
“Or you could walk around the block to your gate in the alley.”
“Or I could just park on the street.”
He snorts. “Sure. Have fun spending thirty minutes looking for parking and another fifteen walking back.” He sets the garage door clicker on the table.
I swipe the clicker up. “Parking is a little odd. Anything else?”
“We share a set of trash bins. They’re on the back patio behind the bougainvillea trellis, right on the other side of your privacy fence. Pickup is in the alley every Monday. I’m happy to wheel them out.”
“It’s fine. I’ll do it.” I’d rather wheel out bins than let Mike traipse through my courtyard every Monday morning.
“Landscaping is every Friday and is included in your rent.”
“Do I need to leave the gates unlocked for the gardener?”
“No, I’ve got that covered. I do advise against leaving the gate to your courtyard unlocked. The locals can get pretty brazen when it comes to outdoor showers and places to wax their surfboards.”
“Noted. Now are we done? I’m supposed to be meeting a moving van in twenty.” I scrawl my name right above Mike’s.
He pulls out the keys. “For the gate.” He holds the larger of the keys. “For the cottage.” He points to the smaller key. “A spare set of keys is on the kitchen counter. You’ve got the second bay in the garage—the one without the construction dumpster parked in it. In case that isn’t clear.”
“Fantastic.” I do not savor the idea of my Porsche being next to a dumpster full of crumbled plaster.
He starts tapping something into his phone. “Should you tire of traipsing around the block, this is the code to the front gate closest to the garage.”
My phone pings with his text. 201609#
“And now you have my number should shouting across the fence grow tedious.”
The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile. “You’re wrong, you know.”
Mike leans back in his chair, the corner of his mouth also tugging upward. “Oh?”
“Renting your cottage to me is bound to be the best idea you’ve ever had. Ciao, Mike.”
“I’ll see you around.”
“No, I really don’t think you will.”