Landlady: A New Adult Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 1) (3 page)

“Did you touch my stuff?” Sierra demanded.

I shot her a noncommittal shrug. She pushed past me and made her way
to her box. It was obvious that I'd opened it since the flaps were
facing out.

Sierra narrowed her eyes at me and seethed. “I told you not to
touch my stuff.”

I shrugged again, a prickle of heat racing up my spine. I didn't
expect to feel so guilty when she caught me. “Sorry,” I mumbled,
“I just thought it was funny how—”

“—Do the words, 'DO NOT LOOK INSIDE' mean nothing to you? Is it
somehow
okay
to just breach my privacy and rifle through my
belongings?”

“What? It's not like I found a big black dildo or anything.”

Landlady's eyes went wide as saucers. Her lips kept wagging insults,
but suddenly all I could think about was how they'd taste against
mine. Was that wrong? What would she do if I just silenced her with a
kiss?

Her arms were in on it too now, gesturing wildly. She was lifting up
her box...

She was leaving now. Hold on. Maybe I should say something.

But before I could offer another half-hearted apology, she
disappeared.

Fuck.
Did I just majorly fuck up first impressions with the
new landlady?

It was just a goddamn teddy bear. Sure, it was a bit childish, but it
wasn't something to get her panties in a twist about. I didn't even
bring it up. And considering how I'd expected
much worse,
finding
that teddy bear was pretty underwhelming. So why the hell was she so
pissed off?

I had no doubt now that Sierra was as innocent as she looked. A
little girl trapped in a grown woman's lithe, sexy body.
God-fucking-damn,
that body.
The things I'd do to her if we'd
met under any other circumstances. I'd seduce the living daylights
out of her then fuck her until she needed a wheelchair afterward.

Even if I couldn't sleep with her, I still didn't want her to stay
mad at me. That wouldn't bode well for either of us. So I pulled out
my phone and texted:
I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you.

I half expected her to reply right away.

But she didn't.

Not for two whole days.

And when her reply finally came, it wasn't the one I was expecting.

Don't contact me again unless there's an emergency. Sierra.

I'm a royal asshole. I blew it, didn't I?

CHAPTER THREE

SIERRA

I KNOW I SHOULDN'T have made such a big deal about it. After all,
there were far worse things than a stranger finding out you still
kept your childhood teddy bear. It wasn’t that I needed it to fall
asleep; I just kept it in my bedroom for sentimental reasons. It was
the first stuffed animal my dad ever bought me. It'd been mine for
over two decades, and I didn't want anyone else touching it.

I hated the fact that Asher deliberately ignored my wishes and
violated what little sense of trust I’d had in him. I mean, I'd
predicted he'd probably look inside the box, but a little part of me
thought maybe I was wrong about him.

Turns out I wasn't.

He was exactly the type of cocky bastard who thought he had the right
to do whatever he wanted.

This realization further solidified my resolution to stay as far away
from him as possible. Asher the Trespasser would bring nothing but
trouble to my already hectic life.

With final exams officially over (I'd aced them all), I would be
working at Delphino's full-time until September.

For the past week I'd been sleeping on Callista's couch and had the
bedsores and bruises to prove it. (The bruises came from repeatedly
knocking my knees against her coffee table in the middle of the
night.) She had been a total rockstar about it all, offering me
home-cooked meals and staying up with me to chat. She never even
broached the subject of when I was planning to move out. Not once.

But I could tell Brandon was getting annoyed by my prolonged
sleepover. He was probably getting a bad case of blue balls and
wanted this meddling cockblocker to move out already.

And it wasn't as if I hadn't been trying.

Callista was right. All the suites in the area were at least $1500 a
month. I couldn't afford that, even with the extra rental income. I
couldn't move farther away either because I needed to stay close to
school and Callista. No way was I going to waste two to three hours a
day commuting.

I decided to pay Asher another visit to see if he'd be willing to pay
more rent. He probably wouldn't, but I had very few options. I didn't
want to get the stink-eye from Brandon a day longer than necessary.

Resolutely, I pulled out my phone.

ME:
We need to talk. When are you free?

ASHER:
Is it an emergency?

ME:
Kind of.

ASHER:
What is it?

ME:
I'll tell you in person. I can meet you somewhere.

ASHER:
Come by my work then. 1519 Hargrave Street. Tenth
floor. Ask for Asher.

ME:
What time?

ASHER:
I'll be here till eight.

ME:
Okay, see you.

After work, I plugged Asher's workplace address into my phone and
followed the commuting directions there. My heart was thrumming with
nervous energy, but I wasn't sure why. Was it because our last
encounter ended so horribly? Or because I really needed him to say
yes to the rent hike and I was terrified he'd say no? If he refused
my demand (which was probably his right), where the hell was I going
to live this summer?

I got off the bus at the intersection of Hargrave and Thurlow. Still
following my GPS (I had the spatial navigational skills of a blind
wombat), I found myself standing, moments later, in front of a tall,
modern office building: a monolith of chrome, glass, and steel. I
made my way to the elevators. The doors parted, revealing a car
jammed with important looking suits. I stood out like a sore thumb in
my frilly sunflower dress and cornflower blue pumps. All eyes focused
on me as I strode in. I put on my most confident face and tried to
act like I belonged. After all, fake it till you make it, right?

But in my heart, I knew I was way out of my element.

What did Asher Morgan do for a living? It was impossible to tell. But
it must've been something important.

Maybe he was an accountant? An investment banker? Stock broker? What
the hell was this place?

When the elevator doors pinged open, I was squeezed out like
toothpaste. Some suits turned left, some right.

I was left standing alone directly across from a circular reception
desk. A stunning Asian woman (who looked like a model) sat in front
of two computer screens. She was in the middle of a call.

While I waited for her to finish, I scanned the room. It was a wide
space with cramped cubicles lining one side and large, airy offices
against the back wall. The air buzzed with non-stop chatter and a
sense of importance. Urgency.

The atmosphere screamed: You don't belong here!

I still had no idea what type of business this was...

Until my eyes fell on a sign.

The large, silver metal letters were affixed to the back wall.

Loud as day.

Morgan, Sloane, & Perry
. Underneath it read:
Attorneys
at Law.

He had his fricking name on the wall?

Asher was a hotshot city lawyer?

No way.

I mean I knew he must've been loaded but—

“Can I help you miss?”

“I'm here to see Mr. Morgan,” I said, wringing my wrist. I
suddenly felt like a fish out the water. Here I was, surrounded by
pinstripes and pantsuits, and I was wearing kiddie clothes. I looked
like I was about to go to a backyard barbecue, not meet a lawyer.

“Do you have an appointment?” the Asian woman asked, clicking her
mouse.

“No, but uh, he's expecting me.”

“What's your name?”

“Sierra. Sierra Maywood.”

The receptionist arched her brows. “I don't see you on here. Are
you certain he's expecting you?”

“Yes, I just texted him this morning.” I was losing my patience.
Her boss needed a better secretary.

“I'll give him a quick call. Hold on.” The woman pressed a button
on her phone. “Yes, hi, Mr. Morgan. I have a Sierra Maywood here to
see you. She says you're expecting her and that she spoke with
you—All right. Okay, I'll let her know.” She hung up.

Turning back to me, the woman said, “Sorry Ms. Maywood. Mr. Morgan
says he doesn't know who you are.”

That really pissed me off. I reached into my bag and fumbled with my
phone. My hands were shaking so hard I had to try twice before I
could plug in the right passcode. I scrolled through the contacts
list and pressed the call button beside Asher's name.

He picked up after the second ring. “Sierra.”

“Why the hell did you tell your secretary you didn't know who I
was?” I cried, my voice far too loud. I drew a few disapproving
looks.

“What do you mean?”

“I just asked to see you and the secretary called you, and you told
her to tell me to piss off.”

Did that come out right?

“Slow down Sierra. What are you talking about?”

I dragged in a deep breath and spoke more slowly. “I. Asked. To.
See. You. She said you didn't know who I was.”

“Did you ask for Asher?”

I frowned. “No, I thought it'd be impolite considering—”

“—Mr. Morgan is my father,” Asher explained. “People get us
confused all the time. That's why I told you to ask for Asher.”

I felt my shoulders relax. My mouth formed an 'O', and I suddenly
felt mortified. I'd just exploded in front of all his colleagues over
a simple misunderstanding. “Well, can I see you now?”

“Yeah. I'm coming out to get you.”

Anyone could've made that mistake, I told myself. Anyone.

But that still didn't stop people from whispering and even giggling
at my foolishness.
Stupid crows.

I felt a warm hand on my back.

“Sierra, come with me,” Asher whispered.

I felt a little butterfly flap in my stomach. Warmth from his hand
radiated across my body, giving me the tingles. I followed Asher's
lead and he brought me to a small office at the end of the hall.

The name on the door read
Asher Morgan, Junior Associate
.

Okay, that made more sense. I think.

Asher turned the knob, and we disappeared inside. I'd never even been
inside a law office until my grandmother passed away. And that had
only been a brief visit to sign some papers. Asher's office was small
compared to the others, but it was clean and organized. Just like his
home.

“Have a seat,” Asher gestured.

I couldn't stop looking around. Baseball paraphernalia sat on the
windowsill; legal magazines and newspapers neatly stacked on a side
table...He even had a silver cart showcasing expensive liquor
bottles. Asher's office was...the epitome of modernity and
masculinity. It oozed self-importance. Tall bookshelves lined the
left wall, and Asher sat behind an impressive mahogany desk. Behind
him, a floor-to-ceiling window featured the Northbridge skyline. “So
you're a lawyer, huh?” I asked.

“Surprised?”

“Not really.” After a beat, I added, “You work for your dad?”

“Yeah. I love it here.” Asher smiled, leaning back in his chair.
“I've wanted to be a lawyer since I was a kid.”

“You're close with your dad?” Why was I surprised that not
everyone had dysfunctional relationships with their parents, like me?
I immediately realized how dumb the question must have sounded, but
the words seemed to slip off my tongue without passing through my
brain first.

Asher nodded. “We've been an inseparable team since my mom died.”

I bit my lip. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

Asher shrugged. “It was over five years ago. I'm fine now.” He
shuffled some papers on his desk. “Now what did you want to see me
about?”

For a moment, my mind went blank. “Uhh...”

“Don't tell me you just wanted an excuse to see this handsome mug
again.”

“No way,” I shot out. “You're like a five. Six at best.”
Okay
so he's more like a nine-and-three-quarters, but he didn't need to
know that.

“I'm surprised you think so little of me, considering how flustered
you get every time we meet.”

I sat up straighter. “I do
not
get flustered.”

“Your cheeks and ears are redder than Rudolph's nose, and it looks
like you're getting a rash on your arm,” Asher pointed out.

Damn it. I always got blotchy red spots on my inner wrist when I felt
anxious or nervous. “Anyway, that's not why I'm here.”

“Tell me then. What brings Sierra Maywood all the way down here?”

“I wanted to talk about the rent.”

“Was something wrong with the cheque?”

“No...I—” How could I possibly ask for more money? I felt like
a goddamn gold-digger. It didn't help to know now that he was
probably loaded because he was a lawyer. I balled my hands into
fists, feeling my sharp fingernails dig into my palm.

“What is it Sierra? I don't have all day.” Asher stood up, walked
over to the cart and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He didn't
offer me any.

“I can't afford any of the rental suites in this neighborhood. I
need to increase your rent. It's too low,” I blurted out.

Asher paused mid-drink. He set down his glass. “Too low?” He
didn't seem angry, just amused.

“It costs fifteen hundred a month for a one-bedroom suite. You're
paying two grand for an entire house. I don't think that's fair.” A
slight tremor developed in my right arm and I realized I was grinding
my teeth.

Asher laughed. “Have you even read the lease agreement?”

I shook my head. “No. Why?”

“Why don't you stop jumping to conclusions and do your homework
first, B.L.?”

“B.L?”

“Bossy Landlady.”