Bartholomew. Bane. He seemed to be everywhere. In my apartment building. At the grocery store. Near the park. On my mind.
Flipping open my laptop, I googled his name. A website popped up pointing me to a home page with pictures of all the real estate agents in the office.
A picture of Bane was at the top with his polite—not real—smile. Bartholomew Fox was a fine figure of a man, and if the housing market ever fell through, he could pick up work as a male model. The way he carried himself—the clothes he wore. It was all part of the package that was Bane Fox. I clicked on his profile picture to read his bio.
It purported him to be the top agent in the county, and in the top ten in the state. What was a man of those talents doing living in a condemned apartment building? I knew real estate agents made bank, especially if they sold as many properties as he did. Maybe he had a gambling problem on the side, and that’s where all of his money went.
After spending an hour reading the rave reviews about his work—and frantically searching for his social media profiles, I decided he was clearly some type of a unicorn in the real estate business. A rising star. I would have written him off as a soon-to-be real estate mogul like Sebastian Mercier except for two things: one, he helped people find affordable properties within their budget. (I knew this from about forty-five glowing reviews.) And two, he gave back to the community. (I knew this based on his bio saying he volunteered at a couple different nonprofits in town.)
If I were being honest with myself, I was attracted to Bane.
I couldn’t deny it. He was charming. He was kind. I would even go so far as to say protective—evidenced by his morning drive-by routine to make sure I was still alive.
I wondered what it would be like to date a man like him. I’d be the envy of many a woman.
Known in the community, a great real estate agent, obsessed with his image, but eccentric for living at The Market Street Apartments. He would make great boyfriend material.
But then again, his rise to success would soon catch up with him—he wouldn’t have time to give back to the community anymore, and he’d become obsessed with the money.
I’d have to break up with him. I couldn’t stand it when people valued money more than people. Our relationship would have a tragic end, and I would spend months nursing a broken heart. Hard pass.
Knock, knock, knock.
I set my laptop down and stood up. I didn't know who could be at the door. I picked up the pepper spray from my purse. No one should be in the apartment building. A voice called out, "Just checking to make sure the apartment is clear!"
I hurried and unlocked the door and opened it to find three men standing on the outside wearing hard hats. They looked surprised to see me.
"Are you here to start the demolition?" I asked. "Were you here earlier?"
"Earlier? Yes, we were doing a walk-through to evaluate the building. All the utilities are going to be shut off and disconnected this evening. We’re preparing to start demolition in a couple days."
I stuffed the pepper spray in the back pocket of my jean shorts. "What a shame. Mercier must be on top of things. I hadn't expected you to start demolition for another month or two."
"Mr. Mercier is pushing to get this done as soon as possible. We have to remove this building so that they can lay the foundation for the next since we have a deadline to meet. We thought that they had already given the eviction notice for this building."
"Oh they did," I answered them. "It just didn't make sense for me to move out when there's a perfectly good apartment to live in until you came to flatten the building."
They chuckled at that.
"Looking to stay in Riverly?" one man asked.
"Yes, I was hoping so."
"Good luck finding housing! My wife turned my man cave into a studio apartment and is renting it out."
"Do you have anywhere to go?" another man asked me.
With a heavy sigh, I answered, "I have one more place I could try. Things rent out so fast here I can't seem to get my foot in the door."
"Are you sure this place will work out for you?" asked the slender man who looked like he did all of the manual labor.
"It will, it’s just my least favorite option. You guys wouldn't feel like helping me carry some things out to my car, would you?"
With their help, it only took us two trips to fill my car. All the furniture was thrift store furniture that had seen better days, so I left it in the apartment. The place where I was going was already furnished. It was a distasteful option, but I didn't have much choice.
Standing on my own two feet was difficult when my own father had swept my house out from under me.
I had many names for Sebastian Mercier.
Mr. Moneybags, Mr. Moneytaker, Dad, soul crusher. I also liked to call him 'Sebastian Mercenary’ with the way he treated money in people's lives. It was a shame he didn't care about his own family the way he cared about his money.
At least I knew that he wouldn't be at his house here in Riverly. Like I’d told Bartholomew, the house was empty and open for the taking. I just preferred not to mention that Sebastian Mercier was the one who owned the house—or the fact that he was my father. I didn’t want Bane to know I was connected to the man who was responsible for evicting us.
Dad had bought and furnished the house on Cypress Avenue, hoping that I would live in it until he and my mom retired. When mom returned from her medical mission trip, they would move back to Riverly. Dad wanted us to be one big happy family again.
Too bad he’d destroyed any chance of that long ago.
Too bad I'd thrown away my spare keys in the process of freeing myself. But if I knew anything about Sebastian, creature of habit that he was, his spare key would be in the same spot as it was at every other house he’d lived in for the past twenty years.
I'd never lived in the Cypress Avenue home; Mercier bought it intending to save it for retirement.
Dad was waiting on mom to return from her medical mission's trip before they moved in. She'd been a nurse and a mother for years. When Nate and I graduated college, she saw it as a chance to take a mid-life trip and save the world from sickness. When her trip was completed, she would head home to Riverly for the retired life.
The overwhelming emotions flooded through me as I decided whether or not to go directly to the house. Unable to decide what was the predominant emotion I was feeling, I drove around the small town of Riverly, admiring the views.
Finally, realizing that I would have to go to the house eventually, I pulled into the Willow Loop neighborhood. I drove slowly, glancing around at the houses lining the street.
It was a beautiful neighborhood, but I wouldn't expect anything less from Mercier.
I climbed out of my overly ordinary minivan and typed in the code to open the garage door. Some things never changed. I drove my car inside and closed the door quickly, hoping that none of the neighbors were home and noticed me driving in. It would be a little difficult to explain my presence here, so I'd have to come up with something good. If all else failed, I could rely on the truth. No one would think anything of the daughter of Sebastian Mercier living in his own house. I grabbed the house key that sat under an oil pan in the far, right corner of the garage and unlocked the door.
Time to make myself at home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Homeowners Association Rule #17:
Trampoline covers must be green.
I’d left my personal phone at the Cypress house.
If it had been a pair of dirty socks, I would have cut my losses and left it. I didn’t want to risk being seen by any more neighbors. One was enough.
But leaving my phone there could have been equally disastrous. I promised myself I’d make a quick stop—pick up my phone and take one last quick shower in the glorious outdoor shower before I never laid eyes on the house again.
The foreclosure I’d carefully planned on buying was pulled off of the market at the last minute. My entire plan was blow
n to pieces. The owners had somehow managed to pay all the back taxes that were owed and halted the foreclosure. Which meant I still didn’t have a place to live.
If only I could find a permanent place.
And so, against my better judgment, I returned to the Cypress Avenue house to retrieve my phone. I brought my backpack out of the car so I could take that shower as long as no neighbors were around.
Grabbing my backpack out of the car, I headed into the backyard, latching the gate behind me. I found my phone still plugged into an outlet in the outdoor kitchen.
I headed behind the wood partition and turned the water on, getting it to a nice temperature. I stripped out of my clothes and stepped into spray. Showering seemed to wash away all the worries of the day. After twenty minutes standing there, I shut the water off.
I snagged the towel off the top of the pallet wall and wrapped it around my waist, then stepped out of the shower.
"Hello again!"
My stomach dropped to my feet.
Not again.
I stifled a groan and turned around to find Carol standing in the center of the yard, holding a paper. This time I hadn't had time to even don a shirt.
"Good evening, Carol." I forced a smile. "How can I help you?"
"I was just stopping by to bring you the welcome flyer for the neighborhood and to remind you that the HOA meeting is tonight at seven. You know, the other day I was talking to Marcia, and she told me she thought that the couple who owned this house were married. She was convinced that you were about to retire. I assured her you were quite young and handsome, not even close to thinking about retirement."
Carol looked at me with raised eyebrows, waiting for my explanation. One that I didn't have. "Well, thank you for that, Carol. It's nice to know someone actually knows me."
"Exactly," Carol said. "I told her she didn't have any room to speak since she hadn't met you yet. Some people age better than others. Marcia isn't one of those. I thought it was only her looks going, but I guess her memory isn't very good anymore either. But she was adamant about you having a wife. She even saw her park in your garage today. I told her that of course I would have noticed if you were married. You would have told me!"
There was a woman in the house? My heart dropped to my toes. I reached for my T-shirt and was about to put it on when the door to the house opened. My heart skipped a few beats. It might've even stopped altogether when Nola stepped onto the back patio. This was bad. This was really bad. The T-shirt fell to the ground.
What was she doing here?
Carol filled the silence with her chattering. "Oh, hello. You must be Bane’s wife. He was just about to tell me all about you."
"Yes, Carol. This is my wife." The words shot out of my mouth before I'd even thought them.
Nola looked between the two of us with wide eyes. This was not the time to hesitate. I stepped closer and threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward my chest. My bare chest. "Honey, I'd like you to meet Carol, our neighbor across the street. She's the one who brought us those delicious cookies the other yesterday."
"Cookies?" Nola asked as she awkwardly patted my chest. "Oh, yes, cookies. I remember now. That was very nice of you. It's wonderful to meet you, Carol." Nola's voice sounded like an automatic recording. I patted her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. It was a nice head. I don’t know why it made such perfect sense to pretend she was my wife—and even if it was the worst idea ever, it was fun to see the shocked look on her face.
Carol shifted from side to side as she watched us. "How long have you two been married? You're just the sweetest together."
"She probably says that to everyone who wears a towel," Nola whispered to me out of the side of her mouth.
"We're pretty much newlyweds," I answered. "We've been married for two years now. "
"Seems like just today that we got married," Nola added.
I smirked at her. "I know what you mean, snookums."
"Well, it will be so wonderful having you two in the neighborhood," Carol said. "Here. I brought the flyer tonight. We’re beginning to look for a new HOA president. I know I mentioned this to Bane last time we spoke."
"Oh, Barty would be just perfect for that job. He's so wonderful at organization." Nola patted my chest again. I rested a hand on the towel to make sure it stayed up when she wrapped her other hand around my waist. It wasn't a very big towel as far as towels were concerned.
Carol’s eyes brightened at Nola’s suggestion.
"Well, I’ve got to run, but it was wonderful seeing you again, Bane." Carol waved and headed out of the yard.
I waited until the yard gate swung shut before I turned on Nola. She spoke first. "What do you mean we're married? Are you insane? They'll be inviting us over for dinner every night."
"What are you doing here?" I asked her, ignoring her questions. "And how did you get inside the house?"
"I opened the door. That's how most people get into houses; they don't just shower in the backyard or stand out here naked with only a towel around their waist." I glanced down and realized that she was right; I was only wearing a towel. I ran around to the other side of the shower as quickly as I could, and pulled on my pants and slipped the T-shirt on over my head.
"The demo crew came today. Mr. Moneybags is in a hurry to get his luxury apartments built."
I was only half paying attention to what she was saying. My mind reeling from the fact that I’d just announced to Carol that Nola was my wife. Maybe I didn't want to be married to her. It's not good to start a marriage with secrets. She got in that house one way or another, and I intended to find out how. It was one thing to use someone's outdoor shower and hammock. Breaking into the house was an entirely different thing. But then again, she was friends with the owners. Maybe she had managed to talk with them.
"Are you going to tell me how you got inside the house? No breaking and entering, I hope!"
"It's not breaking and entering unless you break something. I only entered."
This was getting out of hand. I ran a hand over my face and lowered my voice. "Well, we can’t stand around here arguing. The neighbors are probably listening. We need to get out of here."
"And go where?"
I opened my mouth to retort, but I had nothing to say.
She nodded as though she were reading my mind. "There’s nothing wrong with staying here. It’s a perfectly reasonable option until something else comes along."
If she put it that way...it’s not like it would be permanent. More like a small stop on the way to a permanent home. I nodded.
"Good, I’m glad you see how this can benefit the both of us. We can stay in this nice empty house, live close to our work, and live in a nice neighborhood." Her eyes sparkled as she listed the pros.
"And now we have a homeowner's association meeting tonight. My lovely wife."
"Oh, well, that sounds like something that's all you. I'm still getting settled in, remember?" Her impish grin looked like nothing but trouble.
"I brought all the groceries I had in my apartment," she said, as she opened the back door. "I didn't know you were going to be here, or I would have stopped at the store and grabbed some more." I followed her inside, the sliding glass door led into a large dining room with hardwood floors.
She continued, "You know, Berty—"
"It's Bane," I muttered.
"Right. Blaine, like I was saying, it really surprised me to see you showering in the backyard."
My face heated as I skirted around the tall backed chairs surrounding a black dining room table.
"I only mean that you seem so strict. Like a true rule-follower. I can't believe you took my advice and actually stayed at the house. I think it's brilliant. It makes me like you so much more."
"I can't decide if that was a compliment, insult, or statement."
She shrugged as she opened the fridge. "I like to save time and wrap all of those into one. Besides, don’t stress. Remember that I know the owners. This will
work great for us. Do you want a grapefruit?"
"Sure, I’ll take a grapefruit. How do you know this will work for us?"
She ignored my question and pulled two grapefruit out of the fridge. "Now that I realize I could never date you I don't know why I didn't just go put the grapefruit back on the stand. I shouldn’t have been so worried about impressing you."
She set the grapefruit on the counter and began rummaging around in the drawers, as if she hadn't just told me she wasn't attracted to me.
"Wait—why don't you have to impress me now?"
"Don't take it personally." She looked at me in surprise.
"Of course not," I said. But, of course, I did take it personally. Anytime someone started a speech with 'don't take it personally' it was a guaranteed insult.
She pulled a knife from a drawer and began slicing the fruit on a wooden cutting board. "I realized that I'm not interested in you. I mean, isn't that the most freeing thing in the world?"
I rubbed my lips together as I debated my answer. She wasn't wrong. There was freedom in not caring what someone thought. But why wasn't she interested in me? It was going to bother me until I found out. "Let me get this straight. You were interested in me, but now you're not?"
She passed me half a grapefruit and a spoon. "You're a good-looking guy. Of course you’re attractive. But then I got to know your personality, and I realized you and I together just wouldn’t work. It took care of that attraction. I really didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
She almost looked apologetic. Almost.
I hummed. "Thanks, I think."
"Right, so like I was saying, it really is perfect. We can stay here and pretend to be husband and wife and go about our lives. We'll be like the perfect roommates. We won't have to be around each other, and there are no hard feelings because neither of us is interested in the other."
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