a harmless puppy compared to my grandmother, though her manners were about one thousand times better. She knew how to introduce herself for starters.
He held out his hand, looking like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Fine. Seventy-two dollars for this week. One hundred otherwise. And I’ll need a month’s rent as bond. Up front.”
It said as much on the listing.
Taking my time, I wandered through the lounge and kitchen again, peeking into the laundry once more. Can I live here? Envisioning myself relaxing on a sofa and drinking wine on a Friday night in this place would take a stronger imagination than I possessed.
When I ran away, it was to escape and to choose the rules of my life. I’d expected to start at the bottom of the ladder. I wanted to start at the bottom to better understand the world’s problems. That sentiment didn’t extend to punishing myself unnecessarily—now I knew that sleeping on the streets really was as bad as it sounded.
Tommy helped me figure out that after tax, I’d have over four hundred dollars to spend or save each week. The rent for this apartment took a quarter of that sum. Twice that amount would push the limit once I took food and transport into account.
This hovel was within my budget and available now, but would living here be unnecessary punishment?
I belatedly remembered another question. “Utilities are included?”
The man cursed under his breath. “Yes,” he grated.
Bastard would have charged me extra for them if I hadn’t asked. What a dick.
Did Tommy rattle off any other questions?
… If she had, I couldn’t recall them.
I inhaled slowly—ignoring the musty, smoke smell saturating the carpet and coating the walls. I could spend a few months here. After that, I’d have a better grasp of what week-to-week costs were; maybe some savings up my sleeve.
“I’ll take it,” I told the man. “And I’m Basi by the way.”
“Clint. Bond.”
Huh? His name was Clint Bond?
His grubby hand shot out.
Oh my god, he wanted the bond? That’s how he asked for things?
Don’t give the guy an etiquette lesson, Basi. It’s too late for him.
I smiled and hoisted my pack higher. “Thanks for showing me the house, Clint.”
I ambled to the half-open front door and squeezed through the gap.
“I thought you wanted the place,” he snapped.
I smiled sweetly. “What did I say earlier about treatment of a potential tenant?”
His face turned purple.
Still I waited, letting him suffer.
Fixing him with a cool look that extended into awkward length territory—for him anyway—I fished in my pack for the stack of cash. I pulled out the wad and leafed through until I found four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Here,” I said, holding it out.
I glanced at his face and frowned at the direction of his focus. On the wad of money. Crap. Maybe bringing it out like that wasn’t wise. I shoved the stack into the zip pocket and swung my bag on again.
He blinked and inspected the money in his hand.
“Keys,” I pressed.
My tolerance had officially expired.
Clint dragged his eyes off the money. “The keys will be in the mailbox at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. You paid for five days this week.”
That one was my bad for haggling him down, but my shifts at Live Right Realty were 11:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. I’d have time to move in tomorrow, so Clint could go screw himself.
“That’s only fair,” I said grandly. “Thank you for your time, Clint.”
Asswipe.
I strode in the direction of the bus stop, feeling more in control of this situation than I had since sleeping on the streets. I officially had my own apartment. I’d get five days’ worth of pay for working this week. More than enough to pay rent.
Which meant that the two and a half thousand dollars in my zip pocket could go toward kitting out my new place.
It was time to shop.
I attempted to straighten my ill-fitting charcoal pencil skirt as the bus lurched to a halt. People trickled off and the bus resumed its slog. Mid-morning, and I’d already spent a full day’s energy moving my new purchases from Tommy’s to mine.
Mine.
I beamed. Who knew there could be such joy in outfitting a house that belonged to me? Well, a rental.
Tommy surveyed my purchases last night with a critical eye, nearly critically enough to deflate my high. She’d worried over the lack of contract for the apartment and the absence of keys. Once assured that I’d accounted for expenses until I was paid by Live Right, she’d relaxed. My grandmother had trained