One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,8
and you can design an awesome book cover for it, thus bringing your professional worlds full circle.”
“Yes, and designing that, or anything for that matter, would be so much more fun than picking up my sister’s stuff,” I say as I return to the issue at hand, shaking my phone at the sky as we near our skyscraper. “What kind of landlord sends a message like this? A deranged one, clearly.”
When we enter the revolving glass doors, Amy taps her chin thoughtfully. “Are we sure the landlord is a wackadoodle?”
I roll my eyes. “What else could he be?”
Amy scrunches up her brow, deep in thought. “Last time we went out with your sister, didn’t she say the landlord was an aspiring TV writer?”
That sounds familiar. I swipe my ID card through the security turnstiles in the lobby, Amy following behind me. “Luna said she’d thought he was a kindred spirit. A fellow artist. But how does that explain this email?”
Amy’s green eyes twinkle. “Because there’s something more to this breakup letter. He’s not simply peeved. He’s delightfully peeved. I bet he’s writing a TV pilot. Like, for a caper.” She rubs her palms together. “Maybe he’s testing out concepts.”
I groan. “Great. So I could be a pawn in a wackadoodle’s writing experiment.”
“Writers are weird. Basically, everything around them is fodder. Put yourself on a writer’s bad side, and you’re the next victim in a murder mystery.”
I shudder. “Can he please be writing a children’s show instead in this scenario?”
“You might be a giant purple dinosaur then, so be careful what you wish for.” She taps her chin as we wait for the elevator. They take forever in the mornings. “Read me the email again.”
To: Luna Dumont, Rowan Xavier
From: Harrison Bates
Subject: Let’s Break Up Early!
Dear Luna and Rowan,
They say all good things come to an end.
And they are right.
Slices of pizza from Famous Ray’s don’t go on forever, nor do vacations, Sundays, or TV shows like The Office.
My point is this.
Your lease is up in exactly one month. (By the way, feel free to check the fine print—I did, many times, while you two were arguing over the indignity of Luna watching the new Aladdin before you saw it, Rowan. So what? So she went to the movies without you. You survived! Also, we all know how the story ends. Happily! Freaking happily ever after.
Sheesh. It’s a fairy tale, for crying out loud.)
(And Luna, while we’re splitting hairs, GIF is pronounced with a soft G. Like the brand of peanut butter. Like, you know, how the inventor of the format says it’s pronounced. I sided with Rowan on that argument you two had at three in the morning when I was trying to sleep before I had a very important meeting the next morning about a very important project that turned into a very big rejection because I’d had very little shut-eye. But enough about me.)
You two angry lovebirds are in violation of a certain clause. In the event of ongoing excessive noise (aka earsplitting, sky-rending DRAMA!), this lease can be terminated at any point.
There you go!
It’s over.
Finito.
We’re done.
We are never getting back together.
But don’t worry, I didn’t break your things, like you broke my eardrums with your nightly arguments! (Also, Rowan, on behalf of all the men in the world, I commend you for holding your ground the other night on the dream-cheating. We need men to pave the path on this issue, but not necessarily at top volume.)
Anyway, because I’m thoughtful, I packed your things! And I even invented a neat game, since I know you like playing games! (And please, for the love of board games, Rowan, have a little class—don’t buy a property you don’t need in Monopoly. Everyone in the building heard you two quibbling over this with your megaphonic voices. Every single tenant. And we all know the gentleman’s rule of Monopoly—don’t be a property pig. And Luna, don’t skim so many hundreds from the bank. That’s just all kinds of wrong.)
Without further ado, here’s where you’ll find your stuff:
Let’s start with an easy one. Your guitars are where you first met!
Or maybe it’s not so easy. Because your Star Wars T-shirts are where you argued over where you first met! Hint: there was cheese involved, you little hipsters.
Remember that debate over who was better at leading and who was better at following? You had it the night you took a certain class. You’ll find your iPad there.