One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,9

“Oh my God, wasn’t that the hottest makeup sex ever, babe?” and “The only thing that would have made it hotter would have been syrup.” Hint: you were making up following an epic nine rounds over whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie!

Your clothes are evenly split among the places where you each dragged the other to prove who had a better plan for how to spend hypothetical lottery winnings.

If you find everything within forty-eight hours, I’ll give you back your security deposit! You’ll need it, I suspect, based on all the times you argued over who was paying for the quinoa kale tofu burgers you’d just bought.

Have fun! Oh, and while I didn’t break or damage anything, I can’t guarantee anybody else won’t find it first! Ticktock.

My best,

Harrison

P.S. Die Hard is definitely a Christmas movie.

I finish the note as the elevator reaches our floor and the doors slide open. Amy tucks a few strands of hair behind her ears, then declares, “Definitely a writer. He’s absolutely a quirky TV writer.”

“He’s a sadist. A sick, twisted sadist,” I say as we pass the receptionist desk, waving hello to Zoe.

Amy lifts a brow at me. “Is there any other kind of sadist?”

“Like a gleeful sadist? A happy-go-lucky sadist?” I offer.

Her green eyes sparkle. “The Happy-Go-Lucky Sadist. Perfect title for a new TV pilot.”

“I’m sure Webflix will pick it up.” I pause and dramatically sweep my arm to an invisible spectacle, turning on my movie trailer voice. “Binge-watch The Happy-Go-Lucky Sadist, a new dark comedy about a landlord with a vengeance. Insert dramatic pause. A vengeance for hijinks.”

Amy laughs, swiping strands of brunette hair from her cheek as we continue our pace. “I’m so there for it. I’ll make the popcorn.”

“I’ll bring the wine.” I turn down the hall toward my office. “Except. Wait. I’m wrong. My sister and her boyfriend are the true sadists. For making me do this with Lucas, the ex who never apologized.”

“That is definitely grounds for admission to the sadists club.” Amy pats my shoulder. “I can still hate Lucas for you if you want me to. Should I keep him in the permanent hate database?”

I wave a hand airily. “He’s not worth it. He wasn’t worth it all those years ago when he ditched me for our first date, after a year of friendship, and he’s not worth it now.”

Even though I’d have thought a year of friendship would’ve meant something to him. I bite back those words. I honestly don’t even care about what happened between us back then or his silly excuses. I’ve let it go. But Lucas still finds it necessary to needle me every time we run into each other. My jaw tightens as I picture the evening ahead. It used to be so easy to spend time with him. Hanging out with him—in museums, in dorm lounges, in New York City cafés—had been the recipe for a good day, and all our days were good. Now? Nothing’s the same.

“Maybe I should reach out to the sadist and try to talk some sense into him?”

Amy shoots me a doubtful look. “Sure, give it your best shot. But my money says someone who goes to this much trouble to write that note and plant all those belongings isn’t going to be deterred by sweet talk.”

I consider this, and the truth is she’s probably right. “Then I’m going to focus on working efficiently and cordially with Lucas to power my way through this list and be done with it.”

“That’s the spirit.” She winks. “Be cordial with the sexy ex. I’ve seen his picture. He’s definitely dangerously good-looking.”

I stare at her like she’s in big trouble. “Thanks for reminding me he’s too hot for words. Maybe you’re the sadist.”

She wiggles her brows before she heads to her office to, presumably, work on refining a pitch for The Happy-Go-Lucky Sadist concept.

When I reach my three-days-a-week desk, I dive in.

I google Harrison Bates.

But all I find is bare bones info. He owns a building in Brooklyn. He has a brother. If I pay fifty-four dollars, some company will unlock his phone number for me.

There isn’t much more on him, and kudos to the guy for living a life off social media.

Still, it’s time to tackle this shit show.

4

Lola

I give it my best college try, tapping out an email to the landlord and hitting send.

To: Harrison Bates

From: Lola Dumont

Subject: FW: Let’s Break Up Early!

Hi there, Harrison!

How are you? I hope this email finds you well. I’m