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

  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.”

  “Stop speaking in riddles. Just tell me what you mean,” I demanded.

  “I'm only renting the main floor of the house. It has one bedroom and one bath. The attic and basement are vacant.”

  “What?”

  “I didn't need all that space. Your grandmother couldn't find someone to take the whole house so she leased it to me because she liked me.”

  “So...there's no one living in the basement and attic? What's even in the attic?”

  “It's mostly storage space, but I don't keep anything there. The basement is move-in ready if you want to find another tenant.”

  I felt like an idiot. Again. Why did I feel so stupid and naive every time I saw this man?

  “It's the middle of the month, I can't possibly—”

  “—Then move in with me.”

  “Huh?”

  “Move in. Downstairs. Problem solved,” Asher said smugly. “Now if we're done here, I have a deposition to attend.”

  Asher was out the door before I'd even fully processed his words.

  +++

  “HE SAID WHAT?”

  “He asked me to move in with him. Well—what he meant was—”

  “How romantic,” Callista teased, twirling spaghetti around her fork. I'd returned to her place an hour ago, and pasta was on the dinner menu for the fourth night running. It was about all Cally knew how to cook. Not that I was complaining. Food was food. Besides, I probably couldn't do much better.

  “That's not funny, Cally.”

  “So what's the problem?” Brandon interjected. “You have a place to stay now, rent-free.”

  “The problem, Brandon, is—” I paused mid-sentence. Was there really a problem with this offer?

  Callista giggled. “The problem, Brand, is that Asher the Trespasser is hot as hell and Sisi won't be able to keep her kitty paws off of him.”

  Brandon did not look happy at that comment.

  My cheeks flamed. “I would never!”

  Cally kicked me under the table. “You don't have to lie, Sisi, we're all friends here.”

  An image of Asher's naked, rippling chest popped into my head. I quickly dispelled the fantasy. “I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?”

  “Nope,” Callista smirked. “I'm not putting up with your sloppy ass for the rest of your life, you know.”

  “Gee thanks, babe.”

  Callista finished her plate and took it to the sink. “So when are you moving in?”

  I hadn't given it much thought yet, to be honest. “I guess this weekend. If you're willing to help. Again.”

  “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

  “About fucking time,” I thought I heard Brandon whisper.

  At least someone was thrilled by my new predicament.

  CHAPTER 4

  ASHER

  COLD BEER IN HAND. Hi-def live streaming of the game on my 80-inch flatscreen. BBQ ribs cooking in the oven. Bowser snoozing at my feet. Life was good. Mackenzie couldn't score for shit, but Lukos was showing some real promise. During the second half of the game, I got a text from Sierra.

  SIERRA: Can I move in this weekend?

  I smiled. The sooner, the better as far as I was concerned. I couldn't wait to get to work melting that frozen heart of hers.

  ASHER: You can move in tonight if you want. ;)

  Three little dots started jumping around as she wrote her next message.

  SIERRA: In your dreams, pretty boy.

  ASHER: So you admit, I am pretty.

  SIERRA: Pretty cocky!

  ASHER: Can't deny that either. I'll take compliments wherever I can get them.

  SIERRA: Are you sure the basement is move-in ready? There aren't any dead bodies or chained up ex-girlfriends down there, right?

  ASHER: I don't chain my women unless they ask me to. And as far as I can
tell, I haven't smelled anything rotten down there.

  SIERRA: You're getting off on this, aren't you?

  ASHER: Do you want me to get off on this?

  SIERRA: GOOD NIGHT, ASHER.

  ASHER: Sweet dreams, Landlady.

  I put down the phone and wondered what the hell had gotten into me. Was I flirting with her? She was at least ten years younger than me. Practically my little sister Adele's age. And she was my fucking landlady. Talk about off-limits. I raked my fingers through my hair and popped open another beer. I prayed to God that her moving in wasn't a bad idea.

  This could backfire in a million different ways...

  Worst of all, I was the one who had suggested it.

  The next morning, my lips tugged into a smile when I noticed Sierra had sent me a message late last night. Unlocking my phone, I wondered why the sight of her name on my home screen made my heart beat faster.

  SIERRA: Ground rules: no smoking in the house and no loud noises after 10 p.m. I do laundry every Monday and Thursday. You don't have any pets right? I'm allergic to cats. Also, what's my share of the utilities?

  Even though her text was all business, I couldn't help but smile knowing she was thinking about all these things, and about living with me, at three in the morning.

  ASHER: I don't smoke or have parties in the house. If you happen to hear screaming after 10p.m., I apologize in advance for my flawless performance in bed. Giving orgasms is in my nature, and I can't help it if my partner is a screamer. I hate cats, but I do have a Boston Terrier. Is that okay? I'll cover all the utilities, don't worry.

  Even though it was only seven a.m., I received her reply within minutes.

  SIERRA: How does your girlfriend feel about the flirty texts you send me? P.S. I love dogs. And I insist on paying half if I'm going to be living there.

  This woman.

  ASHER: I haven't had a girlfriend in months. My dog's name is Bowser. Your half is sixty bucks a month. You can pay it by taking me out to dinner. Say, tonight?

  A voice in my head screamed, “She's your landlady!” but I kicked it to the curb.

  SIERRA: I'd love to meet Bowser. But just because you have a cute dog doesn't mean I'll have dinner with you. I'll slip a check under the door.

  This woman! Why did she get on my nerves so much? I was just realizing now how headstrong she could be. I mean, sixty bucks was chump change. I got paid six-hundred bucks a fucking hour. But she still insisted on paying for 'her half.' I guess her sentiment was admirable, albeit a bit misguided.

  After a quick breakfast (scrambled eggs on rye and a protein shake), I hopped into my Jaguar and drove to work.

  I loved being an attorney. My specialty was M&A: mergers and acquisitions. I graduated from Harvard Law four years ago, summa cum laude. Passing the courses always came easy to me, probably because I grew up in a household of lawyers. Both my parents were well-respected in their field, famous for being cutthroat when need be, but always staying on the right side of the law.

  No one was surprised when I announced I wanted to be an attorney. And no one was surprised that I'd graduated top of my class and started work three days later as a Junior Associate at my father's firm. Yes, there were the typical whispers of nepotism and playing favorites, but I gave fuck-all about office gossip. I did my job, did it well, and eventually earned everyone's respect. I proved that just because I was my father's son, it didn't mean I didn't have the skills to back it up. Dad and I grew even closer after Mom finally lost her battle with cancer. We've been a formidable team ever since. And when I closed the Flotsam LLC v. Kensington case and got our clients an extra two million dollars, Dad gave me my own office.

  Goodbye, cubicle buddies, hello, big leagues.

  I wanted to make senior partner within the next three years. Maybe get my name on the door within five. Yes, I was ambitious, and everyone knew it. I wasn't ruthless, per se, but I was no fucking pushover either. I didn't land Flotsam v. Kensington by being a spineless ass-kisser, that's for sure.

  “Morning, Rachelle. You look stunning as always,” I said, smoothing out my Armani suit.

  The raven-haired secretary beamed. “Thanks, Asher. Your nine o'clock just showed up. Should I bring her in?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  I had my coffee. A full stomach. It was a gorgeous day, and life was good. In fact, things were going so well I could hardly believe my luck. Within an hour of starting work, I'd signed on a millionaire heiress. After two hours, I'd cleared my stack of paperwork. The rest of my day was a blur. Client after client. Documents to sign, paralegals to yell at. Phone calls to make. But above all the chaos, one thought kept me going: the thought of seeing Sierra again this weekend. I found myself craving the sound of her voice. The sight of those big brown eyes and yes, I'll admit, her nice ass too. I wouldn't hesitate to bend her over my lap and spank it again and again until she screamed for mercy. Pleasure her six ways from Sunday...

  “Asher, your father wants to speak to you,” Rachelle said through the speakerphone.

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  I stood up and frowned when I realized my brief sexual fantasy had given me a stiffy. Shit. I couldn't possibly go see my dad like this.

  I went through a mental slideshow of boner-killing images until disaster was eventually evaded.

  I made my way down the hall until I reached the largest corner office.

  Charles Morgan, Managing Partner, the door read.

  I tapped the glass.

  “Come in, Asher.”

  I slipped into the office and let the door close behind me. “What is it, Dad? Is it the Holdom merger because I'm working—”

  “—No, no. You're doing fine on all your cases. I brought you here to tell you two things. One, you need more pro bono hours, and two, to remind you about the charity benefit at the club.” Dad's salt-and-pepper mustache wiggled as he spoke.

  “Oh.” I scratched my neck. “Is that all?”

  “You're going, aren't you? Everyone else is.”

  “I can definitely do more pro bono hours, but the club—You know I hate the snobs there.”

  My father's tanned, leathery face sank. “Asher—You can't spend all your days and nights hiding here or at home. You need to get out there, meet someone. I heard Lauren Skyes is going. She was in your class, wasn't she? God, son, you need to socialize more.”

  “I'm not hiding, Dad. Just been busy with work,” I said. “When is it?”

  “Sunday at noon.”

  “I have—Someone's moving in this weekend. She might need my help,” I said, hoping it'd be a good excuse.

  “She? Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend moving in?”

  “She's not my girlfriend,” I said.

  “So why is she moving in? Don't tell me you need a roommate in order to afford the rent.” A worried frown creased Dad's face.

  “No dad, it's nothing like that. She's my landlady, and she needs a place to live.”

  “Where did she live before?”

  I shrugged. “I have no clue.”

  “Why is she moving in now?”

  I sighed and quickly explained the whole story.

  “Are you sure living with this girl is such a good idea? She sounds like a distraction. I mean, I'm not opposed to you dating, but I don't want your head stuck up in the clouds. Especially with this merger in the works.”

  “My head will be 100% down here, on Earth. Don't worry, Dad,” I said. Somehow, I felt like I was already lying.

  “Okay then, why don't you bring this girl to the benefit this weekend so I can meet her?”

  I swallowed hard. I knew exactly what Dad meant when he said he wanted to 'meet her'. It was his way of saying he wanted to grill her to see if she was worthy enough to live with me. “Meet her? Dad, we're not seeing each other or anything. It's platonic.” Well, sort of. Not sure how platonic those flirty texts have been but Dad doesn't need to know that.

  “Just bring her as a friend, then. Tell her I want to meet
her and that I personally invited her,” Dad said, emphasizing the word 'personally'. I guess he thought dropping his name would somehow seal the deal. But I doubted Sierra even knew who he was.

  “All right, Dad, I'll ask her.”

  “Good. Now get back to work, son.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SIERRA

  FOR THE SECOND TIME this month, I was hauling my worldly possessions up the front steps. Hopefully, this time, I was staying for good because moving was a huge pain in the ass.

  Asher had the door open for me before I even reached the welcome mat. “Need a hand?”

  I was tempted to accept his offer for help, but I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle it alone. Callista had a work emergency at the restaurant (she was the assistant manager) so she couldn't come help me. As a result, I'd spent the better half of the morning making back and forth trips up and down the elevators, loading up her car. Okay, so it was only five boxes, but I took Facebook breaks in between. Thank God Callista had the decency to loan me her ride, or I would've had to rent a UHAUL.

  “I can manage, thanks,” I croaked. My back and shoulders begged to differ.

  I felt his fingers brush against mine. Then, without a word, he was lifting the box from my arms and bringing it inside the house. I heard his heavy footsteps make their way down to the basement.

  I was relieved. My twiggy arms were practically falling off. Okay, so I did need some help after all. But I'd never been good at asking for it. I turned and went to go grab another box.

  By the time I reached the front door, Asher was already there, waiting again. He took the box from me without asking and disappeared once more into the bowels of the house. I resigned to let him help me and between the two of us, we quickly brought in all my boxes.

  “Still think you didn't need help?” Asher asked when we were all done. He wiped sweat from his forehead and ambled into the kitchen, filling two glasses with cold, filtered tap water.

  He handed a glass to me, and I downed it all in one gulp. “Thanks. You didn't have to help.”

  Asher shot me a wicked grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “I had an ulterior motive.”

  I arched my brows. “Oh? What's that?”

  “I need a favor.”