Chapter 1

My landlord, Eric Grant, was drop-dead gorgeous, but also notoriously cheap.

When he notified me of another rent increase for the sixth time, I completely lost it.

"Raise it again, and I'll come live with you!" I shouted.

The next day, I came home from work to find my apartment empty. I actually checked to make sure I had the right door.

Then I spotted Eric leaning against his door, flashing me an innocent smile. "I moved everything in already. Take a look around and let me know if you're missing anything.

"Oh, and one more thing. If you're sleeping at my place, you'll have to be my girlfriend."

*****

I dragged myself up the stairs, my legs heavy as concrete, and fumbled with the fingerprint lock three times before it finally clicked open.

I kicked off my heels at the door, ready to melt into my bed like a puddle of exhaustion.

But when I looked up, my mind went totally blank.

My apartment was empty.

The space I'd called home for three years, once overflowing with my things, now looked like it had been picked clean by vultures.

The couch, the coffee table, the TV stand, and even my beloved beanbag were all gone.

A ridiculous wave of panic hit me. Had I stumbled into the wrong unit?

I backed out immediately and checked the number.

No mistake, it was 602.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open again. There was still nothing but hollow silence and space.

Wind drifted through the open window, stirring a few stray leaves across the floor. The whole place felt abandoned.

My head buzzed. My first instinct was to call the police.

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, but before I could even dial 911, I heard a click from the door across the hall.

There he was, Eric Grant, my absurdly handsome but pathologically cheap landlord, leaning against his doorframe like he owned the universe, watching me with that infuriatingly calm expression.

He wore a simple white t-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest just right, his hair still damp from a recent shower.

Water droplets slid down his sharp jawline, traced the bridge of his nose, and disappeared at his unfairly attractive Adam's apple.

With looks like that, he should have come with a warning label.

But the second he opened his mouth, every bit of that brooding charm evaporated under the heat of his obsession with money.

"You're back?" he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles went white. My voice came out shakier than I wanted. "Eric, where is all my stuff?"

He gave me the most innocent smile, like he actually expected gratitude. "I moved it in for you."

He stepped aside, gesturing toward his apartment like a game show host revealing a grand prize.

My bean bag, my throw pillows, and my cozy blanket were all spread out on his living room carpet, like they belonged there.

Further in, I spotted my pink desk and computer chair crammed into his sleek black-and-white office space, clashing so violently it hurt to look at.

My brain short-circuited.

"You..." I couldn't even form words. My head felt like it might explode.

But he acted like he couldn't see the flames shooting from my eyes. He kept going, completely unfazed.

"You said yesterday that if I raised the rent again, you'd come stay with me. I'm making it happen for you."

I did say that yesterday.

It happened right after he texted me, all cold and businesslike, to inform me my rent was going up another hundred bucks this month.

This was the sixth time he'd raised my rent.

I'd spent the afternoon getting chewed out by a client, my patience shredded to nothing, and I'd fired back without thinking.

I figured it was obviously venting. Any normal person would have recognized it as a throwaway comment.

But Eric wasn't normal. He didn't take me literally. He ran with it, full speed, then wrapped it up like a favor.

"Who said you could move my stuff without asking?" My voice cracked, sanity hanging by a thread. "That's breaking. It's illegal!"

Eric raised an eyebrow, pulled out his phone, and opened the calculator app.

That familiar gesture immediately set off alarm bells in my head.

He tapped while he said, "I hired two movers for three hours. Thirty bucks an hour each. That's two hundred.

"Your room was a disaster zone, so I had to supervise and pitch in. My time's worth seventy bucks an hour, even with the friends-and-family discount. That's another two hundred.

"Plus, your stuff is taking over my living space and wrecking my peace of mind. For emotional disturbance..."

Eric poked at his phone screen, mumbling numbers under his breath.

I watched the numbers ticking up, my temples pounding.

"Stop!" I shouted, genuinely afraid I'd drop dead if I heard another digit. "So? What do you want?"

Eric finally stopped his calculating finger-tapping and looked up at me, his eyes clear but shameless. "You have to follow through on what you said yesterday.

"If you stay at my place, I won't charge you for the fees."

He called it "paying with yourself."