Page 7 of Arden and the Girl Downstairs

Bending over hurts like hell—stupid uterus—and straightening up is even worse, but nothing I can’t handle. It’s not like I don’t suffer ninety percent of the time. After all these years, I’m an expert at pushing through and faking it until I make it. No one ever notices my pain. I have no other choice but to be okay, though. I need to work. I need to go to uni. I have no one else I can rely on.

Turning over the envelope, I cringe a little. My name is on the front, but there are no other identifiers on the letter.

It reminds me of all those cheesy movies—you know, the ones with the stalkers who send creepy letters?

What if I have a stalker?

I cautiously open the envelope and pull out the contents.

“Mothertrucking butt hole,” I yell. This is definitely not a letter from a stalker.

This is a breach notice.

That asshole is breaching me because I have an unapproved tenant in my apartment.

What the hell?

I look around the room, utterly confused. None of this makes any sense, and that infuriates me even more.

Shoving my feet in my unicorn slippers, I stalk out of my apartment, not bothering with pants. My “Come at me, Bro” shirt covers everything and I’m not leaving the property, but I do intend on giving that preppy Chuck Bass wannabe a piece of my mind. How dare he.

I walk straight up to his obnoxiously big wooden door and press the doorbell repeatedly. After a couple minutes of no answer, I bang on the door with my fist.

“Crap, shit, ouch.” I step back and shake out my hand. I’ve somehow done more damage to myself than the door, which is unsurprising, but I channel the pain into anger.

“Can I help you?”

I jump, startled by the quiet feminine voice coming from behind me. I turn around and take in Yasmin. She’s wearing princess sleep shorts and a black tank, her hair a mess. It’s obvious she’s just woken up. I’ve met her and Ally a few times since they moved in. They seem like my kind of people, but I have no female friends to actually know what my kind of people are.

“Uhh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I need to speak to that twat waffle you live with.” I make sure my face is completely serious and means business.

Yasmin has a natural beauty to her—even in the obvious early morning, she looks amazing. I wish I woke up looking like that.

Yasmin giggles. “I’d ask who you are talking about, but I’m pretty sure I know. Come in, he’ll still be asleep, considering it’s 7 a.m.” Yasmin opens the door and lets me pass.

Yuck, 7 a.m. That means I’ve had less than three hours’ sleep. I’m going to need a nap.

“Crap, sorry. I didn’t look at the time before I left the house.” I walk past her and stop in the middle of the entry way—a space that’s at least twice as big as my entire three-bedroom apartment.

In awe, I turn in a circle, trying to take it all in. I knew they were renovating, but I had no idea what they were doing. This is like a freaking mansion.

“Wow.” It’s all I manage to say.

“Yeah, it has that effect on people. Come with me. I’ll walk you up to his room, but you’re on your own from there. I have no intention of pissing him off this early in the morning,” Yasmin throws over her shoulder as she heads up the stairs.

I follow behind her, trying to take everything in. We go up three flights of stairs before she points to a door at the end of the hall.

“Good luck,” she says. She heads in the opposite direction, presses a keypad outside a door a little further down, then disappears through it.

Holy shit, these people have fingerprint locks. That’s crazy.

I stand outside Arden’s door and prepare myself for a fight.

He won’t get away with this. I don’t care what’s going on with him.

Pulling back my shoulders, I suck in a breath and then knock loudly on the black timber.

I pause for a long moment, and when it’s clear he still isn’t awake, I knock again, louder.

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