Page 11 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“Yes,” she says stiffly. “Maya Ellis. And this is Archer”—she pulls out her phone and holds it up, displaying a photo of a very cute, very fat baby—“the child you’re trying to forcibly remove from his home.”

I raise one eyebrow. “I assure you I have no plans to forcibly remove anyone from anywhere.”

Maya—Miss Ellis, I correct myself—folds her arms across her chest, huffing. “You do realize that I can’t justfinda new apartment? It doesn’t work like that. It takes time and money, and I moved herespecificallyto be close to my uncle, who lives across the street. I pay rent on time every month. I’m a good tenant.” She takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I hung up on you earlier. I was frustrated, and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. But please,pleasedon’t make me move.”

I try to hide my surprise, but I’m not sure it works. It’s just that I expected more yelling after how angry she was on the phone.

“I’m not going to force you out on the streets, Miss Ellis,” I say, watching her. “Like I said before, I’m not heartless. But I do have to ask that you begin looking for a different place to live. I’m not asking you to be moved out tomorrow,” I go on, holding up one hand so that she’ll let me finish what I’m saying. “I’m not even asking you to be out next month. All I’m asking is that youlook, so that one of the many seniors waiting for a place like yours can have it.”

Is that unreasonable? Am I being unreasonable? I really don’t think so. In fact, I’m encouraging her to leave a community where unauthorized medication is apparently being doled out like candy—she should bethankingme.

But Miss Ellis doesn’t seem to agree. She throws her hands up in the air. “Why did you even let me move in in the first place if you’re just trying to get rid of me now?” she says, exasperated.

“Ididn’tlet you move in,” I say. “That was the man who held this job before me—a man who was, incidentally, fired because of things just like this. If your application had come acrossmydesk, I would have wished you luck elsewhere.”

She just stares at me for a second, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Wow. Just…wow,” she finally says, running one hand through her hair. It appears to get caught in a tangle, and she pulls at it for a second before letting out a little growl of frustration and dropping her hand back to her lap. Then she pins me with her angry gaze again and says, “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”

“I hardly see how,” I say, frowning. “If anything, I’m being generous. I’m not going to lie to you and say Sunset Horizons is the place for you. It isn’t. It’s nothing personal, Miss Ellis. There are just a lot of people who need an apartment like the one you’re currently occupying.”

She sighs, and it’s the most tired sound I think I’ve ever heard. I allow myself to examine her more closely, and that’s when I notice the bags under her eyes, the stain on her shirt, the wrinkles in her long, flowing skirt.

She looks utterly exhausted, and for a brief second I notice a small tug of sympathy somewhere around my navel.

“I really am sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “And if this were a regular apartment complex, I would let you stay. But it’s not.”

Maya rolls her eyes and stands up. “Don’t apologize for something you’re not sorry about.”

I frown. “But I am.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just don’t.” Her fists are clenched by her sides, and once again I’m visited with the mental image of that fiery vengeance goddess—a fairly accurate picture, actually. There’s certainly lightning in her eyes.

Keep it professional,I remind myself, forcing my brain back to the crossword puzzle I worked on last night. It’s my go-to tactic for when I need something to focus on or something to distract myself.

“It wouldn’t kill you to show a little mercy, you know?” she says. “But fine. I’ll try to find a different place to live. Have a really fantastic day.”

I still have a couple questions to ask her, but she doesn’t seem to care. She spins on her heel and marches away…

Grabbing the handle of the storage closet, yanking the door open, and charging inside.

Three

Maya

That man.That pretentious, self-righteous,jerkof a man.

My eyes are closed, squeezed tightly against the tears that are threatening to spill over, and I allow myself half a second more to fight them off; I don’t want the secretary to see me crying.

Except…when I open my eyes, I don’t see a secretary. I don’t see the bland beige-and-white office.

I don’t actually see anything, because it’s pitch black.

This…is not the front office.

This is a closet.

I just stormed out of Dexter Anthony’s office…and into his closet.

Crap.

---