Page 90 of Landlord Wars
He replied immediately with a one-liner.
Max: Ignore.
“I’m sorry,”I said and walked toward the steps to the apartment. “I can’t help you.”
“Look, lady,” the man said. “I’ve got a deadline, and I need something on this guy. I hear he’s as ruthless as his society parents. The world needs to know what he’s up to.”
I stopped and spun around. The news cycle had barraged Max and his parents over the last two weeks, turning them into villains. Though I didn’t always understand his parents’ motivations, they didn’t seem like bad people, and Max was innocent. “Max Burrows is working on a real estate development this city desperately needs. But your people’s quest for the next shocking article flatlined it, and now San Franciscans are going to lose out on affordable housing. How do you live with yourself?”
His eyes narrowed. “What project did you say it was?”
I crossed my arms. Cityscape was dead, according to Max. No amount of communication had taken it out of planning department purgatory. What could it hurt to mention it? “Cityscape. Affordable housing for over a hundred residents. But you probably don’t care about that because it’s not a juicy scoop.”
I turned and hefted my bag higher on my shoulder, making the slow trek up the stairs to my apartment.
“Don’t be so sure about that,” the man called.
When I glanced back, he waved in a salute and hurried over to a beat-up silver sedan across the street.
I shook my head and finished my hike to the flat.
When I walked in, I hefted my bag onto the counter and toed off my shoes. “Hey, that reporter…” I started before the words died on my breath.
I’d expected Max and Jack to be watching sports or knocking over furniture with their virtual reality headsets on, but that wasn’t what I found. “What are you two doing?”
Jack was in the corner of the living room with his back against the wall, a ping-pong ball in his hand, and one eye closed as he squinted and lobbed it at one of my tea mugs. He missed.
“Dammit,” Jack grumbled.
Okay, so I’d left out one or two mugs. Or eight. Shit, this was a lot even for me. But I’d been busy!
Max was standing partway in the hallway, one leg lunging toward the living room.
“No cross bounds!” Jack yelled, and Max inched his foot back.
Max went for the underhand lob at a bright yellow mug I’d left next to the TV.
I rarely watched TV, so I wasn’t sure how that one had ended up there. I scratched my head. Probably why I’d lost the mug to begin with.
The ball rimmed the ceramic edge, but it stayed inside. Max pumped his fist in the air.
“That’s cheating,” Jack said. “I saw your foot.”
“Ten feet away,” Max argued. “I was within regulations.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Excuse me.”
Max walked over and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Did you bring home any chocolate? We ran out.”
I glared. “You mean you went into my stash and cleared me out.”
He blinked innocently. “I can’t help it if you don’t maintain a steady supply.”
I ground my molars. “It’s impossible to keep a steady supply with you around. When did you say you were returning to work? It’s been two weeks.”
He sank onto the couch and kicked socked feet up onto the coffee table. “Cityscape is dead, and I’m deciding on my next project. I’ve got time.”
The chocolate situation was dire. I hated to admit it, but I’d need to buy cheaper chocolate if I wanted to pay my rent and keep my boyfriend around. “What did you want to say about our mothers?”
