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“Is there a problem, Ms. Prior?”
I take the cash from my pocket and set it on his desk. “I know this isn’t enough, but it’s what I can get you today. My checks keep getting pushed off because my boss is waiting to get payment for a job before writing my check. But the good news is,” I smile nervously and pause for effect, “it’ll be enough to get caught up on my back rent, plus all the fees.”
He blinks at me, then turns to his computer. He doesn’t seem angry, but that may be because he’s already filed my eviction. He certainly doesn’t look like he believes my bullshit, or cares.
“Yep,” he says, seemingly validating whatever he’s thinking. “You’re already caught up.”
“What?”
He turns the computer screen toward me and shows my zero balance, along with the payment date, which was yesterday. “Some guy came in and paid the back rent as well as next month’s rent. I assumed you knew.”
My heart drops in my chest, and I stare at the screen. Larry turns the screen back toward him, and I clear my throat.
“No. I didn’t.”
“Well, now you do. Be sure to give the boyfriend a good ‘thank you’.” Larry says it with the full intention of demeaning me, but it isn’t necessary. It’s already done. My hands shake with anger as I pick up the money, but Larry snatches it first.
“He didn’t pay all the fees,” he says, dropping the money in front of him.
I don’t bother fighting it and say nothing as I turn and walk from the tiny room. Zeke is still on the phone, and I glance at him before heading to the elevator, him chatting to Charlie behind me.
We get inside the apartment, and I pat Zeke on the shoulder. “Ask if you can stay the night there instead, and then I need to see my phone.”
“But—”
“No buts, Zeke. Tonight is not a good night for guests, I’m sorry. We’ll do a sleepover next weekend.”
Zeke frowns but talks into the phone with Charlie to change their plans. I go to the kitchen and stare at the vase of flowers with my teeth gritted. Images of smashing the beautiful assortment on the floor play in my mind, and if Zeke wasn’t here, I might have.
He gets off the phone and tentatively hands it to me, sensing my anger.
“Thanks, sweetie,” I say, plastering on a smile I know he doesn’t buy.
He goes into the living room and turns the volume up on the TV. When my hands quit shaking enough for me to type, I send a message to Colter.
We need to talk.