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“There’s an issue with a property management company we employ. One former tenant is threatening a major lawsuit, saying that the property management company is retaliating on excessive maintenance requests by forcing tenants out of their units, whereas property management is saying tenants are refusing to pay rent and breaking their contracts, so they’re unable to help. I’m not a fan of ‘he said, she said’ situations. I want to get to the bottom of it quickly. There’s a secure voicemail that tenants can use to anonymously report concerns, issues, and complaints without fear of backlash.”
“Ah, almost like a tip line.”
“Exactly. The only problem is, no one has checked those voicemails in years. I need you to sift through and take notes for me. I have to make a decision on whether we’ll be firing the company or we’re going to fight the tenant in court.”
“Easy-peasy,” I chirp.
“I’m estimating there are close to one thousand voice messages in there between four mailboxes. I need you to listento every single one and I want the information on my desk by Friday.”
My jaw drops. “A thousand by Friday?”
He lifts his brows as a triumphant smile claims his face. “Is that a problem?”
“Nope.” I pop thepsounding cocky as shit, while mentally I’m cracking under the pressure. “I’ll get it done.”
“Great. Oh, and feel free to come into my office whenever you need to for measurements.”
“Come again?”
“Did you get the email about my office redesign?”
“Um, yes.” I glance through my periphery at my open inbox. The fucking notifications are still coming in. I thought we were done, but there’s a fresh batch of unread emails. Subtly extending my arm, I close my laptop so Nathan can’t catch me in my lie.
“The email didn’t really state what you were looking for.” It’s just a guess.
“I was hoping you could fill in the details,” Nathan explains.Holy crap—lucky guess.
“You want me to arrange a remodel of your office without knowing what you want?”
He flashes me a devilish smile. “That’s half the fun, right? Guessing what I’ll like.” He chuckles cruelly. “I trust your taste. Just make it look more lively. Right now my office looks?—”
“A littleAmerican Psycho?” I very helpfully finish his sentence.
“Bland,” he corrects. “Just freshen it up.” He pulls out his wallet and retrieves a black card. “My only request is that you don’t touch the piano. Otherwise, whatever you need, put it on here. New furniture, painters, storage items. I don’t have a budget for this, just get it done. This is your company card.”
I pluck the credit card from his hand and admire it. I flip it over to see my name etched into the back. “You went through the trouble of having a company card made for me? Wow. Thank you. It feels so official.”
He nods slowly. “Don’t worry, I can cancel it at any time.”
This is his MO. He’s determined to ruin every moment between us that dares to be pleasant or promising.
“Noted.” I swivel back around. In my haste, I accidentally kick Spike’s carrier and he lets out a startled,mweep.
“What the hell was that?” Nathan’s face fills with worry. “Sounded like a mouse.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” I fib.
He shudders. “Call maintenance just in case and have them get in touch with pest control. Tell them to come immediately. If there’s a mouse in the building, I want it gone yesterday.”
Mweep, mweep.Nate freezes when he hears Spike’s pleas once more. He probably wants out of his carrier. I roll my eyes as I loop my fingers through the soft cage handle and place Spike, home and all, on my desk. “Before you call in the SWAT team, it’s not a mouse.I’m sorry.I meant to drop him off at home this morning but I hit traffic and didn’t want to be late for work. I can’t leave him in a hot car until lunch.”
I’m busy explaining myself, so it takes me a moment to register the color has drained from Nathan’s face. “You brought a giant rat to the office?”
“It’s a guinea pig…a common household pet.” I scoop Spike out of his carrier. One hand wrapped around his belly, the other securing his rear, I present him to Nathan. “He’s harmless.”
To my shock, Nathan takes a large step backward. His jaw is clenched, his breathing strained, as his wide eyes stay locked on Spike as if the little guy were a deadly cobra. He points to the carrier. “Put it away.”
“What’s wrong with you?”