Page 6 of I'm Your Guy
God, if only there was someone to tell me how to handle this. A lawyer could help me, but I can’t afford one. Not only am I broke, but I’m demoralized.
I thought Macklin and I were in love. We weren’t.
I thought I was a savvy businessperson. I wasn’t.
I thought I was on the rise—that after all my hard work, I’d finally launched my little business. Nope and nope.
And now the guy at Upholstery Emporium is threatening to tell every design shop in Denver that I’m bad news.
Nobody is coming to save me. And the worst part? I got played by a man who doesn’t pick up his own socks, and by an old woman who thinks that purple paisley is fashionable.
When the landlord finally retreats, I shove my phone into my messenger bag and climb out of the car. I walk quickly up the block and make it to my door without seeing his narrow, little ferret face.
But when I spot the notice taped to my door, I quail inside. I yank it down and read it.
To my horror, it isn’t the same Ten-Day Demand as I got last time. This one is different. It says Notice to Quit.
Mr. Flynn:
This serves as your official Notice to Quit the premises. As a repeat violator, the property owner is within his rights to begin a nonnegotiable eviction process. Payment of back rent is due by November 30th, but will not halt the eviction.
You are ordered to quit the unit by month end, or the sheriff will remove you and your property from the premises.
Oh. Shit.
I read the letter three times, but it gets worse on every pass. So I close my eyes and lean my head against the wooden door to my apartment.
My former apartment.
Housing is hard to find. And nearly impossible to find if you can’t scrape together a security deposit, plus first month’s and last month’s rent.
This is it. My breaking point. I’m going to end up combing Craigslist for whatever roommate-wanted situation sounds the least creepy.
If I can even afford that.
And November thirtieth? That’s two weeks away.
Just as I’m processing this thought, the old bastard sneaks up behind me. “Carter Flynn. You read the notice? Take note of the date.”
I whirl around, furious. “November thirtieth? Who could move that fast? I need until New Year’s at least.”
His wrinkled mouth twists. “No can do. I do not run a charity, Mr. Flynn. I have two buildings, sixteen units. If even two of them are stiffing me, I come up short of cash.”
“I’m not stiffing you,” I growl. “I’m being stiffed by a client. And it means that—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Are you even hearing me? I know exactly what that means. You can’t meet your obligations, plain and simple. Whatever bad decisions you made are not my fault. Get your fancy-ass furniture out of my apartment, or law enforcement will do it for you on the morning of November thirtieth. I’ll call ahead to make sure they’re right on time.”
I can only gulp, because I feel so stricken.
He’s absolutely right. As Taylor Swift would say, I’m the problem. It’s me.
“Got it?” he snarls. “This isn’t a warning. This isn’t something you can talk your way around. Someone else will live here on December first—someone who can pay the damn rent.”
Sheepish now, I nod. Then I go inside and close the door while I still can.
THREE
Tommaso
