Page 4 of Rival for Rent
I knew Amir was trying to make me feel better, but it wasn’t working. For one thing,I’dgotten picked last for dodgeball myself as a kid. (And for soccer. And baseball. And literally anything that involved hand-eye coordination.) For another, I really didn’t think this was the work of someone who’d been bullied.
Not when the threats were all about getting me to halt construction on the Butterfly Center, a shelter and drop-in center for LGBTQ+ teens that provided counseling, school help, clothes and supplies, and after-school and weekend activities—in addition to beds.
I was the primary sponsor of the Butterfly Center. I’d made a lot of money in tech and wanted to give back. I’d started with a network of centers in twenty cities across the U.S. that helped trans kids get clothing and haircuts that matched their gender identity—Wardrobes for the Win. But I’d realized trans kids, and all queer kids, needed so much more.
I was proud of the Butterfly Center, the first of its kind in Washington, DC, and there was no way I was shutting it down because some asshole thought their homophobia mattered more than kids’ lives.
Amir peered into my fridge. “No offense, Kai, but this is pathetic.” He gestured to the shelves, empty except for some two-week-old takeout boxes and a half-drunk bottle of white wine that was even older.
I shrugged. “I eat at the office a lot.”
In truth, I practically lived there, working long hours from sunrise to nine p.m. most nights. I’d been spending more time at home since adopting Bella, but I still grazed on whatever food lay around at work.
“Still,” he said, pulling the bottle out and shutting the fridge, “what if you have guests?”
“Then I order takeout for them too.”
Amir popped the cork, took a swig, and made a face. “Ew. That’s definitely past its prime.”
Bella padded over and looked up at him hopefully, but he shook his head in mock sorrow. “I’m sorry, lovely lady, but this isn’t for you. It’s not even for me. It’s for the kitchen sink.”
He turned and poured the bottle down the drain, speaking over his shoulder. “My point is, people who leave weird notes and work from the shadows are cowards. As soon as they see you’re protected, they’ll back off. Didn’t the cops think the same thing?”
I groaned. “Who knows what the cops think? I’m not even sure they’re taking this seriously.”
I hadn’t gone to them right away when the harassment started. But after the second time I’d been pushed, I felt like I had to. Detective Myers had listened, asked questions, nodded along. Officer Branscombe had taken notes and promised they’d look into it. But as I stood to leave Myers’s office, he said, “Probablysome crazy guy with a screw loose, trying to mess with you. If they really wanted to hurt you, they would have by now. They’ll get bored eventually.”
Branscombe had walked me to the front of the station. “I wish we had the manpower to spare a protection detail for you,” she said, “but we’re short-staffed. It might not hurt for you to look into private security.”
She was more polite than her boss, but I was pretty sure she thought my stalker was as much of a threat as he did—which was to say,not at all.
“I don’t know,” I told Amir. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am making too big a deal out of this.”
“Excuse me.” He held up a finger. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you should absolutely get a guy to stand behind you menacingly. It’ll probably have a bigger effect than you realize.”
“Yeah, but how do I justify that? What am I supposed to do—call a protection company and say, ‘Uh, there’s probably nothing going on, but I’m a giant baby who’s too scared to go to a musical alone?’ What if they think I’m stupid?”
“Who cares? You’re paying them to watch your back, not fall in love with you. Just do it and give yourself peace of mind for the next month. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
He glanced around my house, and I flushed. I knew my house was nice. I’d paid for it to be, since I wasn’t exactly a home-improvement kind of guy.
The place dated back to 1798 and looked like a traditional Georgian row house on the outside, but someone had gutted it years ago and turned it into a sleek, open floor plan with palewood, big windows, and sliding doors that opened onto a tiny backyard. Sunlight poured in all day. It was lovely—on the days when I was home to notice it.
I wouldn’t have gotten a house at all if Carolyn—my PR rep and friend—hadn’t nudged me, saying I’d look more established and respectable if I put down roots. I’d been surprised how good it felt, buying a home I planned to stay in.
Until my stalker found me. Ten out of ten on walkability. Zero out of ten on ‘keeps crazy people from finding you.’ Though maybe that was too much to ask out of any house that wasn’t also a Fortress of Solitude.
“How would I even find the right company to call?” I asked, petting Bella with my foot as she flopped down on the floor. “The best security companies probably don’t even have websites. How do I know I’m not gonna get scammed?”
“Ah, now that, I can help with.” Amir glanced up from inspecting the lower cabinets. “Use Heartbreakers.”
“You want me to call an escort service for a bodyguard?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Watch who you’re calling an escort, buddy.” He grinned. “We’ve gone high-end now. I’m an individualized success coach for romantic moments. Or whatever buzzwords we’re using.”
He laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. I’d met Amir years ago on a dating app. We’d realized fast that we worked better as friends. I’d watched him go from busboy to bouncer to maître d’ to escort to…whatever he was now.
I had no problem with any of Amir’s jobs—as long as he was happy, I was happy—but I still didn’t see how Heartbreakers Anonymous was going to solve this particular problem.
