Page 4 of The Deadbeat DILF
I had to stop speculating and start preparing for bed. I was exhausted, and tomorrow would be a long day. I had a meeting with one of Ashcroft’s biggest clients, a pharmaceutical company merging with one of their competitors.
I brewed myself a cup of green tea, added honey, and walked into my bedroom. After changing into my pajama dress, I slipped under pale pink sheets that matched the aesthetic I’d chosen for my room.
If I wanted to, I could change the color scheme of my bedroom to neon green tomorrow. The best thing money gave me was the freedom to make my own choices.
Yet somehow, I was always accused of making the wrong ones.
Was it the same for Robert? Had he ended up where he was after a series of bad decisions?
I pushed the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on it. Instead, I picked up my novel—a historical romance set in the late nineteenth century—and sipped my tea.
A few days later, nervousness crept under my skin as I waited for Robert to show up at my office. I’d scheduled this meeting to give him the bad news, but I hadn’t expected to feel so much dread.
I didn’t want to disappoint him. But facts were facts, and there was nothing I could do.
A gentle knock sounded at the door before Robert stepped into my office. He looked a little more put together today—his hair combed and his jeans less worn. Still, he was a far cry from the usual suit-and-tie clients who walked in and out of this space.
“Good morning,” I said, shaking his hand before sitting down behind my desk.
Robert offered a polite smile. “Morning Brooke. Thanks for meeting with me again.”
I nodded, threading my fingers together and resting my hands on the desk. “I looked over everything and did some research on your situation. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do.”
Robert’s smile faltered, but he nodded, accepting the blow. “I figured as much. All the legal jargon made it pretty clear I didn’tstand much of a chance. I just wanted to try. The place isn’t much, but it became home for a while.”
The disappointment in his voice seeped into me like acid. I hated feeling powerless. “The agreement was… unconventional,” I said. “It gave the landlord way too much control. Did you have anyone look over it before you signed?”
“I didn’t.” He sighed. “I figured it’d be fine. Clearly, that was a mistake.”
“Your landlord’s a scumbag,” I said bluntly. “If you decide to rent somewhere else, I’d be happy to check over the contract for you.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s very generous of you. Thank you. And thank you for trying.” He hesitated before continuing, “I’d like to pay you for your time. I know it’s valuable.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a battered leather wallet.
I shook my head quickly, holding up my hands. “No payment necessary. Consider it a favor.”
Given what he paid in rent for that tiny unit, my hourly rate was likely far beyond his budget. The last thing I wanted was to take his money, especially when I couldn’t even offer a solution.
He frowned. “You took time out of your busy schedule to help me. I have to pay you for that.”
I locked eyes with him. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was winning arguments.
“I can’t accept cash,” I said firmly. “Clients have to pay through the company. If you try to pay the firm, they’ll find out I took this on off the books. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
Truthfully, the partners probably wouldn’t care if I spent an hour helping a friend. Still, I knew my words would deter him from trying to pay me.
“Alright, no payment,” Robert conceded, slipping his wallet back into his pocket, but he didn’t look happy about it. “I still want to reimburse you for your time.”
I tilted my head, puzzled by his insistence. Why was he so determined to make things even? Most people would gladly take free help without a second thought.
“Let me at least take you out to dinner,” he offered.
I froze. Dinner? My mind immediately conjured an image of us sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, sipping wine while a candle flickered between us.
“No, it’s fine,” I blurted, feeling my cheeks warm.
Where had that idea come from? I was jumping to conclusions. He probably meant something casual—a local chain restaurant, maybe some beer, and small talk.
Clearing my throat, I forced a polite smile. “That’s not necessary, Robert. Really.”
