Page 3 of The Deadbeat DILF
CHAPTER TWO
My apartment was silent as I sat at my dining table, eyes fixed on my laptop screen, reading through every single sentence of Robert’s rental agreement.
“Damn it,” I sighed when I finished, shoulders slumping.
It looked next to impossible for Robert to fight the eviction. The agreement was filled with complicated legal language, all designed to essentially give the landlord free rein with minimal notice. How scummy.
I wished I could say I was surprised, but becoming a lawyer had shown me a whole other corrupt side of the world. People stabbed each other in the back for money. Tricked people. Scammed people.
Sometimes, I wondered if all rich people were inherently evil.
But I was a corporate lawyer who lived in a three-bedroom high-rise apartment all by myself. So, what did that make me?
Greedy, immoral scum,a tiny voice whispered in my mind.
I ignored the voice, picked up my glass of red wine from its marble coaster, and set the rim on my lips. As I sipped, I started researching the terms in the agreement. Maybe there was a loophole or some obscure state law that could protect Robert from being screwed over.
By the time I finished the glass of wine, it was clear: I’d hit a dead end. There was nothing Robert could do. Nothing I could do. His landlord had meticulously covered every base, ensuring Robert had no real power as a tenant.
I rubbed my hands over my face, dislodging a few blonde strands from the clip holding my messy bun. I wanted to help. I was willing to set aside more time to guide him through this mess, but there was nothing I could offer him.
How had he ended up renting a cheap unit in the first place?
Mike’s family home had been a gorgeous house in a pretty suburb. Sure, Robert had always been a little scruffy, with his stubble and grown-out hair, but he clearly did well for himself. His family had owned nice cars, and he’d paid for Mike’s college fees.
I chewed on my bottom lip, furrowing my brow. In the past five or so years, something must have happened to him.
I shut off my laptop and carried my empty wine glass to the kitchen, passing modern stainless-steel appliances and marble countertops. I loved my kitchen, just like I loved my entire apartment. It was all high ceilings and cream-colored curtains, big windows, crown molding, and marble accents. I’d purchased it after my first big promotion at work, and I still remembered the thrill of holding the keys—mykeys—for the first time.
I’d been so happy because I finally had a home. Not a rental. Not a college dorm. Not my family’s house.
No, this place wasmine.
I rinsed the wine glass and set it aside, knowing I’d use it again tomorrow night.
That was my routine: wake up, get dressed, grab coffee and breakfast, go to work, have dinner, do more work with a glass of wine, drink tea before bed, and sleep.
Yes, the routine was a bit boring, but I liked the predictability.
Well, Imostlyliked it.
Lately, I’d been noticing more and more how quiet my apartment was. As much as I loved how spacious it was, I couldn’t ignore the two empty bedrooms.
When I bought the place, I told myself the extra bedrooms were a good investment and that I wanted plenty of space for my future family. I wasn’t old by any means, but I was turning thirty soon, and people had started asking when I’d settle down.
I hadn’t had a serious relationship in years. I went on dates now and then, but none of them led to real connections. Sometimes, it felt like the whole marriage-and-kids thing was slipping further out of reach.
But I couldn’t be ungrateful. Plenty of people would love to live in a big apartment like mine.
I was sure Robert would.
He hadn’t aged much since I’d last seen him in college. Back then, he’d been friendly and hospitable every time I visited. But Mike had complained about him, hadn’t he? The memory surfaced: Mike calling his dad a deadbeat who was never home and shirked responsibility.
I’d found it odd at the time. Robert had owned his own construction company, so I’d assumed he was hardworking and cared about his family.
But what did I know? Maybe Mike was right. Maybe Robert had gotten himself into this mess through his own irresponsibility.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
