Landlady: A New Adult Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 1) (7 page)

“You must have a good eye for art then,” I said.

“I guess,” she said. “My parents think it's dumb, though.”

“Who cares? As long as you follow your passion, success and money
will come.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. You should show me some of your designs sometime.”

So she was beautiful and ambitious.

“Maybe,” Sierra murmured. After a while, she asked, “What if
your dad hates me?” I glimpsed at her and noticed she was gripping
the edge of the seat.

I eased off the gas and slid to a stop at a red light. “Why do you
care what my dad thinks?”

“I don't,” Sierra said. But I could tell she was lying. I
squeezed her hand and said, “I'm sure he'll love you. You'll charm
him the way you charm me.”

She unclenched her jaw and nodded.

We pulled up at the club fifteen minutes early. Sierra had relaxed
somewhat, and she was busy reapplying her lip gloss and combing her
hair. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was preening so she
could make a good impression in front of my dad.

I parked the car and opened the door for her. Once she stepped out, I
gave her a kiss on the forehead before snaking my hand around her
waist. I tried to maneuver it lower, but she swatted it away.

“Behave,” she warned.

Fuck, her lips were so goddamn plump and kissable. I wanted to push
her up against the wall and kiss the living daylights out of her.
Now.

“Morgan. Asher Morgan plus one,” I said at check-in. I handed a
uniformed woman my jacket, and she hung it up.

“This way please, Mr. Morgan,” the uniformed woman said.

We followed her into a dining hall that'd been cleared at the center
to form a makeshift dance floor. Gleaming plates and polished
silverware lined pressed tablecloths. Heavy curtains had been pulled
back to let in natural light. The space was just as pompous-looking
as I remembered.

“What is this benefit even for?” Sierra hissed. I could see faint
red dots already prickling on her arms. She tried to hide them behind
her back. I had no idea she'd be so nervous over something so
trivial. I guess it wasn't that trivial for her.

“It's for leukemia research,” I said. “Don't be nervous. You're
too gorgeous to worry about what these stuck-ups think about you.”

“They're staring at me,” she whispered, eyes darting around the
room.

We were unusually early, and there was hardly anyone here yet. “Only
because you're such a knock-out. How about a drink?”

I hailed down one of the circulating servers and relieved him of two
champagne flutes.

Sierra took a sip and moaned. “This champagne tastes expensive,”
she said.

“All the more reason to get drunk in the middle of the day,” I
teased.

We mingled for a while, and I introduced Sierra to some of my
colleagues and my dad's golfing buddies. As predicted, no one really
asked too much about her background, only exchanged pleasantries and
moved on.

Sierra was loosening up after her third glass of bubbly when my
father showed up.

“Look sharp,” I said, pinching Sierra's arm. “Here comes my old
man.”

Her cheeks were ruddy and her reaction time, delayed. “Old who?”

“My dad,” I said.

I hailed down my father and beamed. “About time you showed up.”

“I invited you two, didn't I?” Dad said. Turning to Sierra, he
said, “You must be Asher's new...friend—er—landlady.”

“I am. I'm Sierra.” Sierra held out her hand, and Dad shook it.

“Come, Sierra. Asher. Let's grab a table and get to know one
another.”

Dad brought us to a round table and sat down. We followed suit.

“So, Sierra, what do you do for a living?” Dad asked.

Of course, he'd start with that. I knew my father. His first instinct
would be to test her—see if she was a gold digger. She wasn't. But
even if she was, it wouldn't matter anyway because we weren't dating.

“I'm a student,” Sierra replied, taking another sip. “And I
work as a p-part-time seamstress down at Delfino's on Burton.” Her
speech was a bit slurred.

I wanted to somehow convey to my date that perhaps she should slow
down with the alcohol. Especially since it'd been a few hours since
she ate breakfast. And she was already on her fourth glass.

“What are you studying?” Dad probed.

“Fashion Design,” Sierra answered. “I want to be a couture
designer after I graduate.”

“A girl with ambition. Good,” Dad said.

That's what I thought too, Dad.

I jumped in. “Dad, quit interrogating the poor girl. You're making
her nervous. She's just a friend.”

“That doesn't look so friendly,” Dad said, nodding at my hand,
which was looped protectively around Sierra's shoulder.

Embarrassed, I let go, and Sierra put some distance between us. She
spoke up. “Don't worry, I have no intention of stealing his heart
or his focus from his work.”

It was as if she'd read Dad's mind.

Dad nodded. “What
is
your intention then?”

Sierra suppressed a little burp. God, she was tipsy. “A true lady
doesn't kiss and tell.”

Dad seemed a bit taken aback by this. But amused as well. “What
exactly is going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” I quipped. “I told you, we're friends.”

“Bullshit.”

Sierra's hands found mine. Her cold fingers sent goosebumps through
me. “What...Do you think I'm not good enough to date your son or
something?”

“Sierra,” I warned.

“No, let her continue,” Dad said, sitting up straighter.

“So what if we're dating?” Sierra continued. “Maybe we're even
in love! It's a free country isn't it?”

“That would be fine...” Dad said, “if Asher hadn't just been
engaged three months ago.”

“What?!” Sierra snapped, eyes bulging. She looked like Dad had
just dumped ice water on her head.

“Didn't he tell you?” Dad continued.

“Dad, that's enough.” I raked a hand through my hair. I didn't
think Dad would drop a bomb on me like this. I wanted to tell her
later, on my own time. Shit. This was all blowing up in my fucking
face.

“So it's true then? What the hell, Asher!” Sierra pushed me
aside.

She started to get up. Then back up. She tottered in her heels and
sent a tray of drinks flying. Glasses toppled and shattered all
around her.

It was a bloody disaster.

I hurried to help her up. Her left palm was already bleeding, but she
refused my help. “Don't touch me,” she snarled.

“Sierra, I can explain—”

“Don't,” Sierra continued, pushing herself up. “God, I'm such
an idiot. I'll see myself out.” With that, she made a run for the
exit. Or rather, a wobbly getaway. I wanted to chase after her, but
my father held me back. “She had to know.”

“I was going to tell her. But thanks for making me look like an
asshole.”

The hurt in her eyes nearly broke me. Why didn't she give me a chance
to explain?

By the time I’d shaken free of my dad, Sierra was gone.

CHAPTER 7

SIERRA

HOW COULD I HAVE been so stupid? Engaged? He told me he didn't even
have a girlfriend...and now his dad tells me he’d been engaged? As
in, about to get married?

Once again, I'd played with fire. And got burnt. I knew Asher Morgan
would be no good from the minute I’d laid eyes on him. Everything
about him screamed off-limits. I was just too weak to keep myself out
of harm's way. Now my left hand was bleeding freely, and I was out in
the middle of nowhere.

Was that a golf course?

I tottered out to the curb and wondered if the bus ran here. After a
quick Google search, I realized it didn't. I finally decided to catch
a cab (which I really didn't want to do) to the nearest train station
and commute home from there.

Damn Asher and his lies! I should've never agreed to go to this
stupid benefit with him. What was I thinking? That I could just waltz
in, fit in, and dazzle Asher's father with my wit and charm?

My phone buzzed for five minutes straight before I turned it off. I
didn't want to read his texts or answer his calls. Nothing he could
possibly say would make me feel better.

I felt unexplainable rage. And jealousy.

Who was this woman who had captured his heart? And why did it end?
Who broke it off? Was Asher just using me as a rebound? Of course.
I'd just been so caught up in his Bambi eyes to notice. Men never
wanted to be with me for the sake of being with me. There was always
some ulterior motive in the mix. I was just too naive to see through
his ploy.

I got home at around 5p.m. thanks to road construction and missing
the bus. Twice.

With a sinking feeling, I realized that Asher was probably already
there, waiting for me.

I snuck around to the back door and unlocked it as silently as
possible.

But somehow, he still heard me.

His persistent knock on the glass door at the top of the stairs
rattled me.

“I know you're in there, Sierra. Please, can we talk about what
happened?”

I tried to ignore him. I did.

But he was one persistent dog.

“There's nothing to talk about!” I shot back. “I don't care!”

“Like hell you don't,” Asher said. “If you didn't care, why did
you run away?”

“I wasn't feeling well,” I lied. It was a lame excuse, and he
knew it.

“Please, let me come downstairs. I want to see you.”

Even though I was hurt, I was still impressed that he respected me
enough to not barge downstairs.

“I don't want to talk right now. Everything's fine, Asher. Just
give me some space.”

Asher grumbled a gravelly “okay” before walking away.

Of course, everything was
not
okay. It was stupid and
illogical, but I had some dumb fantasy this hotshot lawyer would fall
for a nobody like me. That he meant what he said and really did want
to prove himself to me. That he wanted to get to know me, not just
sleep with me.

Was everything he’d done just a ruse to get into my pants?
Probably.

The basement was foreboding and still uncomfortably empty. I had no
idea a weekend without my furniture would make me feel so alone. So
desperately angry and pathetic.

Ruminating alone wouldn't do much good, so I decided to go grocery
shopping. Anything to distract me from the temptation that was Asher
Morgan.

On the way to Walmart, I received a call from Callista. God, I hadn't
even told her about the kiss yet. Or going to the benefit. Or the
engagement.

“Hey, Cally.”

“How was moving? Did that jerk-off help you out at least?”

“He did, actually.”

“At least he has a teeny bit of a conscience. What are you up to
now?”

“Just on my way out to get some groceries.”

“Sorry I couldn't make it yesterday. Make it up to you tonight?
Drinks at Mahoney's?”

I hesitated. “Yeah, drinks sound good. Eight o' clock?”

“See you then.”

I decided I'd spill my beans when I got to the bar later. For now, I
needed to focus on my grocery list.

Ever since I’d started college, I hadn't been eating well. Mostly
frozen dinners and snacks. I wasn't proud of it, but when you were a
broke twenty-something with over thirty-grand of debt, you didn't
have many options. The price of fresh fruits, veggies, and meats were
highway robbery these days and plus, I didn't know how to cook for
shit.

So I popped into Walmart (which was only a ten-minute walk away),
loaded up on microwave dinners (three for ten bucks, woo!), pasta
(college pantry essential), sauce, a few bags of chips, gummy worms,
and chocolate bars. Lots and lots of chocolate bars. I needed to
drown my sorrows with junk food ASAP.

The trip to Walmart sobered me up a little and distracted me from my
terrible morning. Plus, I looked forward to seeing Callista later so
I could pour my heart out without judgment.

When I got home, I put away the groceries and listened for any
footsteps upstairs. Thankfully it was all quiet. It was almost seven,
so I decided to start prepping for my night out.

My stomach grumbled loudly, and I realized for the second time this
weekend, I needed to eat more. Somehow I kept shoving eating lower
and lower down on my list of priorities, and it was really showing on
my body. Just this month I'd lost five pounds from stress. I wasn't
bare bones, but I was teetering dangerously close to being
underweight. Whenever I got stressed, I didn't eat. It was an awful
habit I'd picked up in my teenage years. Eating was a difficult
chore; one that I sometimes put off until I was so hungry I almost
fainted.

I dug into the pantry and tore open a bag of Cheetos. In minutes I'd
scarfed down half the bag, and my fingers were painted with sticky
orange dust. That would tide me over until I got to the bar.

I decided to wear a curve-hugging red dress with my black stilettos.
It was one of the nicest dresses I owned, and I'd bought it for
Callista's sister's wedding. I worked my hair into a loose chignon
and brushed on some eye shadow, mascara, blush, and lip gloss. A
simple, sultry night-time look that didn't scream slutty or 'trying
too hard'.

“Wow-wow-wee-wow,” Callista said, checking me out as I approached
her later. She was waiting outside the bar by the parking lot.
“Someone's looking hot tonight.”

I blushed. “Not too shabby yourself. Is Brandon coming?”

“No, it's just us girls tonight.”

“That's good because I have some stuff to rant about,” I said.

Mahoney's was our go-to bar. The staff was always efficient but
friendly. I'd actually dated the bartender slash owner a couple
months ago, but we’d mutually decided to just stay friends. His
name was Cameron, and he was a gorgeous Irish god with the sexiest
brogue. Too bad we didn't have that much chemistry or much to talk
about for that matter. In fact, we broke it off when he decided to
see someone else. At the same time as me. I'd been livid for a while,
but I was over it now.