“You’re so lucky you swiped right on me, my friend. I mean, that was a given already, but especially considering all of this untapped potential.”

I take out my phone, hit Harley’s number, and don’t wait for her to actually greet me before talking. “Hi, yes, I’m going to need you and Gem to come meet me at that address I sent you.”

“Oh shit, are you getting kidnapped? Are they selling you into sex slavery?” Harley calls for Gemma in the background, and I can tell she’s going into full-blown lawyer mode.

“No, but I’m about to agree to move in with a guy I just met.” I throw Jack a wink as I stride past him and back into the house.

“Jesus Christ, Sadie, you’ll be the death of me one day. Don’t sign anything! We’ll be there in twenty.” Harley hangs up on me and I tuck my phone back in my purse.

Jack meets me in the kitchen, him on one side of the peninsula, me on the other. “So what do you think?”

What do I think? I think my fairy godmother just dropped the solution to all my problems in my lap. With my savings and this ridiculously low rent, I’ll have plenty of time to look for a new job. Maybe even one I actually like. “I think it’s fucking perfect and you’re probably making a huge mistake letting me come live in your perfect house, but I don’t care because I love it so much and also that’s on you for matching with me.” I take a deep breath, knowing I can’t get into this arrangement without telling Jack the whole truth. “But I have to be honest about something. I just got laid off from my job. I do have some savings and I’m like a seriously, ridiculously hard worker. For real, my job was my life. And I promise I will find something soon and I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you take this chance, I swear I’ll be not the worst roommate.” I clasp my hands together as if in prayer. Which they might as well be.

He slides a lease agreement across the counter. “Sounds like you could use a bit of a break.”

I pull the paper to me, smiling softly. I don’t bother reading it since Harley is going to examine it within an inch of its life as soon as she gets here. “Thank you, Jack.” And before he can change his mind, I steer the conversation far away from my employment. Or lack thereof. “So seriously, how does someone our age end up with a free-and-clear brownstone in Park Slope? Bestselling sex tape? Lotto? Black-market drugs?”

His mouth pulls into a flat line. “Dead parents.”