Dear Ms. Martin:

At precisely seven thirty-three last evening a black-and-white feline was seen entering the guest house which you rent from me. [Like I needed the reminder.] Per the list of rules you agreed to when you moved in, you’ll note that—on page two, paragraph four, line seven—pets of any kind are expressly forbidden. Your attention to correcting this matter is greatly appreciated.

—Daire

P.S. What is the cat’s name?

The postscript surprised a laugh out of me. He was demanding I ditch the pet while fully acknowledging that I had likely named it. All of a sudden, I felt as if my landlord saw me with a clarity few people possessed. My determination to meet him multiplied to the tenth power. And if the hot guy was around, well, meeting him was collateral damage I could live with.

Instead of scribbling a return note to my dear landlord, explaining that Sir was not a pet but a guest, which would likely not appease his ire, I decided it was time to level up. If I wanted to actually meet my landlord, it was clear I was going to have to do something drastic. I was going to have to break all the rules.

Naturally, I did not include Sophie and Miguel in my plan, because I suspected they would not approve. Instead, I tapped my coworkers and convinced them that rather than going out for happy hour, they should come to my house. The added bonus of this was, of course, no Carson because it was by invitation only.

I cut out of work on my lunch hour and did a food and beverage run. Once the house was stocked, I did a quick cleanup. Then I grabbed the list of Mr. Daire’s rules. I wanted a refresher so that I could hit as many as possible this evening.

It did occur to me that I was flirting with the distinct possibility of eviction, but I kept hearing Mrs. Guzman’s voice in my head—“It’ll give him something else to think about”—and I had to believe that there was a message there. The fact that he thought I would live here for six months and we’d never meet was crazy. Wait, maybe he was crazy.

Well, there was only one way to find out. I did a visual sweep of my house before I hurried back to work. Tonight, one way or another, I was going to meet Mr. Daire.

I arrived home from work and fired up the party playlist on my Bluetooth speaker. I had told the others that I had a pool–hot tub combo and recommended that they bring bathing suits, so they’d all gone home first. Yes, I was living quite dangerously.