Jackson shook his head. He reached the top of the cliff and paused to turn and look at me. “For a guy considered to be one of the sharpest businessmen in Phoenix, you are dumber than a bag of dirt.”

“What?” I protested. My character reached the top, finally, and I turned to look at him.

“You have a beautiful woman, living on your property, wanting to use your hot tub and you tell her no,” he said. “That takes a special kind of stupid.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. He had a valid point, which I didn’t want to admit. Instead, I went on the offensive. “And I’m telling you, the hotter the woman, the crazier she is. It’s a fact.”

He shook his head and resumed playing. “Nick, I say this as your trainer and your friend, you have got to get out of the house. You’re becoming the epitome of everything a woman does not like in a man these days.”

“Bullshit. I never had any trouble before,” I said. “They certainly seem to enjoy my picking up the check.”

He pointed at me again. “That, right there, isn’t cool. Besides, it sounds like you were dating the wrong sort of women.”

“There’s a wrong sort?” I turned my attention back to the game as Jackson led the way into the tomb. I knew better than to be the first man to enter. They were always sacrificed in these games but Jackson was a newbie, so it was his painful life lesson to learn.

“Of course there’s a wrong sort—argh, damn it!” He turned outraged eyes on me. “You knew! You knew that zombie was hiding in the tomb. You knew he was going to lop off my head and you let me go in anyway.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged.

“Yeah, well, now you have to wait for me to respawn before we can continue,” he said.

He tossed his controller onto the coffee table and I did, too, because, frankly, I was much more interested in getting all the intel on my tenant than I was in acquiring virtual nonbankable treasure.

“Just tell me this,” I said. “Do you think she’s going to be a problem?”

He frowned. “In what way? By using your off-limits hot tub? Why exactly is that, by the way? I just don’t get it.”

“Because it’s disruptive,” I said.

“Of what?” he argued. “I’ve been living here for six months, and the only time you use the pool is for exercise, and you only use the hot tub after a hard workout.”

“Which is often. Listen, I never wanted to rent the guest house,” I said. “You know this. I didn’t want anyone around while I recovered, but I owed Miguel a favor, so—”