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“Big surprise there.” Graham’s tone was still light.
I liked the lighter mood, regardless the testosterone-fueled lead-in. My phone rang, and I grabbed for it. An interview? Maybe? I hit Answer before I registered that it was my Landlord’s name on my screen.
“Hello.” I kept my tone sweet, pretending I hadn’t been mostly avoiding him.
“Luna. I was surprised to see your name in the news this morning.” He wasn’t nearly as friendly. “You’re a convicted felon.”
Frack. “I’m not. It was reduced to a misdemeanor, and even that’s been removed from my record now.”
“Now. You didn’t disclose it when you filled out your application.”
“You didn’t ask.” Was I wrong? Had he?
Oz held out his hand. “Give me the phone,” he said softly.
“Look, you’re consistently late on your rent, and now I find out you’re a criminal. You have until the end of the month to get out.”
What? All the coffee I’d had sank like a stone in my stomach. “You’re evicting me?”
“I am. End of the month.” He disconnected.
And now I was going to be homeless in three weeks. I dropped my phone on the table and my head into my hands as I sank in my seat.
“Did I just…” Oz was a man of few words, but not a man who was usually at a loss for words. “Did he kick you out for having a record?”
I nodded.
“He can’t do that.”
Graham sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Actually…”
“Of course you’d know that.” Oz sigh-growled. “Give me his name, I’ll make this right.”
I covered my phone without looking up, and slid it closer to me. “No.” My other hand muffled my voice. Could I let Oz fight it? Call Violet and ask Ramsey to do something? Yes.
Was it worth the stress, to stay in a place where I wasn’t wanted, and where friction and distrust had been building for months because I was late a lot with my rent?
No.
“Luna.” Oz’s voice was tight.
I finally looked at him. “Let it go.” Please. I wouldn’t ask, as much as I wanted to soften the request. He needed to know I meant this.
