“What?”
“Based on what I saw yesterday, it’ll take weeks before your apartment is habitable again.” Sammy slid his wallet into his back pocket. “It’s gonna be expensive as hell to rent an Airbnb or hotel room for that long, especially during peak tourist season.”
Her brows knit into a frown. “I doubt it’ll take weeks.”
His knowing smirk made her want to punch him in the face, last night’s hospitality and excellent abs—eggs! Excellenteggs!—notwithstanding.
“Maybe it won’t,” Sammy agreed, but the smirk remained.
Olivia’s frown deepened.
Her studio had a little water damage. How long could repairspossiblytake?
* * *
“Seven weeks!It’s going to takeseven weeksbefore I can move back into my apartment,” Olivia sputtered, disbelief and anger swirling in her veins as she pictured her landlord’s apathetic expression when he broke the bad news. “That’s half my summer!”
“It’s unfortunate.” Sammy didn’t say it, but she heard faint echoes ofI told you sobeneath his words.
She pressed two fingers to her temple and tried to calm her nerves. She wasthisclose to regurgitating her breakfast.
Olivia had a plan for the summer, as she did for all areas of her life: kick ass at her job, eat her way through the city’s best restaurants, and date around for a bit before meeting her future husband. She’d had high hopes for love in business school, but after a year in Stanford’s MBA program, she’d given up on the idea that her one and only lurked in the suited, uptight ranks of the Graduate School of Business. A majority of her classmates were male, but they were either taken, insufferable, or—more often than not—both, so she’d pinned her hopes on a whirlwind summer of romance instead.
It’d worked for Kris and Nate, who met the summer after study abroad and were getting married in a few short months. Why couldn’t it work for her?
While Olivia didn’tneeda man, a simple calculation told her she had to meet someone this year to stay on track for her five-year plan: finish her MBA, become a vice-president at Pine Hill Capital by thirty-two, get married by thirty-three, and have two children by thirty-five. The children would have to be twins, of course—preferably one girl, one boy, to maximize the efficiency of the process. Why deal with morning sickness and mood swings for eighteen months when you could get it done in nine?
Since Olivia was twenty-nine going on thirty, she had three years to get hitched. She figured she and her future husband had to date for at least a year before getting engaged, plus she needed time to plan the wedding.
The timing was tight, but it’d work—as long as she found her Happily Ever After partner this year.
But now, her apartment mishap had thrown a wrench in her plans. She was already exhausted from work most days, and she’d have to spend weeks running around San Francisco, looking for a new apartment. There was no way she could wait seven weeks before moving back into her studio. As much as she hated to admit it, Sammy was right—it would be wildly expensive to rent a hotel room for that long, and Olivia didn’t deal well with instability. A week or two, she could handle. Seven? Forget it.
Stress did not a happy Olivia make.
“This is a nightmare.” She tilted her head back and counted silently to ten. Sheknewshe should’ve brought her calming lavender face mist with her. “I should sue him for gross negligence.”
The burst pipes had been the landlord’s fault. She’d only lived in the apartment for a few days—she hadn’t even touched the washing machine yet. He’d explained the restoration process would take almost two months because the studio was old and the water had caused extensive damage.
The landlord had offered the option to break her lease without penalty and $500 to replace her damaged items.
$500. Her mattress alone cost more than that.
“But I won’t sue him,” Olivia continued, talking to herself. “More time and money wasted. Searching for a new place to stay would be a better investment.”
A low chuckle filled the car.
She cast a half-confused, half-annoyed glance in Sammy’s direction. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” He made a right turn. “You are so...you.”
He said it in a way that she couldn’t tell whether he meant it as a compliment or an insult.
“I am, and I’m fabulous,” Olivia said, choosing the I’ll-pretend-that’s-a-compliment route. She was so not in the mood to argue.
Sammy’s face broke out into a full-fledged grin, and a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach. “What are you going to do while you search for an apartment?”
“I’ll stay at a hotel. Not ideal, but hopefully the search won’t take too long.” She tapped her fingers on her thigh, her mind racing with a million to-do items. She needed a spreadsheet ASAP, with neighborhoods, rent prices, a list of amenities, proximity to her office, and the nearest public transport option—