I was just about to tell him that that was exactly what I would do if I moved in when my phone vibrated from inside the front pocket of my jeans.
“Um,” I said awkwardly, fishing it out. “Hold on a second.”
Crap. It was Sam.
In the shock of realizing that Frederick was hot, I’d forgotten to let him know I wasn’t being murdered.
Cassie? You okay?
I’m trying not to freak out.
Please text me right away so I don’t start worrying that you’ve been chopped up and put into freezer bags.
I’m fine
Just got caught up in the apartment tour
Sorry
Everything’s fine
Frederick’s not a murderer, then?
If so he hasn’t tried killing me yet
But no I don’t think he’s a murderer
I think he might just be REALLY weird
I’ll text you when I leave
I sent Sam a pink heart emoji as a peace offering in case he was mad.
“Sorry about that,” I said awkwardly, stuffing my phone back into my jeans pocket. “My friend drove me over. He just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay.”
Frederick smiled at that—a crooked, lopsided sort of smile that made me forget that he was too weird and snobby to find attractive.
“That is smart of your friend,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “You and I hadn’t been properly introduced yet when we agreed to meet. Now, Miss Greenberg—shall we begin the tour?”
But hearing from Sam reminded me that while I did want to get a good look at this place, there was something important I needed answered first.
“Actually, before we do that, can I ask you a question?”
At that, Frederick froze. He took a small step away from me, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his gray slacks.
It was another long moment before he answered me.
“Yes, Miss Greenberg.” He clenched his jaw, his posture suddenly rigid. He looked like he was gathering courage to face an unpleasant task. “You may ask whatever you like.”
I squared my shoulders. “Okay. So, this might be stupid of me to ask, since I’m about to argue against my own best interest here. But my curiosity is literally killing me. Why are you only asking for two hundred per month?”
He took a small step back, blinking at me in what looked like genuine confusion. Whatever he’d been expecting me to ask, it wasn’t that.
“I—I beg your pardon?”
“I know what rent in a place like this should be,” I continued. “You’re only asking for, like—a fraction of it.”
A pause. “I am?”
I stared at him. “Yes. Of course you are.” I gestured vaguely to our surroundings—to the brass wall sconces and the bookshelves, to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the intricate Oriental rug beneath our feet. “This place is amazing. And the location? Insane.”
“I am . . . aware of its attributes,” Frederick said, sounding dazed.
“Okay then,” I said. “So, what’s the deal? The price you’re asking will make everyone who sees the ad think there’s something wrong with your apartment.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” I said. “I almost didn’t come because of it.”
“Oh no,” he groaned. “What would have been a more appropriate price?”
I couldn’t believe this. How could someone wealthy enough to live here be this clueless about the value of what he had?
“I mean . . .” I trailed off, trying to decide whether he was messing with me. The earnest, slightly panicked look in his eyes told me he was not. Which made no sense at all. But on the off chance he really didn’t know that two hundred dollars a month was a ridiculous price for this room, I wasn’t about to negotiate against my best interest more than I already had by giving him an exact number.
“Definitely more than two hundred a month,” I hedged.
He stared at me for a moment and then closed his eyes. “I am going to kill Reginald.”
That name again. “I’m sorry, but who is Reginald?”
Frederick shook his head slightly. “Oh. I’m . . . never mind.” He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Reginald is just . . . someone I happen to loathe. He gave me some very poor advice. But there is no need for you to worry about that, Miss Greenberg. Or about him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh.”
“Quite.” Frederick cleared his throat and said, “In either case, I suppose what’s done is done. If you agree to rent the spare room I see no need to punish you for my mistake or your honesty by raising the price. I am happy to leave the monthly rent at two hundred dollars if you move in.”
He shrugged. As though discovering he could be getting a lot more money for his room than he was asking for was no big deal.
I couldn’t imagine not caring about losing out on that much money.
Just how rich was this guy?
Perhaps more importantly: If he didn’t care about how much money he might get from renting the room, why did he even want a roommate in the first place?
I didn’t have the courage to ask any of this.
“Thanks,” I said instead. “Keeping the rent at two hundred would really help me out.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, since we have apparently reached the asking questions phase of the tour, may I ask you a question, Miss Greenberg?”
My stomach lurched. Did my gratitude over the cheap rent tip him off that I’d exaggerated my job situation in my email? Did he somehow find out I was about to get evicted?
If that was the sort of conversation we were about to have . . .
Well. Might as well get it over with.
“Ask away,” I said, feeling nervous.
“While I sincerely hope that whoever moves into my home will feel that this is also their home, two rooms will remain strictly off-limits,” he said, with a serious expression. “Should you move in, I would need you to promise to faithfully stay out of those spaces for the duration of our cohabitation. Can you agree to this?”
“Which rooms?”
Frederick held up a single, long finger. “First, you may never enter my bedroom.”