Mr. H.O.A. Read online

  by Carina Taylor

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. Copyright law.

  Editing: Jenny Proctor, Proctor Editing

  Alison Maxwell, Red Leaf Proofing

  Cover Design: Sarah Adams

  CJ Taylor

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  The End

  Miss Trailerhood | By Carina Taylor

  Chapter 1 | Riley

  Want to read more? You can order Miss Trailerhood here!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Homeowners Association Rule #34:

  The only HOA approved moving days are Fridays and Saturdays.

  Dear Occupant,

  The Board of Health has inspected and declared this building, The Market Street Apartment Complex, unsafe and an immediate hazard to anyone in the complex.

  With the discovery of asbestos and black mold in the walls, it is for the benefit of the residents that we require you to vacate the premises.

  The heretofore mentioned building has been condemned and must be evacuated immediately upon receiving this official statement.

  Please remove yourself immediately. Liability insurance will not cover any belongings left in the building.

  Sincerely,

  Robert Robbins, Chairman of the Board of Health

  Remove myself immediately? I set the paper down on my kitchen counter and glanced around my apartment. Things weren't that bad, were they?

  The ceiling was a little cracked. But that hot, acidic smell that greeted me every time I walked into the apartment was part of the space’s natural musk. The dipped floor was just a result of the building having settled. The black on the wall below the window was part of the old wallpaper pattern. I was sure of it.

  A gust of air from the fan on my counter blew the letter onto the floor. I bent down and peeled the paper off the damp ground. My neighbor Melanie's pipes must be leaking again.

  After sharing a wall for three months now, I knew whenever her kitchen sink was giving her problems because the water leaked out and drifted over to my side.

  Placing the paper inside the toaster oven to dry out, I slipped my suit jacket off and laid it over the back of my overstuffed chair. I lifted my hands, making quick work of my Windsor knotted tie. Stifling heat made it impossible to wear many layers. I unbuttoned the top three buttons and untucked my shirt so I could stand in front of the fan and feel the breeze against my skin.

  A small form of relief.

  Oregon summers were surprisingly hot despite the amount of rain in the winters. It was only the second week of June, and it was already in the nineties—even breaking the triple digits a few times. I wasn't sure if this building had ever had air conditioning. It definitely didn’t now.

  My mind drifted to the letter again. It couldn't be some kind of joke or something, could it? I had too much on my plate to worry about getting evicted. Work was busier than ever, and I didn't want to even think about trying to find another place. I was so close to meeting my savings goal—I didn’t want to backtrack by stepping outside of my budget.

  Unfortunately, housing was scarce in Riverly. I would know that better than most as a real estate agent in the area. Housing was being snatched up before it was officially listed on the market. Renting was usually twice the cost of buying. I knew of multiple people who rented out rooms in their house and made a full-time income from it.

  The tourist industry was thriving thanks to the resort built on the small lake at the outskirts of town. With enough industry to provide competitive jobs for Riverly residents and an influx of out-of-staters into Oregon, the market was rising rapidly—which was why I was living in a less-than-ideal apartment situation.

  It was only temporary—until I could pay cash for a house. The studio apartment I'd rented before moving to The Market Street Apartments had been ideal—above a private home's garage with a private entrance. Unfortunately, the homeowners sold the place and moved to Texas.

  The only place that had a similar rental price was The Market Street Apartments. Saving money was a lot easier when your rent was only eight-hundred dollars a month. It was the only reason I would live there.

  I'd been in plenty of condemned buildings before, and this apartment—while bad—wasn't the worst I'd seen. Only the second worst.

  Pulling the paper out of the toaster oven, I held it in front of the fan to finish drying it out. Once it wasn't in danger of falling apart, I folded it up and headed out of the apartment. The building manager lived on the bottom floor, and I needed to find out if this was for real and if I would get my security deposit back. I liked to know the exact amount of money I could count on—especially in an eviction situation.

  I sighed. If the letter was real, the other tenants would have received it too. The Market Street Apartment Complex: a misleading name since it was only one building with four floors and three apartments on each floor. There wasn't much of a complex.

  Living on the third floor meant I had to take two flights of creaky stairs. I didn't envy the people who lived on the fourth floor—the third staircase was missing two steps, and the stairs that were there looked rotten. I was certain you could recognize a fourth-floor dweller by their toned calves. Anyone who scaled that staircase regularly had to be in fantastic shape. I'd spotted a few fourth-floor dwellers on rare occasions. They were speedy leapers.

  The apartment manager's door was propped open, and a young woman stood in the entryway, her hands on her hips. One elbow bumped against the doorframe as she took a slight step forward.

  "You mean to tell me that Mr. Moneybags is condemning this building to build luxury apartments?" Her voice ended on a high note.

  "Don't shoot the messenger, lady. I’m not the one evicting everyone," a nasally voice replied.

  "You work for him, don't you? You could have warned us that the inspectors were coming by. The injustice of it all. What kind of man throws people out of their homes so he can build luxury apartments?" The woman's tirade continued. She flicked her shoulder-length, brown hair behind her ear. With her skirt stopping just before her knees, her high heels showcased a set of tan, toned calves.

  Feeling guilty about eavesdropping, I leaned forward and knocked on the door frame. I stood directly behind the woman but could see over the top of her head into the manager's apartment. His furniture was pulled away from the walls and pushed into the
center of the room. Cardboard boxes were stacked on top of tables and chairs. Nothing was left on the walls or shelves.

  The woman who had been speaking angrily spun around at the sound of my knock. Emerald eyes met mine, and her light pink lips parted. Her features were petite—fine.

  Beautiful.

  The high heels she wore made her close to my height of six-foot-two, which meant she was tall even without the shoes.

  She had to be a fourth-floor dweller. Sightings were rare, but I'd recognize those calves anywhere. I was right; jumping those rotten steps was a great workout.

  "Oh, I see you’ve heard the great news too," she said dryly as she pointed at the letter in my hand.

  "Yes, lovely to hear, isn't it?"

  She threw her hands up in the air, trim arms visible thanks to the sleeveless blouse she wore. "What can you expect from Mr. Moneybags?"

  I glanced past her to the apartment manager in question. Everyone called him Chippy. I’d never heard him called Mr. Moneybags.

  "Not him," the woman replied impatiently. "I was talking about Sebastian Mercier. The man who owns the building."

  That made a lot more sense. I knew the name well. I knew Mercier owned the building—just like he owned several houses and commercial buildings throughout town. "Was she right? Are they planning on luxury apartments here after this building is gone?"

  Chippy shifted his considerable weight from foot to foot. "It's not like that, Bane. I'm supposed to offer each tenant the first chance on a lease on these apartments. Mr. Mercier doesn't want you to be without a home."

  "Oh, he doesn't, does he? What a benevolent old man," the young woman interjected. She jerked a thumb in my direction. "Tell him what the price is."

  Chippy visibly swallowed as he picked up a piece of paper off the top of a stack of boxes. He cleared his throat. "It says here that every tenant has first choice of the new apartments. You'll get to enjoy beautiful views and live in a luxurious fifteen-hundred square foot home. The luxury apartment complex will include a pool, a gym, and a lovely outdoor patio, complete with outdoor grills for everyone's use."

  "You don't sound thrilled."

  Chippy scowled. "Despite what Nola thinks, I'm not chummy with the man who owns this building. Three-thousand dollars a month in rent. Twice that amount for a deposit."

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. "So, he's serious about this building being condemned."

  "Yes, my—"Chippy cleared his throat. "The wrecking crew will start in a few weeks, but everyone needs to pack their stuff and get out. The health board says it’s vital we leave the building immediately. It’s the law, so don’t be blaming me."

  "This is ridiculous," the woman muttered, furrowing her brows. "Who does he think will be able to afford three thousand dollars a month? Definitely not the tenants. That amount of deposit is nearly a down payment for some people. It's not the tenants’ fault that this building is dilapidated. It's Mercier's responsibility to take care of it. I’ll write him a protest letter. I'll have everyone in the building sign it. Charging outrageous rent after everyone loses their homes...I’m going to fight him on this."

  "Chippy!" A gravelly voice echoed from upstairs. "My pipes are leaking again!"

  Aha, it was my neighbor Melanie. It sounded like she was still on the third floor and calling down to us. She had hip surgery recently, and the stairs were a bit too much for her right now. Any time she needed to get upstairs she would wait until I got home from work, and then we would make our way to the third floor together. The trip involved her leaning on my arm while telling me about her hip pain and her delayed social security checks.

  "The entire building's going to be leaking soon!" Chippy bellowed.

  The woman next to me covered her ears and glared at him. Her raised arms lifted her short top just enough to show a hint of smooth skin.

  "Well, the least you could do is help me pack my stuff! You haven't fixed these pipes once in the two years I've been here!" Melanie yelled back. "Or the elevator for that matter!"

  "Fixing pipes isn't in my job description!" Chippy shot back rather shrilly.

  "Hey," I said, trying to get him to stop the yelling match before I went deaf.

  The woman took a step further into Chippy's apartment, glancing at all the boxes. "I see you were warned about this ahead of the rest of us. Did you cut a deal with Mr. Moneybags?"

  "No, I didn't. I swear I wouldn't do something like that." Chippy didn't look her in the eye when he said that. "You've been living in the same building as I have. When the inspector came by and said he was here to inspect the building, I started packing. What did you expect? This place is falling down around us. I packed my stuff. So what? You would have done the same."

  The woman narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms across her chest. Her look was even making me want to apologize for everything I'd ever done.

  "How soon, Chippy?" I asked again. "And we'd better be getting our deposits back."

  "No can do on the deposit, Fox. But Mr. Mercier has assured me he will put it down for your future luxury apartment. I’m locking up the building tomorrow. The health inspector was adamant that we leave right away. I highly suggest you pack as much as you can and find a new home. Now get out." Chippy picked up a box and turned around to glare at the two of us.

  That was that, apparently. I told him, "Be sure to tell Mercier that I'll be fighting him on the deposit."

  The woman next to me smiled. "That goes for me too. Tell him I'm upset. Tell him Nola is mad."

  I closed the apartment door with a firm slam. My shoulder bumped against the woman's, but she didn't step back.

  "Can they do that?" She asked as she gazed at me with bright green eyes.

  "Do what?"

  "Evict everyone with one day's notice? That has to be illegal."

  "Unfortunately, Oregon law says that if a building is condemned, you should vacate the premises immediately."

  "You sure?"

  I nodded, taking in her searching look. I didn’t want to be the one to corroborate what Chippy said, but unfortunately, he was right.

  I half-expected the woman to shed a tear—her expression was so broken. I flexed my hand, ready to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

  Instead, she turned to me, and her eyes flashed as she ranted, "Of all the—I can't believe he's building luxury apartments. And keeping our deposits! This is his crummy building. He should pay us to live in this death trap."

  I placed my hand on her elbow and gently guided her away from Chippy's door and toward the staircase.

  I'd lived in the same apartment building for three months and never caught her name. She didn't seem like she was in the introducing mood right then. Neither was I. But at least I knew her first name now since she’d said it to Chippy. Nola. Not that it mattered to me. Not at all. I wasn't curious if she was single or not.

  "I wonder if he realizes no one here can afford luxury apartments. How out of touch..." She continued speaking as she stomped up the stairs rapidly, forcing me to jog to keep up. "And where is everyone going to find housing on such short notice? Doesn't he understand how competitive the housing market is here?"

  I nodded. She wasn't wrong. Finding another apartment or house to rent in Riverly would be nearly impossible. If you had a budget that could only afford The Market Street Apartment Complex then you were doomed.

  "And to think that the man owns empty houses right here in town and does absolutely nothing with them!"

  I cleared my throat. "What was that you said?"

  She glanced over her shoulder at me. "Oh, it's just that the man who owns this building is bursting at the seams with money. He owns lots of houses. It's disgusting. Some of them are even empty."

  "How do you know?"

  She rested a hand on her hip and looked past my shoulder. "I know the lady that cleans one of them every week—even though it's empty."

  I nodded as I stopped at my apartment door. "Well, I hope you're able to fin
d somewhere soon. Good luck."

  She smiled and nodded. "The same to you. I hope we get our deposits back."

  She turned and hurried up the third flight of stairs, leaping over the rotten steps with the speed and agility of a long jumper.

  Yes, nice legs and eyes, but I knew nothing else about her other than she lived in The Market Street Apartments. That wasn’t exactly the greatest character recommendation.

  Knock knock knock.

  I pried my eyes open and looked out the office window. Darla, my office manager, stood outside the door knocking on the glass pane.

  I'd fallen asleep at the office last night—again. It was the second night I’d done so. After packing up a few meager belongings, I sold my recliner on Craigslist then drove to the office where I caught up on some paperwork. Having nowhere else to go, I worked late and ended up falling asleep in my office chair.

  After the first night sleeping in the office, I tried to check in to a local hotel. Unfortunately, they were booked out for a conference at the local medical school. Even the resort at the edge of town was completely booked.

  I had several showings and two houses in escrow. I figured I could sleep at the office and use my gym's showers until I had time to focus on finding myself somewhere to live.

  My head pounded, and my neck burned as I walked over to open the office door. I opened the door slowly, afraid if I moved too fast that my back would never straighten out again. Being twenty-seven wasn't for wimps.

  "Are you all right?" Darla asked as I stepped into the hall.

  "Oh, you know, late night. Fell asleep in the chair this morning." None of which was a lie. I didn't like lying. I didn't condone it. But I also didn't want my employees freaking out because their boss was homeless. Being homeless didn't look good when you were the one signing paychecks.

  "Well, dear, you should go to bed earlier, then you wouldn't be so tired in the mornings." Darla shook her head. "You probably haven't had your coffee or breakfast yet either."

  I followed her down the hall to her office, where she set down her suitcase that she called a purse. She pulled out a small paper sack. "I brought you a breakfast sandwich today. You've been looking stressed lately, and when you're stressed, you don't eat the right things. You need a heart-healthy breakfast, not a donut."