Once she'd sent the tweet, she put her phone down to build a fire. Surely he'd respond? The flames had crackled into life and the room was warming up when an alert went off.
Want to try my silk sheets? Only if you wear your red dress. #LadyInRed #TheBaxter
Lacey wasn't sure whether to jump for joy or grind her teeth. At least he'd replied, even if he kept bringing up that damn red dress. Well, two could play his game. If he was trying to annoy her by turning this into an online flirtation, she'd turn it right back at him.
Silk sheets are for #PamperedPlayboys. A bed in #TheBaxter would be more than you could handle.
She sent it with a grim smile. Surely he wouldn't be able to resist that? Barely a minute later her phone dinged again.
#TheBaxter is history. I want you out.
If you want me out, come get me. #TheBaxter
Is that an invitation? Ask nicely and I'll think about it.
Seriously, the man had no shame. She typed another tweet.
Think you could spend a night in #TheBaxter? No way. Too pampered.
Try me.
Yes! Gotcha. Grinning, she pumped her fist.
Spend a week in #TheBaxter and I'll cancel the protest.
His response came back even quicker.
If I spend a week in #TheBaxter you cancel the protest and move out.
She had him now. And the stakes would be winner takes all.
Agreed. And if u step one foot outside during that week, I win. You repair #TheBaxter & tenants stay.
An ego like his, he'd assume it would be easy. But he had no idea how run down this place had become, or how determined she was. Staring at her phone, she willed him to respond. The way it was now, he could still laugh it off and back out. But if he accepted her terms, he'd be committed.
A moment later, her phone rang. This time it was a cell phone number, not a land line, and when she answered, it wasn't his secretary asking her to hold for Bronson Reyne. The pampered playboy had deigned to press the buttons and make the call himself.
"Lacey?" His deep voice made her shiver, remembering the way his eyes had lingered over her body when she'd danced. "I'm going to assume you're serious about this. So what's the catch?"
"No catch, just a simple wager. For seven days, you can't leave the Baxter or you lose."
He was silent for a moment. "You can't lock me out, or have me physically removed. To lose, I have to leave willingly."
"Fair enough."
"When I win, you'll go quietly?"
"Like a mouse." She gritted her teeth, hating to put so much on the line, but needing him to agree.
"Then we have a deal. But I'll need a little time to reschedule everything I had arranged."
"Cancel all your dates?" She surprised herself with how much acid was in her tone. But at his nightclub, he'd practically ignored the two women he'd arrived with. He'd left them sitting at their table like excess baggage while he danced with her. What kind of man treated people like that?
"I'll have to change my plans to be at my club for that week. But if we keep the bet high-profile, the publicity will make up for it."
"And with it so public, you'll have to hold up your end of the bargain when you lose."
"I never lose. Expect me on Wednesday. I'll be at the Baxter in time for dinner."
His arrogance took her breath away. He expected her to cook for him, like she were one of his servants?
"Then the bet will run from this Wednesday to the next. Make sure you tweet your agreement," she said before he could hang up. "Let's get it all on record."
"With pleasure." He disconnected the call.
And sure enough, a minute later, a tweet came through from him.
Deal made. #TheBaxter here I come. After 7 days, Lacey will be gone for good. #GoodbyeBaxter
Lacey tweeted back.
#PamperedPlayboy has no idea what he's signed up for. Sucker! Let #TheBaxterGames begin.
"May the odds be ever in my favor," she muttered, putting her phone down. Now that was settled, she needed to decide which apartment he'd stay in. The worst was probably 204, the one underneath her. Its tenants had moved out ages ago and when it rained, water ran down from her old bedroom into-
An alert went off on her phone. Another tweet.
I'm bringing my silk sheets, so you're in for a treat. But I'll only let you share them if you don't snore. #TheBaxter
Wait, what? He wasn't staying at her place. And trust him to make the whole thing sound sleazy.
Her phone rang and Ally's name flashed up. Her business partner had obviously been glued to Twitter.
"He's staying in your room?" asked Ally, when Lacey answered. "Was that part of your plan?"
"Hell, no. I was going to put him in the apartment downstairs." Lacey shook her head. "I should have made that clear before making the bet." If only she hadn't let her enthusiasm get the better of her. What else hadn't she thought about?
"If he thinks he's staying in your place, why don't you make him sleep in your old bedroom? No offense, but it's horrible in there. And that way you could keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't cheat."
Lacey considered it. "That room leaks so badly, I had to move all the furniture out. Every time it rains, it practically floods."
"Smells bad, too. The other night I stuck my head in for a look and almost gagged."
Lacey snapped her fingers. "I saw an old mattress on the side of the road. Someone must have dumped it, and it was soaked. What if I put it on the floor in there for him?"
"Oh, that's evil. I love it." Ally laughed. "Can you mess up the whole house so his days are as bad as his nights?"
Lacey looked around her cozy living room. "Sure. I'll just reverse all the things I had to do to make this place liveable. And the toilet's stopped flushing, so that'll help."
"Pity you'll have to suffer with him."
"It'll be worth it. Besides, I can keep my bedroom nice. He won't be allowed in there, and it's the only room that doesn't leak."
"And you can leave, right? So you won't have to spend your days with him."
"Thank goodness."
Once she'd hung up, Lacey collected every heater she had in the house. She'd take them across the hall to Crystal's place for safe keeping. And once she got rid of her firewood and swept all traces of ash out of her hearth, she could say her fireplace was blocked and unusable. The only thing decorative thing she'd leave in here was Myrtle's tank. It was too heavy to move, and she didn't want to disturb her pet. Lacey had gotten Myrtle for her tenth birthday, and now the old girl was nineteen. She deserved respect.
When Lacey opened the door to her old, empty bedroom, the rusty door hinges creaked mournfully, making her shiver. Every time she came into this room, it looked worse. Black mold was spreading over the ceiling and creeping down the walls. Like Ally had said, it stank. And it was cold in here, too. But not cold enough.
She prised the old window open with an effort. After a squirt of super glue on the hinges, it'd be impossible to close. No matter how hard Bronson tried, there'd be no shutting the freezing wind out of this room.
With the water stains, the rotten-wood smell, and the way the floor sagged and groaned under her feet, the room was guaranteed to make a pampered playboy run away screaming. And she hadn't even started getting the rest of the apartment ready for him yet. She'd make his life miserable.
Lacey smiled, feeling decidedly wicked. Bronson Reyne had picked the wrong woman to mess with. And she couldn't wait to see his face when he saw what he'd signed up for.
Five
The Baxter was in worse condition than Bronson had expected. Good thing it only had three floors, because the elevator was dead. He carried his suitcase up the dark stairwell to the top floor, while the flickering lights buzzed and cast weird shadows, and water dripped somewhere inside the walls. The entire place smelled of decay.
The rent the tenants paid was ridiculously cheap, but now it didn't seem like a bargain. He'd assumed Lacey would try to make his stay unpleasant, but if her apartment was as bad as the rest of the building, she wouldn't need to try too hard.
Lacey lived in Apartment 304, but she wasn't the one who answered the door. Instead, it was a brunette with a mass of tangled curls. Lacey's friend wore faded jeans, a worn old hoodie, and a pair of thick-rimmed eyeglasses.
"I'm looking for Lacey," said Bronson.
Instead of calling for her, Lacey's friend just folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head down to glare at him over the top of her glasses.
Bronson almost called out for Lacey himself, then he recognized her brown eyes. This was the woman who'd come to his nightclub in that sexy red dress?
"It's you." He kept his voice level so his surprise didn't show. "Nice to see you again."
"Wish I could say the same."
"Is this how the next seven days is going to be?"
"Wishful thinking. You won't last seven days."
Bronson suppressed a smile. Lacey's tongue was as deadly as a sniper's rifle. "Nice place." He stepped forward so she had to move aside and let him in. As he walked through the short hall, the old floorboards creaked and groaned. "Remind me why you're not taking my money and getting out as fast as you can?"