Mr. H.O.A. by Carina Taylor (hot novels to read .txt) 📕

already washed clothes in, I met with a road block. The dryer was already full of Nola’s clothes.

Someday I hoped the girl would be able to switch her laundry, but it wasn't today. I sat down my basket of dirty clothes and grabbed the extra clean hamper, filling it with the laundry. I would fold them once I got the laundry switched. As I tossed her jeans, shirts, and blouses into the basket, something clunked when I reached into the bottom of the dryer.

Her wallet.

How did she send her wallet through the dryer? I pulled it out and set it on top of the washer for a minute. I finished emptying out the dryer and found a debit card sitting in the bottom of the dryer along with her license. I picked them up and scanned them to see if the washer and dryer experience had damaged them. They looked like they’d survived by some miracle. I swiped off a little extra lint, stuck to them, and prepared to put them back into her wallet.

Crazy girl was out driving without a wallet, without her license, without any credit cards. Why was I not surprised? Just as I was about to slip her license back into the slot in the wallet, the name on the license caught my attention.

Funny, I couldn't remember Nola ever telling me her last name. It hadn't seemed important all this time since she’d been calling herself Nola Fox to everyone in the neighborhood. But now, with my eyes riveted on her last name, it seemed incredibly important.

Her license read Nola Mercier.

Mercier. 

Nola.

Nola was a Mercier? Did that mean she was a niece? Daughter? What was her connection to Mercier?

"Honey, I'm home!" Nola's voice echoed through the house. Instead of the usual excitement I felt when I heard her voice, I only felt dread.

I didn't answer her. I just stood there, staring at the license in my hand.

She'd lied to me about the house. She’d lied to me about who she was.

"Oh, there you are! Such a shame, because I was going to try to surprise you by having all of my laundry put away if you weren't home yet." Nola breezed into the laundry room, snatching up a basket. She stopped when she noticed the card in my hand.

"What are you doing with that?" she asked quietly, the smile gone from her face.

I motioned to the dryer.

"How could you not tell me?"

Her bottom lip quivered. I’d wanted to be understanding. But this was too much.

"Are you Sebastian Mercier’s daughter?"

One dip of her chin told me the truth.

"Why wouldn’t you tell me this?" I yelled, shaking the license in the air.

She placed a hand on her forehead, ironing away the wrinkles. It was a familiar gesture. I couldn’t place it.

She spoke haltingly. "I am Nola Mercier. Sebastian Mercier’s daughter."

The stricken look on Nola's face told me everything I needed to know. She had known who he was. Had known he was the owner of the home and had still lied to me.

I turned to leave, scared that if I stayed, I would never get a hold of my temper again.

"Bane. I want to tell you one more thing. I know I’m the last person you want to listen to right now, but I want to come completely clean."

I shoved as many clothes as I could into my backpack. I was getting out of this place.

"Sally is Sebastian Mercier.

My heart pitter-pattered all the way to the tips of my toes. I’d been living with Sebastian Mercier and his daughter for a couple months.

I had to get out of there before I hear another secret that shattered my heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Homeowners Association Rule #10:

If a resident has a disagreement with another resident, they must bring the disagreement before the HOA board members. A vote will be cast, and a settlement decided.

I finished the email I was writing to Ron and his wife, my former clients, reminding them that it was their one-year anniversary in their home. I wished them happiness in their place and congratulated them on being homeowners—again.

A soft knock sounded on my office door.

"Bane," Darla called. "There's a Mercier in the reception area waiting to speak with you."

So this was it. He'd come to put an end to the charade, to my face. It was time. I'd lived in his house. I'd slept in his master bedroom. I'd trespassed on his property. And now he was here, ready to press charges. I wish there was an out. I wished I had something to blame.

A circumstance. A misunderstanding. A mistake.

It was a mistake all right. A monumental, colossal, jail sentence sized mistake. I’d dated his daughter—sort of. I’d married Nola—sort of.

There were a lot of circumstances that could be turned around. As much as I wanted to play the victim, I knew I was equally responsible for our staying in his house. I could have easily walked away. I could have rented an apartment in Burnside and become a commuter. Now I’d have to face him and hope that he would give me a chance with Nola. Because I still wanted that chance. Life wasn’t the same without her.

I’d had a lot of time to think in the past week, and though I hated to admit it, I could see things from her perspective.

She hadn’t been proud of who she thought her father was. She didn’t want a connection with him any more than I did.

A throat cleared. I looked up to see Darla still standing there looking sympathetic.

"All right, Darla. Send him in."

I heard the muffled sound of Darla's heels clicking on the floor as she disappeared back down the hall.

The air conditioner kicked on, fanning chilly air through the room. The new flyer print-out fluttered lightly against my desk. The fake fern in the corner rustled. My chair squeaked as I shifted. Finally, the office door opened, and Darla stepped in. "Can I bring you anything? Coffee? Tea? Snacks?"

I didn't know what she was up to. Darla knew about