The Roommate Arrangement Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - The Mechanic

  Chapter Two - The Mechanic

  Author’s Note

  Saffie

  Grayson

  The Cinderella Arrangement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  The Cinderella Arrangement II

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also by Vanessa Waltz

  About the Author

  The Roommate Arrangement

  Vanessa Waltz

  Edited by Katriena Knights

  Cover art by Kevin McGrath

  Photography by Sara Eirew

  Vanessa Waltz

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  1. Saffie

  2. Grayson

  3. Saffie

  4. Grayson

  5. Saffie

  6. Grayson

  7. Grayson

  8. Saffie

  9. Grayson

  10. Saffie

  11. Grayson

  12. Saffie

  13. Grayson

  14. Saffie

  15. Grayson

  16. Saffie

  17. Saffie

  The Cinderella Arrangement

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  The Cinderella Arrangement II

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter One - The Mechanic

  Chapter Two - The Mechanic

  Also by Vanessa Waltz

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  The Roommate Arrangement is the third book of my Arrangement series, but can be enjoyed on it’s own! The Cinderella Arrangement books are included in this copy of The Roommate Arrangement. It is a full-length, standalone novel that ends at 36%.

  I hope you enjoy it!

  <3

  Vanessa

  1

  Saffie

  My brother lives in a whorehouse.

  Bras hang on the gate of Los Albos Ranch like little flags. They swing violently as the mechanical hinge opens, revealing a gorgeous Mediterranean villa sprawled over an acre of pure, Californian paradise. I gape at the panties littering the lawn, the empty cups rolling down the driveway. Either last night was the scene of the world’s biggest orgy, or debris from a plane carrying women’s clothing exploded all over my brother’s lawn.

  It’s disgusting.

  Maybe all those years sucking on a silver spoon turned him into a slob. It’s been five years since I saw him, but I can’t connect the Henry I knew with this. Every day there’s an outrageous story about the San Francisco Grizzlies complete with a stream of lurid photographs. I was naive enough to believe they were Photoshopped.

  When we were young, he was the apple of my eye. I rescued him from aunts who’d pinch his chubby cheeks too hard and make him cry. My baby brother could do no wrong. Looking at the lawn is like discovering that a beloved pet animal has gone rabid.

  What the hell happened to him?

  A rich guy falling off the wagon is a tale as old as time, but he couldn’t have trashed a more beautiful property. I roll down the window to get a better look, and salted air streams inside the cab. The house has a European flair. Warm sandstone walls and rounded terra-cotta shingles imply a rustic country house. If it weren’t for the lush gardens and gigantic palms lining the property, I’d think I was in Tuscany. It’s so beautiful it makes my heart ache, but the lawn is covered with garbage. My mouth gapes open at the hundreds of red plastic cups strewn on the grass. Balled-up napkins, plastic dishes litter the ground like trash, and crows fight over a half-eaten cupcake.

  I grind my teeth so hard my jaw clicks. It reminds me of the hordes of yuppies trashing Dolores Park every weekend, the same rich people who drove rents high enough to price me out of the city and force me into my shack in Daly City. Every day after work, I’d navigate the piss-stained streets and take BART home, trying not to fantasize about the penthouse my brother owned downtown. He was the whole reason I got an apartment there. I had this stupid hope we’d do things together, maybe grab drinks after work and over time, he’d realize I wasn’t the monster Dad made me out to be. We’d be best friends like when we were young.

  Imagine my disappointment when my phone calls went to voicemail, my invitations were ignored, and the text messages we exchanged dwindled to a curt Merry Xmas once a year. Dad made his feelings toward me clear years ago, but I thought Henry was on my side. It turns out I was a delusional idiot.

  Whenever the loneliness is too much to bear, I watch his games at the local dive bar. Buying a ticket is out of the question. Otherwise I would’ve sat in the stands and let the energy of the crowd roll over me. Watching him play takes the sting away. It makes me feel closer to him.

  There was a brief moment in my childhood when we felt like a family. All my cousins shipped off to private schools in New York the moment they were of age, but Dad wanted us to live together. He didn’t want us to grow into spoiled brats. Instead of resorts, we’d go camping. Everything was given in moderation—nothing in excess. Dad wouldn’t tolerate whining over whatever overpriced toy was in vogue. He taught us to be self-reliant, and I took that lesson to heart right up to adulthood, long after Dad cut me off.

  And now I’m begging my younger brother for a place to stay.

  I swallow my bitterness as the cab rolls up to the giant double doors. I’m in no position to give my brother a lecture on threatening wildlife, especially for what I’m about to do. Little bro thinks I’m here for a weekend visit. Three days, that’s it. He doesn’t know I lost my job, was evicted from my apartment, and have no place to go.

  "We’re here," the driver croaks.

  Red-rimmed eyes gaze at me through the rearview mirror, and I fight the urge to explain the state of the house. Mike is a bald man in his sixties with a kindly smile. He’s probably someone’s grandfather. I’m embarrassed, and this isn’t even my house.

  Sorry, my brother is a slob. "Thanks."

  "No problem," Mike says in his bullfrog voice. He gets out of the car and doesn’t stare at the panties displayed on the lawn. That alone is worth the twenty-percent tip. Maybe he’s used to the debauchery of a college town.

  Mike opens the passenger door, and I swing my legs into the breezy air, which is already seventy degrees this early in the morning. Damn, it’s balmy.

  "You visiting or moving in?" Mike pops the trunk and gazes at my four suitcases.

  "Moving in." I hope.

  Mike lugs out my suitcase. His biceps strain as he lifts it from the trunk. One for all my shoes and purses, the other for my clothes, the other two for everything else.

  Everything’s gone. The furniture was left behind. I had a last-minute garage sale the day before I was evicted. I balled up in my sheets and had a good cry over all the keepsakes I chucked in the trash. There wasn’t enough room. I had to get rid of everything but the essentials.

  I heave
a suitcase up one step.

  "Hold on, hon. Let me get that." Mike returns, hefting the luggage easily up the steps. "Grizzlies residence, right?"

  "Yeah, how’d you know?"

  "I’ve dropped off more than a fair share of girls here." He looks at me, voice softening. "Be careful, hon."

  Mike thinks I’m a groupie for my brother’s pro soccer team. Seriously? I don’t even look the part. I’m in flip-flops, for Christ’s sake.

  "Thanks," I say, staring at the door anxiously. "I’ll be fine."

  Suppose Henry doesn’t let me move in? Then what?

  "Take care, miss." Mike strolls back to the car and drives away, leaving me with my four suitcases and a brother who will be furious.

  I raise my hand to the door and knock. It echoes thunderously. My heart pounds. How many years has it been? Five?

  Heavy footfalls shake the floors, and then the door opens to reveal a sliver of a man I recognize. Henry was barely a man the last time I saw him. The baby fat is gone. His cheeks have hollowed out. Henry wears his dirty-blond hair shoulder-length. It frames a tanned, handsome face, his eyes crushing blue. My breath catches as I recognize our mother’s lips and eyes. I see her every time I look at him.

  My life is in shambles, but I’m happy to see him. "Hey! Long time no see."

  "Hey," he says, returning none of my warmth. A faint scowl knits his eyebrows together. "Are those all yours?"

  "I stole them from the airport. Relax, I’m kidding."

  The door widens, but he blocks the way inside as though doubting my identity. "You look the same."

  He doesn’t. "Those protein shakes filled you out. You used to be so weedy." Now he looks like an athlete. There’s not an inch of fat on him. No trace of the boy prone to shyness, either. Guess his legion of fans changed all that.

  His lips tug into something that might resemble a smile if his eyes weren’t so cold.

  I grab a suitcase. "Could you help me with them? They're kind of heavy."

  Wrinkles crease his forehead as he tests one, swearing. "Jesus, did you pack your whole wardrobe?"

  Yes.

  It won’t do to dive into that right away. "This is a beautiful property. I can’t believe you have it all to yourself."

  "I don’t own the whole villa. Some guys on the team wanted a vacation home for summer, so we all pitched in to buy one." Grunting, he takes my suitcases and pushes them two at a time onto the white, marble floor.

  I laugh, remembering the Forbes article plastered with my dad’s face. My brother must be worth millions by now. "Wow, that’s economical. Even for you."

  "We bought it a long time ago. Way before the corporate sponsorships rolled in."

  "How many of you?"

  "Eight, including me." He rolls his shoulders back. "I don’t come here too often anymore. The wife prefers me at home."

  Given a choice, I don’t think I’d ever leave. The inside is modern as hell; streamlined surfaces, narrow couches with square cushions, a giant stainless steel kitchen. Abstract paintings hang on the walls, their accent colors matching hues from the rugs, couches, and tables. They must have hired an interior designer. It’s all very tasteful and well put together, apart from the explosion of trash. Garbage bags filled with junk clash with the hipster décor.

  My nose wrinkles. "Is it always this filthy?"

  He sighs, wheeling my luggage down the hall. "That’s Grayson’s fault."

  I rack my brains. Grayson. My memory jogs with the blurry image of a handsome face on the team roster. My brother’s professional soccer league, the San Francisco Grizzlies, which hasn’t had a shortage of bad press lately. Everyone’s seen the headlines: Debauchery at the Grizzlies Ranch. Neighbors Hate Grizzlies’ “Topless Thursdays.”

  Makes me wonder what the hell he’s been up to. Henry gazes at the litter surrounding us, hopeless despair written all over his face.

  I kick an empty beer can. "So the tabloids weren’t lying. I’m surprised. You always were a neat freak." He gives me a reproachful look. "What? Every other day there’s something in the news about this team."

  "I can’t help it if the asshole decides to throw a party the day before you’re supposed to show up."

  "Who is he again?"

  His lips drag into an exaggerated frown. "Grayson’s the striker on the team and a pain in my ass." Henry stops in the middle of a hallway lined with team photographs, pointing him out.

  "Why do you stay here if it causes so much trouble?"

  "Because if I didn’t the stories in the tabloids would be a lot worse." He sighs as though the world’s fate rests on his shoulders.

  Everywhere I turn, there’s a bedroom. "How many of the guys are staying here this summer?"

  "Seven," he says, pushing my luggage into a cramped room. "They’re busy recovering."

  From the party, I imagine.

  He stops in front of a door and shoves it open. Out of every room, this is the only one that looks untouched from chaos. It’s hardly bigger than a walk-in closet, and the mattress is only a single, but it’s better than the streets.

  Looking bored, Henry gestures toward the closet and dresser. "They’re empty if you’d like to use them for your clothes. Bathrooms are down the hall. The guys like to share the one two doors down. Trust me; you don’t want to go in there."

  I test the mattress, wincing from its hardness. "Thanks for letting me stay."

  He shrugs. "It’s only for a few days."

  Yeah, about that. Blood rushes to my face as I open my mouth to beg my estranged brother to let me stay longer, but he sweeps out of the room before I get the words out.

  He saunters down the hall, back toward the large foyer as his voice echoes through the cavernous ceiling. "Here’s the kitchen. It’s a mess, I know."

  White tiles line the walls, juxtaposed with dark brown cabinets and white countertops. Beer bottles line the breakfast bar. Two enormous blenders sit side by side, their contents a greenish slush. Half-eaten burgers and hot dogs sit on paper plates. This Grayson guy must be quite the character.

  "It’s not that bad, I guess." I grin at Henry’s stricken face. "There could be prostitutes passed out on the couch."

  Instead of a hooker, a shirtless man wearing briefs patterned with yellow smiley faces lies fast asleep on the counter, his face buried in his arms. His snores rattle through the kitchen.

  I point at the man, whispering. "Who’s that?"

  "Titus." Henry glares at him. "I fucking told them you were coming."

  My eyes sweep over the stains covering the kitchen table, the empty cups everywhere, the overfilled trash bags. "It’s okay."

  "No, it’s not. Do you want me to show you the pool?"

  The kidney-shaped pool lies past the kitchen and living room. The bright blue water ripples beyond the glass doors. "Um—"

  An ear-splitting chime rings from his pocket. "Damn it." Henry pulls out his phone and blanches at the screen. "I have to take this."

  "No problem. I’ll make myself breakfast."

  "Okay," he says. "The fridge is stocked with supplies. Help yourself. This shouldn’t take long." He smashes the phone against his ear and dashes out of the kitchen, leaving me with a sleeping man whose thunderous snores rattle on.

  I attempt to clear a small patch of counter space, which proves futile because there’s nowhere to put the trash. Hunger claws at my insides as I grab six empty bottles of beer and open the cabinet door, revealing an overfilled recycling bin. Gently, I open the garbage bag left on the floor and place each bottle inside. The bag shifts and the glass with it, clanging loudly.

  Shit.

  The man’s snores cut off, and then a blond head lifts from the cradle of his arms. He gazes at me in a sleepy stupor. "Hey, there."

  He reminds me of the beach bums in Santa Cruz. Thick blond hair falls in waves around a boyish face. Like my brother, he has the build of an athlete. Lean muscles ripple through his upper arms. He talks with a surfer-boy drawl that reminds me of a guy I kn
ew in college who flunked out of statistics. Sweet, but a total ditz when it came to academia.

  "Morning. I’m Henry’s sister, Saffie."

  He pushes himself to a sitting position, eyes widening. "Titus," he says, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Wait, you’re here already? Damn."

  "Yeah, the flight came in at eighty-thirty." I turn away from him and yank the refrigerator door. "You guys have anything to eat?"

  "Shit, I didn’t think you were coming on Friday." He blinks, slowly coming to awareness. "This place is a fucking mess."

  "You seem pretty surprised for waking up in the middle of it."

  Pink patches burn on his round cheeks. "I blanked that you were coming today." He slides from the stool.

  I grin at the sight of him in his smiley-face boxers. "You don’t have to get up."

  "I’ll make us breakfast." He flaps his hands at me. "Sit down. I’m not letting Henry’s sister lift a finger while she’s here. Do you like eggs and bacon?"

  I want to point out that cooking will be a challenge with the stove covered with garbage, but he seems like a nice guy, and it’s a treat to watch him walk around shirtless. Are all Henry’s teammates this ripped?

  Titus grimaces at the overflowing trashcan and cleans the stove, his ears burning bright red. "This is super embarrassing."

  "We were all twenty-five once. Can I help you with anything?" I ask as he lays strips of bacon on a pan.