Mary said to the leasing agent. His name was Nigel Harris, and he had the most pristine brown goatee Mary had ever seen, but he smelled of pickles and mayonnaise. His office was far too neat to be of any real purpose, and she wondered what he did all day. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” “But I can pay.” He clasped his hands together and rested them on the desk. “Unfortunately, now that your boyfriend no longer lives with you, you don’t qualify for this apartment. You’re not at the right income level. It’s a new policy. You can stay for another thirty days.” Mary crossed her legs and glanced skyward. “I don’t believe this.” The man’s voice changed to something indulgent. “However, we may be able to get around it.” She looked at him, catching his gaze fall to her fishnet-clad legs. “How?” “If you’d like to discuss it somewhere a little more private I could be very obliging.” “Oh, really?” He swallowed. “Yes.” She stood. “Where are you going?”
