Chapter 3

“Get in the car.”

Toby stared at me as if I had just asked him to jump off a bridge.

“W-Where are we going?”

“Your new home.”

“Isn't this my new home?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the parking lot.

“Hey! Slow down!”

He stumbled after me, struggling to keep up while I marched toward my car with the determination of a woman on her way to save her entire financial future.

Which, technically, I was.

My $52,000 was still missing. My apartment had been invaded by a man I apparently owned through a contract I barely remembered signing, and I had a headache that felt like it had been personally designed by Satan.

Something had to be done.

And I knew exactly where to start.

H.E.X.

Harlan Ezekiel Xavier.

The weird man behind Adopt-a-Guy.

The man who had taken three years of my savings and handed me a twenty-five-year-old stranger with excellent cheekbones and absolutely no sense of urgency.

I was going to get my money back.

Even if I had to drag him into court myself.

“Lara!” Toby protested as I yanked open the passenger door. “At least tell me where we're going!”

“Get in.”

“Can you explain what's happening?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me why you're acting like this?”

I shoved him toward the seat.

“Because I'm trying very hard not to commit a felony before lunch.”

He blinked.

I pointed at the seat.

“Inside.”

He climbed in, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” I demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

I slammed the door, walked around the car, and got behind the wheel.

Only after I started the engine did I realize something.

Last night, I had been completely wasted. I could barely remember what I had eaten for dinner, much less how I had gotten home.

Yet I had somehow made it back to my apartment safely.

I glanced at Toby.

He was adjusting the seat belt with an annoyed expression.

He must have driven me home.

That explained it.

It also meant that, at some point during the previous night, I had trusted a man I barely knew enough to let him drive me home.

Wonderful.

My drunk self had apparently been making life decisions with the confidence of a billionaire and the judgment of a raccoon.

I gripped the steering wheel.

“Put your seat belt on properly.”

“I am.”

“Then stop touching it.”

“I'm trying to make it comfortable.”

“It's a seat belt, not a luxury spa treatment.”

He turned toward me.

“What's wrong with you, woman? You woke me up in the most horrible way possible, and now you're dragging me around without explaining anything. Can you at least—”

“Finish that sentence and I'll shove my sneakers into your mouth.”

Toby stopped talking.

He looked at my shoes.

Then at me.

Then he slowly turned toward the windshield.

“That's what I thought,” I muttered.

Finally. Peace.

I pulled out of the parking space and drove away.

“I have to fix this mess,” I said under my breath.

Toby glanced at me.

“Fix what mess?”

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“Your existence.”

He stared at me.

“That seems a little personal.”

“It became personal when you cost me fifty-two thousand dollars.”

“I didn't make you sign the contract.”

I turned my head so quickly that the car drifted slightly toward the next lane.

“Excuse me?”

“Eyes on the road!” he yelped.

I faced forward again.

“Don't test me, Toby.”

He held up both hands.

“I'm just saying. You signed it.”

“Because I was drunk!”

“And I was there.”

“Then why didn't you stop me?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then looked out the window.

“That's what I thought,” I said.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The city passed by in a blur of storefronts, traffic lights, and people going about their perfectly ordinary lives. Some were walking dogs. Others were carrying coffee. A man in a business suit jogged across the street while desperately trying to keep his briefcase from swinging into his knees.

Everyone seemed to be having a normal morning.

Meanwhile, I was driving a man back to the place where I had accidentally purchased him.

If anyone had told me a week ago that this would be my life, I would have recommended they seek professional help.

I glanced at Toby again.

He had leaned his head against the window.

His eyes were closed.

A minute later, a soft snore escaped him.

I stared.

Was he seriously sleeping?

I had lost three years' worth of savings, and he was taking a nap.

I pressed my lips together.

No. Don't do it, Lara.

Don't look at him.

Don't think about it.

Don't imagine how satisfying it would be to punch him in the face.

I looked at him.

He snored again.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Unbelievable.

I was experiencing the worst financial crisis of my life, and my so-called adopted guy was sleeping like a baby on a road trip.

If I had known he was going to be this irritating, I would have requested someone less handsome and more useful.

Maybe a man who could at least make coffee.

Or fix a sink.

Or pay me back.

I sighed and kept driving.

An hour later, I finally arrived in Riverton.

I recognized the building immediately. It was old, narrow, and wedged between two shops that looked as though they hadn't been renovated since the early 1990s. The sign outside wasn't much better.

ADOPT-A-GUY.

A perfectly ordinary sign for a perfectly ridiculous business.

I parked the car and turned toward the passenger seat.

Toby was still asleep.

His head had tilted toward the window, his hair was falling across his forehead, and his mouth was slightly open.

He looked peaceful.

Annoyingly peaceful.

I leaned over and nudged his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Nothing.

I nudged him again.

“Toby.”

He shifted slightly.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

I stared at him.

Five more minutes?

Was he a grown man or a toddler refusing to get ready for preschool?

I sat back and folded my arms.

“Fine.”

My gaze wandered toward the dashboard.

There was a bottle of water sitting beside the windshield.

An idea occurred to me.

A terrible idea.

A beautiful, satisfying, absolutely necessary idea.

I picked up the bottle and slowly unscrewed the cap.

Then I turned toward Toby.

“Sweet dreams,” I whispered.

I poured the water directly onto his face.

“W-WHAT THE—AAAGHH!”

Toby jolted upright so violently that he nearly hit his head on the roof.

He wiped his face with both hands, blinking in shock.

“What is wrong with you?!”

I calmly put the cap back on the bottle.

“Good morning.”

He stared at me.

Water dripped from his hair onto his shirt.

“Did you just pour water on me?”

“No.”

He looked at the bottle.

Then at his wet clothes.

Then back at me.

“Lara!”

“Oh, look. You're awake.”

He looked as if he wanted to say about seventeen different things, none of them suitable for polite company.

I opened my door and stepped out.

“Come on. We have business to discuss.”

He climbed out after me, still wiping water from his face.

“You could've just shaken my shoulder!”

“I did.”

“You could've shaken it harder!”

“I considered it.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Because the water was faster.”

He stared at me in disbelief.

I gave him a sweet smile.

“Try to keep up.”

Before entering the building, I pulled a gray hoodie over my head and tugged a black baseball cap low over my forehead. I was wearing black leggings and white sneakers, which was about as close to a disguise as I could manage without buying a fake mustache.

I checked the street.

No familiar faces.

No coworkers.

No one from the office who might recognize me.

Excellent.

The last thing I needed was for someone to discover that I had visited a shop that sold men.

I could already imagine the rumors.

Lara Hayes, senior manager, secretly purchases a boyfriend.

By lunchtime, I'd probably be known as the company's resident pervert.

By the end of the week, someone would be asking me whether I offered a discount for repeat customers.

I shuddered.

Absolutely not.

I pulled my cap lower and hurried toward the entrance.

Behind me, Toby was still trying to dry his hair with his sleeve.

“Why are you dressed like you're about to rob a bank?” he asked.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want anyone to know I'm here.”

He looked at the sign above the door.

Then at me.

“Isn't that a little late? You're literally standing outside the place where you bought me.”

I stopped walking.

Slowly, I turned around.

“Do you want to walk home?”

He considered that.

“No.”

“Then keep talking and find out what happens.”

He pressed his lips together.

I nodded approvingly.

We entered the building.

The familiar smell hit me immediately: old wood, dust, and something vaguely herbal that reminded me of a shop where someone might sell mysterious candles to people who believed their exes could be defeated with crystals.

I hurried down the hallway toward H.E.X.'s office.

The room looked exactly as I remembered it. Red walls. A purple curtain. A red sofa. A low table covered with a gold cloth.

The place had all the charm of a haunted theater.

I was halfway to the office when I bumped into someone.

“Oof!”

I stumbled backward.

A familiar voice greeted me.

“Well, well. If it isn't Miss Hayes.”

I looked up.

There he was.

H.E.X.

Harlan Ezekiel Xavier.

The man responsible for the single worst purchase of my life.

He wore his red coat, his black glasses, and the same ridiculous smile I remembered from last night. He spread his arms as if he expected me to run toward him and throw myself into a grateful hug.

In your dreams.

“Welcome back,” he said cheerfully.

I forced a smile that probably looked more like a warning.

“Hello.”

His attention shifted to the man standing behind me.

“Toby!” he exclaimed. “Good morning!”

He waved enthusiastically.

Toby, whose shirt was still slightly damp, lifted one hand and offered a strained smile.

“Morning.”

H.E.X. looked delighted.

I looked homicidal.

“So,” he said, clasping his hands together. “How can I help you two today?”

I hesitated.

This was it.

The moment I had been waiting for.

I took a deep breath, grabbed Toby by the arm, and pulled him forward.

“This.”

H.E.X. blinked.

I pushed Toby gently—but firmly—in his direction, then stepped behind him as if he were a human shield.

“We need to talk,” I said. “There's a problem.”

The smile on H.E.X.'s face slowly faded.

“A problem?”

I nodded.

“Yes. A very serious problem.”

He looked at Toby.

Then at me.

Then back at Toby.

“Him?”

“Yes. Him.”

Toby turned toward me, his eyebrows rising.

I swallowed.

“I can't keep this guy.”

The silence that followed was almost impressive.

H.E.X. blinked.

Toby blinked.

I gave them both an awkward smile.

Then, at exactly the same time, Toby and H.E.X. spoke.

“It's adopted.”

I froze.

They froze.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Slowly, I turned toward Toby.

“Did you seriously just correct my wording?”

He crossed his arms.

“You make it sound like you bought a secondhand refrigerator.”

“I basically did!”

“Hey!”

I pointed at him.

“You cost more than my car!”

“That doesn't make me a refrigerator!”

H.E.X. cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Technically, Toby is an adopted guy.”

I looked at him.

“That does not make me feel better.”

“Understood.”

“No, I don't think you do.”

I rubbed my forehead and forced myself to focus.

“Look, last night I was drunk. I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't understand what I was signing, and I definitely didn't intend to—”

H.E.X. raised one hand.

“Stop.”

His voice was calm.

Not annoyed. Not angry.

Just calm.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and for the first time since I'd met him, his expression became serious.

I stopped talking.

He stood silently, hands folded in front of him, as if he were considering an important business decision.

Then he opened his eyes.

“I know.”

I blinked.

“You do?”

He nodded.

Hope bloomed in my chest.

Maybe he understood.

Maybe he realized I had been drunk and would never have agreed to this arrangement if I'd been sober. Maybe he had a conscience buried somewhere beneath that red coat and those ridiculous glasses.

I stepped forward and grabbed both his hands.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with relief. “Thank you so much.”

H.E.X. glanced down at our hands.

Then back at me.

His lips curled into a small smile.

“But...”

My smile vanished.

My fingers loosened.

“...But?”

There was something deeply sinister about that word.

It was too gentle. Too casual. Too polite.

It was the kind of but that arrived before a doctor delivered bad news or a lawyer explained that your entire inheritance had been left to a distant cousin who lived in another country.

H.E.X. straightened his coat and adjusted his collar.

“According to the Adopt-a-Guy regulations, Rule Number 17 states that purchased adoptees cannot be returned.”

Silence.

I stared at him.

He smiled at me.

I waited for him to laugh.

He didn't.

“...What?”

“Purchased adoptees cannot be returned,” he repeated patiently.

I blinked several times.

“No. I heard you. I just thought maybe you'd follow that with a joke.”

“I'm afraid not.”

“But I was drunk!”

“I know.”

“I wasn't thinking straight!”

“I understand.”

“I didn't even know what I was signing!”

“I'm aware.”

“Then why can't you cancel it?”

“Because of Rule Number 17.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

My eye twitched.

“You're telling me that because of one stupid rule, I'm stuck with him?”

H.E.X. tilted his head.

“It's an important rule.”

“Important to whom?”

“To the company.”

“Oh, wonderful! I'm so glad the company is doing well!”

Toby made a small noise behind me.

I turned sharply.

“Don't.”

He immediately looked at the ceiling.

H.E.X. continued as if nothing had happened.

“After you completed the transaction last night, I attempted to explain all the rules to you.”

I frowned.

“You did?”

“Yes.”

I waited.

He waited.

Then he added, “You refused to listen.”

I went completely still.

A vague memory surfaced: me waving a hand dismissively while H.E.X. tried to explain something about a contract. I remembered saying that rules were boring. I remembered telling him I trusted him.

I remembered signing my name with the enthusiasm of a woman who had just won a vacation.

Oh, God.

That did sound like me.

Drunk me, specifically.

I grabbed my hair.

“Why didn't you stop me?”

“I tried.”

“You should have tried harder!”

He gave me a sympathetic smile.

I stared at him in disbelief.

Then my shoulders sagged.

“So...” I asked weakly. “I can't get my money back?”

H.E.X. shook his head.

“No.”

One syllable.

One tiny, harmless-sounding syllable.

And there went my future.

My lips parted.

“...No?”

“I'm afraid not.”

His smile was gentle. Almost motherly.

Somehow, that made it worse.

I could have handled a villainous laugh. I could have handled him rubbing his hands together and announcing that he'd fooled me.

But no.

He looked as if he'd just informed a child that the ice cream truck had run out of popsicles.

“My fifty-two thousand dollars,” I whispered.

He nodded.

“Gone.”

He said it so calmly that I briefly wondered whether he had practiced delivering financial disasters in front of a mirror.

Gone.

The word echoed through my head.

Fifty-two thousand dollars.

Three years of savings.

Three years of turning down vacations, expensive dinners, and impulse purchases. Three years of telling myself that the money was for my future.

My future wedding.

My future home.

My future life.

And what had I spent it on?

I slowly turned toward Toby.

He stood beside me with his arms crossed, looking somewhere between confused and mildly annoyed.

A man.

I had spent fifty-two thousand dollars on a man.

I could practically hear my younger self screaming.

If I could go back in time, I would grab my drunken self by the shoulders and shake her until every remaining brain cell returned to its proper place.

Actually, no.

I'd kick her butt.

Hard.

“Would you like me to explain the important rules again, Miss Hayes?” H.E.X. asked.

I turned back toward him.

My face felt completely empty.

Then I nodded.

What else could I do?

H.E.X. folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking like a teacher preparing to deliver a lecture to a particularly troublesome student.

“The rulebook contains one hundred rules,” he began.

My eyes widened.

“One hundred?”

He smiled.

“One hundred.”

I stared at him.

“Who needs one hundred rules to adopt a guy?”

“Apparently, our service does.”

“That is not an answer!”

He raised one finger.

“First, the adopted guy cannot be returned for any reason.”

I swallowed.

“Second, the adopter must provide proper care for the adopted guy. According to Rule Number 23, if the adopter fails to do so, Adopt-a-Guy may take him back without refunding the money.”

I looked at Toby.

He was staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone who desperately wished he could become part of it.

I looked back at H.E.X.

“Proper care?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“Food, clothing, shelter, and reasonable living conditions.”

I closed my eyes.

Food.

Clothing.

Shelter.

Of course.

Not only had I lost fifty-two thousand dollars, but I was apparently responsible for feeding, clothing, and housing the man who had cost me the money.

My savings had purchased me a dependent.

An expensive, handsome, fully grown dependent.

“Anything else?” I asked weakly.

H.E.X. scratched his chin.

“Oh, yes. I will visit once a month for the first six months to make sure Toby is being treated properly.”

My eyes flew open.

“You'll do what?”

“Visit once a month.”

“For six months?”

“Yes.”

“To check whether I'm treating him well?”

“Correct.”

I pointed at Toby.

“Why does this sound like I'm adopting a child?”

“Excuse me?” Toby protested.

I ignored him.

H.E.X. smiled as if this were an entirely reasonable arrangement.

“Do you understand, Miss Hayes?”

I looked at him.

Then at Toby.

Then back at him.

“No.”

His smile faltered.

“Well...” He hesitated. “I could give you the rulebook.”

I nodded weakly.

At this point, I had nothing left to lose.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a small book. The cover was plain, with the words ADOPT-A-GUY RULES printed across the front.

He handed it to me.

I stared at the book.

It looked harmless.

It was small enough to fit inside my handbag.

Yet somehow, I was certain it contained enough legal nonsense to ruin the next ten years of my life.

“I recommend reading every page,” H.E.X. said. “Especially the fine print.”

I tucked the book beneath my arm.

“Wonderful.”

My voice sounded hollow even to me.

I turned toward the exit, shoulders slumped, dignity in ruins.

I had come here hoping to recover my money.

Instead, I was leaving with a rulebook and a man.

What a bargain.

I was nearly at the door when an excited woman's voice rang out behind me.

“HEX! Who is that handsome young man?”

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned around.

A middle-aged woman stood near the entrance. She had curly hair, dramatic makeup, and a smile so wide that I could see several gold teeth.

She was staring at Toby as if she'd just discovered a winning lottery ticket.

“Master HEX!” she exclaimed. “Do you have any more guys like him?”

I looked at the woman.

Then at Toby.

Then back at the woman.

And suddenly, a beautiful idea formed in my mind.

A ridiculous idea.

A potentially illegal idea.

But most importantly, an idea that might save my financial future.

I hurried toward her.

“Excuse me,” I said sweetly. “I couldn't help overhearing. You're looking for a guy like him?”

The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down.

“Yes. Why?”

I grabbed Toby's arm and pushed him forward.

“Here.”

Toby stumbled.

“Lara, what are you doing?”

I ignored him.

The woman slowly examined him from head to toe. Her expression changed with every passing second. First curiosity. Then interest. Then pure delight.

“Oh, my!” she breathed.

My heart leaped.

This was it.

My financial rescue.

My second chance.

My personal miracle.

I straightened my posture and smiled.

“Only fifty-two thousand dollars,” I said casually.

The woman's eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Really.”

My heart practically sang.

Finally! Someone who understood the value of a handsome man!

I could almost feel the money returning to my bank account. I could imagine opening my savings app and seeing the balance restored. I could book a vacation. Buy myself something nice. Maybe even order dinner without calculating the cost of every side dish.

I was so happy that I nearly hugged her.

Then Toby spoke.

“HEY!”

I turned toward him.

He was staring at me as if I'd just announced that I planned to sell his kidneys on the black market.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Are you trying to sell me?”

“Sell you?” I repeated, feigning surprise.

“Yes! Me!”

I smiled.

“I'm not selling you.”

He looked at the woman.

Then at me.

“You just gave her your price!”

“I'm transferring you.”

His mouth fell open.

“That's the same thing!”

“Not really.”

“How is it not the same thing?”

“Selling sounds rude,” I explained. “Transferring sounds professional.”

Toby stared at me.

For a moment, I thought he might actually be considering whether it was possible to sue someone for being an idiot.

I turned back to the woman.

“Anyway, he's in excellent condition. Very handsome. Twenty-five years old. Comes with a charming personality when he's not complaining.”

“Lara!”

I ignored him.

“And the price is negotiable.”

“LARA!”

“Stop interrupting the business meeting!”

Toby looked ready to explode.

“Business meeting? You're trying to get rid of me!”

“I'm trying to save my future.”

“By selling me?”

“Transferring!”

“THAT'S THE SAME THING!”

Before I could explain the obvious differences between the two concepts, H.E.X. cleared his throat.

“Excuse me.”

We all turned.

He approached us with his hands folded neatly in front of him and that same peaceful smile on his face.

My smile faded.

The woman straightened.

Toby crossed his arms.

H.E.X. stepped between Toby and the woman.

“I'm afraid you cannot do that, Miss Hayes.”

I stared at him.

“Why not?”

He tilted his head.

“According to Rule Number 69, the adopter cannot sell or transfer the adoption rights to anyone else, including members of the adopter's family.”

Silence.

I could hear my hopes crashing to the floor.

“No,” I whispered.

H.E.X. nodded.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I pointed at him.

“Why are there so many rules?!”

“There are one hundred rules, Miss Hayes.”

“I KNOW! YOU ALREADY TOLD ME!”

The woman lost interest almost immediately. She gave Toby one last disappointed look before wandering away, leaving me with the two men responsible for the destruction of my peace of mind.

Toby turned toward me.

A slow, smug smile spread across his face.

I glared at him.

“Don't.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I didn't say anything.”

“Your face is saying plenty.”

He grinned.

I wanted to throw the rulebook at him.

Instead, I clutched it against my chest and stared at H.E.X.

He was still smiling.

Still calm.

Still completely unbothered.

My last chance had disappeared. My money was gone, and there was no way to transfer Toby to another unsuspecting woman.

I looked down at the rulebook.

One hundred rules.

I had a horrible feeling that every single one of them had been written specifically to make my life miserable.

Then I looked at Toby.

He smiled even wider.

I took a deep breath.

And screamed.

“WHYYYYYYYY?!”

My voice echoed through the old building.

Toby covered his ears. The woman near the entrance jumped. Somewhere down the hallway, a door slammed.

H.E.X. merely adjusted his glasses.

“Please remain calm, Miss Hayes.”

I stared at him.

“Remain calm? You stole three years of my life!”

“Technically, I accepted payment for a service.”

“I'M GOING TO THROW THIS BOOK AT YOU!”

“I wouldn't recommend that. It's the only copy I can give you for free.”

I froze.

Then I lowered the book very slowly.

I couldn't believe it.

I had officially lost an argument to a man who sold boyfriends and wrote one hundred rules about them.

I glanced at Toby.

He was trying not to laugh.

I pointed at him.

“You. Car. Now.”

He straightened.

“Why?”

“Because if I have to look at your face for one more second, I'm going to lose the last functioning brain cell I have.”

He opened his mouth.

I raised the rulebook.

He closed it.

We headed for the exit, with Toby walking ahead and me following behind, muttering every swear word I knew under my breath.

My $52,000 was gone.

My brilliant plan had failed.

And the handsome stranger I had purchased in a drunken moment of terrible judgment was now legally attached to my life.

I had never wanted a boring life more desperately.

Unfortunately, I had a feeling boring was no longer an option.