Chapter 4

“The adopter cannot tell anyone about the contract. This is very important. Once the contract is leaked, Adopt-a-Guy will take the adopted guy back without refunding the money.”

I read the sentence for what felt like the hundredth time.

Then I read it again, just in case the words had magically changed while I wasn't looking.

They hadn't.

I slumped against the couch, holding the tiny, yellowed booklet in both hands. I had reached Rule Number 57, and somehow, the rules kept getting worse. Every page contained another ridiculous restriction, another warning, or another explanation of why I was apparently destined to lose every penny I'd ever earned.

The booklet looked as if it belonged in a museum. Its pages were yellow, its cover was worn, and the font was so small I needed to hold it close to my face to read it.

And Master H.E.X. had written all of it himself.

One hundred rules.

One hundred!

Who needed one hundred rules to adopt a guy? Was I adopting a man or signing a peace treaty with a hostile nation?

I rubbed my forehead.

There had to be a loophole. A technicality. Something. Anything.

I couldn't possibly be the first person to regret an impulsive purchase. People returned shoes that didn't fit, furniture that arrived damaged, and appliances that stopped working after two days. Surely there was some kind of customer protection for a woman who had accidentally spent $52,000 on a stranger while drunk.

Apparently, there wasn't.

I stared at the booklet.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

The booklet remained silent.

“Aren't you going to feed me?”

I slowly lifted my head.

Toby stood in front of me, rubbing his stomach. He wore the same innocent expression he'd been wearing all morning, as though he hadn't just become the most expensive problem in my life.

“Find something to eat,” I said, returning to the booklet.

“There's nothing in the kitchen.”

“Then drink water.”

“I already did.”

“Congratulations.”

He didn't move.

I turned a page.

“I checked everywhere,” he continued. “The refrigerator is practically empty.”

I ignored him.

“There's literally nothing except cold water.”

I kept reading.

“And I'm hungry.”

“That's unfortunate.”

He looked down at his stomach.

A deep, dramatic growl filled the living room.

I stopped reading.

Toby stared at his own abdomen as if it had betrayed him in front of an important audience.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then I looked toward the ceiling and silently asked the universe what I had done to deserve this.

How could I have spent fifty-two thousand dollars on such a useless man?

I grabbed my phone and ordered pizza.

“One pepperoni pizza, please,” I said when the restaurant answered.

Toby's head snapped up.

His eyes widened.

He pointed at himself with both hands and mouthed, Two.

I stared at him.

Two pizzas?

For one person?

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Actually, make that three,” I told the person on the other end. “Extra cheese, please.”

Toby beamed.

I hung up and gave him a look.

“Don't get comfortable.”

He smiled even more brightly.

I hated that smile.

It was entirely too effective.

Twenty minutes later, the apartment smelled like warm bread, pepperoni, and melted cheese. Three pizza boxes sat open on my dining table, their contents disappearing at a speed that would have impressed a professional competitive eater.

My slice remained untouched.

Toby was already halfway through his second pizza.

I rested my cheek against my hand and watched him chew.

“Do you even taste the food?”

He nodded without looking up.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Then why are you eating like someone might steal it?”

He swallowed and glanced at me.

“Because you might.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You keep looking at me like you're planning to take it away.”

“I am planning to take it away.”

He immediately pulled the pizza box closer to his chest.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then I pushed my untouched slice toward him.

“Here. Take it.”

His expression changed so quickly that I almost laughed. The suspicion disappeared from his face, replaced by an enormous smile.

“Really?”

“No. I'm conducting a social experiment.”

He took the slice.

“Thank you!”

He looked genuinely happy.

For a second, I forgot that he was an expensive, unwanted houseguest who had somehow become my legal responsibility. He looked like a kid who had just been told he could have dessert before dinner.

Then sauce dripped onto his shirt.

I reconsidered my feelings.

He was handsome. Annoyingly handsome. The kind of handsome that made people turn their heads when he walked into a room.

But a man with pizza sauce on his shirt and cheese stretched across his chin?

Not nearly as impressive.

I made a mental note never to buy him pizza again.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

He nodded, already reaching for another slice.

“How did you end up at Adopt-a-Guy?”

His hand paused.

For the first time all morning, he seemed to consider the question instead of immediately answering with something irritating.

“I don't really know,” he admitted. “Master HEX took me in. He gave me a place to stay and made sure I had food.”

His expression softened.

“He's a good guy.”

I stared at him.

Was this man serious?

Master HEX had taken $52,000 from me and handed Toby over like an expensive birthday present. And Toby thought he was wonderful because he'd been given a place to sleep and something to eat?

“Do you realize your good guy basically sold you to me?”

Toby frowned.

“It's called adoption.”

“Please stop saying that word.”

“Why?”

“Because every time you say it, I remember how much it cost.”

He shrugged and took a drink of water.

“Master HEX wouldn't sell his brother to a stranger for money.”

I stared at him.

“His brother?”

“Yeah.”

“You're his brother?”

“Not by blood.”

I waited for him to explain.

He didn't.

“So you're telling me that he took you in, gave you food and shelter, and then handed you over to me in exchange for fifty-two thousand dollars?”

Toby thought about it.

“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“Because it is bad!”

He looked genuinely puzzled.

“The money will help support the other guys, though.”

I leaned back in my chair.

“I'm not sure whether you're innocent or just spectacularly gullible.”

“I'm not gullible.”

His eyebrows pulled together, and the playful expression disappeared.

For a moment, I noticed something different in his face. Beneath the handsome features and easy smile, there was a stubbornness I hadn't expected.

He didn't like being called stupid.

Noted.

“Fine,” I said, holding up a hand. “You're not stupid. You're simply a man who believes every suspicious person he meets has a heart of gold.”

“That isn't true.”

“Of course not.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

I smiled sweetly.

“Have you been adopted before?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They said I was too expensive.”

I nearly choked.

“Too expensive? You mean someone actually considered spending fifty-two thousand dollars on you and decided against it?”

He nodded.

I looked him up and down.

“Well, at least someone had common sense.”

“You bought me.”

“I was drunk!”

“You still signed the contract.”

“I was very drunk!”

“You keep repeating that as if it changes anything.”

I pointed a slice of pizza at him.

“Keep talking, and I'll make you eat vegetables for the rest of your life.”

He went quiet.

Excellent. I was learning how to manage him.

Then an idea struck me.

A brilliant idea.

An idea so wonderful that I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier.

I slowly lowered the pizza.

“Toby.”

He glanced at me warily.

“What?”

“You don't have a job, do you?”

“No.”

“Perfect.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Why did you say that like it was a good thing?”

“Because it is.”

I sat up straighter, feeling my confidence return.

“You're going to get a job.”

He blinked.

“I'm going to what?”

“Get a job. Work. Earn money. You know, the things adults do.”

“I know what a job is.”

“Wonderful. Then this conversation should be easy.”

I folded my hands on the table.

“Since I paid fifty-two thousand dollars for you, you'll give me your salary every month until you've paid me back. I'll even be generous and give you fifty dollars in spending money.”

Toby stared at me.

“Fifty dollars?”

“Yes.”

“A month?”

“Don't look so excited.”

He set his pizza down.

“No.”

I blinked.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

He reached for the rulebook.

My stomach sank.

“Oh, no.”

He opened the booklet and flipped through the pages with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where the bodies were buried.

“Rule Number 87,” he announced. “The adopter cannot force the adopted guy to work.”

I stared at him.

“You're joking.”

“I'm not.”

“Give me that.”

I snatched the booklet from his hands and searched for the rule.

There it was.

Of course there it was.

The adopter cannot force the adopted guy to work unless the adopter and the adopted guy marry and establish a husband-and-wife relationship. In that case, the adopted guy must seek employment and contribute to the household and the future family's living expenses.

I read it once.

Twice.

Then a third time.

My mouth slowly fell open.

“Are you kidding me?”

Toby leaned back in his chair.

“There's an exception.”

I looked at him.

He smiled.

“Marriage.”

I stared at him in horror.

He picked up another slice of pizza.

“And, according to the rule, we'd have to establish a proper husband-and-wife relationship.”

I froze.

He tilted his head innocently.

“You understand what that means, right?”

I could feel my face heating.

“You little—”

“I'd be happy to cooperate.”

“IN YOUR DREAMS, PERVERT!”

I hurled the booklet at his head.

He caught it.

Of course he did.

He looked down at the cover, then back at me, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Careful,” he said. “It's the only copy.”

I clenched my fists.

“Your master is a genius.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment!”

He resumed eating.

I stared at him, wondering how a man could be so handsome and so infuriating at the same time.

Then I sighed.

Fine.

If I couldn't make him work, I could at least make him useful around the apartment.

“Since you're staying here, we're establishing some house rules.”

Toby looked up.

“House rules?”

“Yes. Rule one: you do the housework.”

His expression immediately fell.

“Laundry, cleaning, dishes, and cooking.”

“Cooking?”

“Yes, cooking.”

“But—”

“No objections.”

I pointed toward the kitchen.

“I work long hours. I'm not going to come home every night and clean up after you. You'll keep the apartment tidy, and you'll be responsible for your own mess.”

He opened his mouth.

I raised a finger.

“Rule two: stay out of my bedroom.”

He glanced toward the hallway.

“Why?”

“Because it's my bedroom.”

“That doesn't explain—”

“Rule three: stay out of my closet.”

He blinked.

“Your closet?”

“My walk-in closet. My clothes, shoes, bags, and accessories are expensive. I don't want you touching them.”

“What if I need a shirt?”

“Buy your own.”

“With what money?”

“Ask your beloved Master HEX.”

He looked offended.

I ignored him.

“Rule four: you use the bathroom at the back of the apartment. Not the one beside my bedroom.”

“Why can't I use that one?”

“Because I don't want to share a bathroom with you.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but I continued before he could.

“Rule five: you sleep in the living room.”

His eyes widened.

“What?”

“I don't have an extra bedroom.”

“You have that room down the hall.”

“That room is my storage room and walk-in closet.”

“I can sleep in there.”

I paused.

“Really?”

“Sure. As long as I have a bed.”

I smiled.

“Wonderful. Then we'll put a blanket on the floor.”

“No.”

The answer came so quickly that I nearly laughed.

“Why not?”

He reached for the rulebook again.

I slapped my hand over it.

“Don't you dare.”

He stared at me.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“Rule Number 23.”

My smile disappeared.

“What about it?”

“The adopter must provide proper care and reasonable living conditions. If the adopter fails to do so, Adopt-a-Guy may take the adopted guy back without refunding the payment.”

I closed my eyes.

I could feel my future crumbling around me.

“A bed,” Toby continued. “A wardrobe would be nice, too.”

I opened my eyes.

“You want me to buy you a bed and a wardrobe?”

He nodded.

“And some clothes.”

I stared at him.

“Anything else?”

He considered the question.

“Maybe a bigger refrigerator.”

I stood up so abruptly that my chair scraped across the floor.

“I'M GOING TO KILL MASTER HEX!”

Toby looked down at his pizza.

“Can you do that after dinner?”

I stared at him.

He took another bite.

I sat back down.

Because, unfortunately, I had a feeling the rulebook would forbid murder, too.

And that was how I discovered that adopting a man was less like getting a boyfriend and more like signing up for a lifetime subscription to a very expensive headache.

I was never drinking wine again.

Ever.

Not even on New Year's Eve.

Not even if someone offered me a bottle for free.

Especially not if someone offered me a bottle for free.

Because if there was one thing I had learned from this entire disaster, it was that my drunk self couldn't be trusted with money, men, or legally binding paperwork.

And I had a horrible feeling that my sober self was about to discover even more reasons to regret all three.