Frederica drummed her red-lacquered fingernails against her steering wheel. “There is one more possibility I’ve been considering. But it’s really unorthodox.”

More unorthodox than murder apartments and bug paradises? “How so?”

We came to a red light and she reached inside her Prada purse to pull out her cell phone. She quickly thumbed through a couple of screens, mumbling something about Instagram before the light changed. She handed me her phone and then pulled forward.

On the screen was the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my entire life. And that included all the men in movies, magazine ads, and TV shows. He was . . . stunning. Golden-brown hair with piercing blue eyes, a jawline that was so killer it was begging for its own Lifetime movie, and a brilliant, warm smile that could melt the coldest, frostiest heart.

“He’s . . . he’s . . . he’s . . . wow,” was all I could come up with. I zoomed in a little on his face. This had to be some filter, or angle or trick of the light. Nobody was actually this gorgeous.

As if she could read my mind, Frederica announced, “He’s even better looking in real life.”

My mouth gaped. That was just . . . not possible. How could it be? I was sitting here assuming he was just one of those people the camera loved. To be fair, the camera didn’t just love him; it also brought him flowers every day for a month, sang him ballads, and wanted to meet his parents.

I kind of wanted to do that, too.

“Who is this?” I finally choked the words out. I mean, if I was going to be introduced to his family, I should probably find out what his name was first.

“Tyler Roth. I met him at the Wesleys’ charity ball. Something about underprivileged iguanas. Anyway, he was standing in a corner all by himself and my heart just went out to him. Nobody that delicious should ever be alone.”

I nodded, fervently. In total agreement. The still-functioning part of my brain that hadn’t been rendered a drooling mess by his photo wondered what Frederica’s unorthodox plan concerning Tyler was. Maybe she wanted me to marry him and then I’d have someplace to live. If her plan involved me eloping with him to Vegas, I had the sneaking suspicion I was probably going to agree.

“And he told me that he travels quite a bit for his job and that he’s been looking to find someone to live in his apartment and look after his dog, Pigeon. She has some anxiety issues and he doesn’t want her to be alone. Isn’t she a beautiful dog?”

She pointed at her phone and it was only then that I realized that there was also a dog in the picture. A golden retriever. “Yes. The dog. Beautiful.” Not that I could really tell as my gaze quickly drifted back to Tyler.

“Tyler also needs someone to clean up the apartment. He’s had some bad luck with housekeepers lately. And in exchange for looking after Pigeon and cleaning, he’s willing to offer a rent-free room. I told him I’d keep an eye out for a good candidate.”

While I had zero experience with caring for dogs, I had even less with housekeeping. “I would have to clean?”

Frederica seemed to have either forgotten how spoiled I’d been or didn’t consider it to be an obstacle. “Mm-hmm. You’d be his roommate who cleans. Oh! His roommaid!” She eased her Ferrari over to the side of the road and grabbed her phone back. I felt a little bereft at losing it. “I’m going to text my attorney and see if I can trademark that word. Roommaid.” She let out a little laugh at her own cleverness.

Her fingers kept flying over her keyboard while she announced, “And now I’m texting Tyler to see if we can stop by and see his place.” She paused. “If you’re interested.”

It would make sense that she would ask. Excepting Shay, the potential roommate situation had been somewhat terrifying. I’d explored that on my own, and either I had the world’s worst luck or there were a scary number of disturbing people out there looking for someone to share their apartment and their crazy. It was why my aunt had been focusing on places I could afford on my own.

But anybody who looked like Tyler did and loved his dog and was that handsome and that gorgeous couldn’t be a bad guy, could he? Plus, Frederica was sort of vouching for him after speaking to him for ten minutes at a party.

That should definitely count for something. Right?

It was then that I realized my aunt was waiting for my response. “Yes, I’m interested.” Holy crap was I interested.

She smiled and pushed the send button. As we waited, it suddenly occurred to me that his apartment might be terrible. And just as quickly I decided I didn’t care. I would seriously consider moving into the murder apartment for this guy.

That might have made me shallow, but given that I’d made such a big noble sacrifice lately, I felt like I was owed some tiny bit of cosmic justice.

And possibly some exquisite eye candy.

I didn’t realize that I’d been holding my breath until I heard the ding of a reply message.

Frederica grinned at me. “He says to head over and he’ll meet us there as soon as he can. He said his doorman will let us into the apartment.”

A doorman? I thought of Shay’s fourth-floor walk-up and what a relief it would be to live in a building where there was someone who could help me carry my groceries upstairs. Who would get my packages before they were stolen. That there might be an actual elevator involved was enough to make me giddy.

On our drive over, Frederica told me more about her conversation with Tyler, which consisted mostly of them exchanging information about their dogs, while I resisted the urge to reach for her phone and get another happy eyeful. Then she said something that pulled me out of imagining Tyler and me as the stars of a music video, where we fell in love to the swelling of a poignant love song.

“He said he’d prefer a male roommate because in college he shared an apartment with a platonic female friend who ended up falling in love with him and made his home life miserable. He had to take out a restraining order.”

I’d seen a picture of him. I could kind of see where she’d been coming from.

“But that won’t be a problem for you because you’re in a serious relationship,” she said in a self-satisfied tone.

I was? Oh, she meant Brad. More accurately, Bradford Beauregard Branson IV. My high school sweetheart who hadn’t spoken to me since my parents had cut me off.

Something nobody in my family knew, and I certainly wasn’t in any hurry to tell them.

Because the Bransons were the very heart of Houston society. Pedigreed and wealthy and super connected. Being permanently tied to the Bransons was my mother’s fondest wish. If telling her I wasn’t going into the family business had thrown a hand grenade into the middle of our relationship, breaking up with Brad would be the equivalent of going nuclear.

I’d been quietly rebellious in a serious way, but it was something my parents could ignore while waiting for me to see the light and come around. Despite my recent bravery, I was not ready for the fallout of a rebellion that loud and major. There would be no forgiveness in this world or in the world to come.

So I ignored whatever our current relationship status actually was and pretended like we were fine. My mother and Frederica feuded on a regular basis (and it was another part of the reason I suspected Frederica was helping me find an apartment: to annoy my mom), but sometimes they were the best of friends. I couldn’t risk the truth getting back to my mom. So I said, “Right. I have Brad and so I won’t be romantically pursuing Tyler.”