True Colors Read Free

coat closet door, all three of them pale and
wide-eyed. Monica had one girl tucked securely under each arm, and
she had her damn cell phone in one hand. “Get out,” she snapped.
“I’m dialing 9-1-1.”
    “I’m Max Tarloff,” he said, spreading his
hands palm up to show he wasn’t holding any weapons.
    She frowned, as if his name meant nothing to
her.
    “Your landlord.”
    “Max Something?”
    “Max Tarloff.”
    Her mouth fell open, then slammed shut. He
probably shouldn’t have noticed her lips. They weren’t covered in
lipstick, and the light in the entry foyer wasn’t exactly bright,
but he could see that those lips settled into a natural pucker, a
little too full for her face. Her complexion remained pale, and
despite her red hair she had no freckles, at least none that he
could see. Sharp cheekbones, though, and a wide forehead, and
pretty hazel eyes. Her hair was so thick and long and curly, he
could imagine losing small objects in it.
    His key, for instance. He pocketed it so she
wouldn’t think he was planning to attack her with it.
    “Tarloff,” she repeated. “Monica could never…
Oh, I mean…” She faltered, then loosened her grip on the girls. “I
think it’s okay.”
    “He has his own key,” one of the girls
said.
    “Well, yes. As the landlord, he would.” She
peered up at him. “I thought you were in California.”
    “I was. Now I’m here.”
    “But we—I mean, you’re not going to evict us,
are you?”
    Why was she acting as if he were an ogre,
planning to boot her into the street, where she could live in a
cardboard box? “I thought Andrea explained to you that I plan to
sell the house when the lease is up in June.”
    “She told Monica, but… I mean, it’s not June
yet.”
    That was the second time the woman referred
to Monica. Evidently, she was someone else. Someone who was living
in his house, if her comment about being evicted was anything to go
by.
    And perhaps he should evict her, because
he’d rented this house to Monica Reinhart, not Monica and some
other woman, and two little girls. Sure, the house was too big for
one person, but he’d rented it only so there would be someone
living inside it, making sure the pipes didn’t freeze in the winter
and the roof didn’t leak during the spring rains. He’d set a
ridiculously low rent because he’d felt Ms. Reinhart was doing him
a favor by living here. An empty house was an invitation to
mischief. He didn’t want people to think the place was
abandoned.
    Anyway, he didn’t need the money. What he’d
needed was a quiet, discreet person turning the lights on and off
and announcing to the world that the house was occupied.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “She’s our art teacher,” one of the girls
announced.
    “You interrupted our class,” the other
added.
    A class? An art class? In his house?
What the hell? “Who are you?” he asked in a tight voice, not
wanting to erupt and frighten the children—or have the woman phone
911. “That’s number one. And number two is, are you running a
school in my house?”
    “Not a school, no.” She loosened her grip on
the two little girls. “Why don’t you go upstairs and do a little
more work on your collages while I talk to Mr.—Tarkoff?” she asked
him.
    “Tarloff.” Number three, why don’t you know the name of your
landlord?
    “Mr. Tarloff. Go, go, go!” She sent them
toward the stairs with a gentle nudge, then turned back to Max.
“I’m Emma Glendon. I’m sharing the house with Monica.”
    Max watched the girls as they scampered up
the free-floating stairs to the loft. He was a nanometer away from
losing his temper, but he didn’t want to explode in front of her
students. “Number one, you are not on the lease. The lease offers
no subletting provisions. I did not give permission to Ms. Reinhart
to open this house up to additional tenants.”
    The woman gazed up at him and he tried to
ignore how lush her lips were. But when he steered his gaze