Mr. H.O.A.

elbow bumped against the doorframe as she took a slight step forward.
"You mean to tell me that Mr. Moneybags is condemning this building to build luxury apartments?" Her voice ended on a high note.
"Don't shoot the messenger, lady. I’m not the one evicting everyone," a nasally voice replied.
"You work for him, don't you? You could have warned us that the inspectors were coming by. The injustice of it all. What kind of man throws people out of their homes so he can build luxury apartments?" The woman's tirade continued. She flicked her shoulder-length, brown hair behind her ear. With her skirt stopping just before her knees, her high heels showcased a set of tan, toned calves.
Feeling guilty about eavesdropping, I leaned forward and knocked on the door frame. I stood directly behind the woman but could see over the top of her head into the manager's apartment. His furniture was pulled away from the walls and pushed into the center of the room. Cardboard boxes were stacked on top of tables and chairs. Nothing was left on the walls or shelves.
The woman who had been speaking angrily spun around at the sound of my knock. Emerald eyes met mine, and her light pink lips parted. Her features were petite—fine.
Beautiful.
The high heels she wore made her close to my height of six-foot-two, which meant she was tall even without the shoes.
She had to be a fourth-floor dweller. Sightings were rare, but I'd recognize those calves anywhere. I was right; jumping those rotten steps was a great workout.
"Oh, I see you’ve heard the great news too," she said dryly as she pointed at the letter in my hand.
"Yes, lovely to hear, isn't it?"
She threw her hands up in the air, trim arms visible thanks to the sleeveless blouse she wore. "What can you expect from Mr. Moneybags?"
I glanced past her to the apartment manager in question. Everyone called him Chippy. I’d never heard him called Mr. Moneybags.
"Not him," the woman replied impatiently. "I was talking about Sebastian Mercier. The man who owns the building."
That made a lot more sense. I knew the name well. I knew Mercier owned the building—just like he owned several houses and commercial buildings throughout town. "Was she right? Are they planning on luxury apartments here after this building is gone?"
Chippy shifted his considerable weight from foot to foot. "It's not like that, Bane. I'm supposed to offer each tenant the first chance on a lease on these apartments. Mr. Mercier doesn't want you to be without a home."
"Oh, he doesn't, does he? What a benevolent old man," the young woman interjected. She jerked a thumb in my direction. "Tell him what the price is."
Chippy visibly swallowed as he picked up a piece of paper off the top of a stack of boxes. He cleared his throat. "It says here that every tenant has first choice of the new apartments. You'll get to enjoy beautiful views and live in a luxurious fifteen-hundred square foot home. The luxury apartment complex will include a pool, a gym, and a lovely outdoor patio, complete with outdoor grills for everyone's use."
"You don't sound thrilled."
Chippy scowled. "Despite what Nola thinks, I'm not chummy with the man who owns this building. Three-thousand dollars a month in rent. Twice that amount for a deposit."
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. "So, he's serious about this building being condemned."
"Yes, my—"Chippy cleared his throat. "The wrecking crew will start in a few weeks, but everyone needs to pack their stuff and get out. The health board says it’s vital we leave the building immediately. It’s the law, so don’t be blaming me."
"This is ridiculous," the woman muttered, furrowing her brows. "Who does he think will be able to afford three thousand dollars a month? Definitely not the tenants. That amount of deposit is nearly a down payment for some people. It's not the tenants’ fault that this building is dilapidated. It's Mercier's responsibility to take care of it. I’ll write him a protest letter. I'll have everyone in the building sign it. Charging outrageous rent after everyone loses their homes...I’m going to fight him on this."
"Chippy!" A gravelly voice echoed from upstairs. "My pipes are leaking again!"
Aha, it was my neighbor Melanie. It sounded like she was still on the third floor and calling down to us. She had hip surgery recently, and the stairs were a bit too much for her right now. Any time she needed to get upstairs she would wait until I got home from work, and then we would make our way to the third floor together. The trip involved her leaning on my arm while telling me about her hip pain and her delayed social security checks.
"The entire building's going to be leaking soon!" Chippy bellowed.
The woman next to me covered her ears and glared at him. Her raised arms lifted her short top just enough to show a hint of smooth skin.
"Well, the least you could do is help me pack my stuff! You haven't fixed these pipes once in the two years I've been here!" Melanie yelled back. "Or the elevator for that matter!"
"Fixing pipes isn't in my job description!" Chippy shot back rather shrilly.
"Hey," I said, trying to get him to stop the yelling match before I went deaf.
The woman took a step further into Chippy's apartment, glancing at all the boxes. "I see you were warned about this ahead of the rest of us. Did you cut a deal with Mr. Moneybags?"
"No, I didn't. I swear I wouldn't do something like that." Chippy didn't look her in the eye when he said that. "You've been living in the same building as I have. When the inspector came by and said he was here to inspect the building, I started packing. What did you expect? This place is falling down around us. I packed my stuff. So what? You would have done the same."
The woman narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms across her chest. Her look