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down the hallway, the rubber soles of Mrs. DiAngelo’s flip-flops slapped against the polished wood surface. She halted at an apartment door marked 201. Extracting a ring of keys from her pocket, she quickly found the one she wanted and turned the key in the lock.
    â€œThis is one of my favorite apartments. The previous tenant was transferred to Texas, so they had to move.”
    The trio halted inside the apartment. Like the hallway and staircase, the apartment’s highly polished hardwood floors were beautifully maintained. A narrow foyer led into the living room. Large bay windows overlooked the front of the building. Tia could see her SUV on the street below. Slowly, Chris strolled around the room, examining everything. He moved into the dining room and then checked out the kitchen.
    Tia hung back, waiting in the center of the foyer near the entrance. She wanted Chris to establish his first impression of the apartment alone. She believed it was important for him to form his own opinion of the place without her input. After all, if he decided to sign a lease, he would be the one living here. Landlady and potential tenant slipped in and out of her view as they moved though the living room, dining area, and kitchen, asking each other questions and making comments. The pair returned to the living room where Tia watched them from her spot in the hallway.
    â€œWhat are the move-in costs?” Chris folded his arms across his broad chest.
    â€œFirst and last months’ rent, plus a security deposit that equals the first month’s rent,” Mrs. DiAngelo answered promptly. “A letter from your employer confirming your position will also be needed. Where do you work?”
    â€œAt the Renaissance Center.”
    â€œOh, this location is perfect for you.” She pointed toward the front of the building. “Shoot straight down Jefferson Avenue to downtown.”
    â€œI see.”
    The landlady perked up. “Are you French?”
    â€œOui.”
    Mrs. DiAngelo pursed her lips. “Who is your employer?”
    Chris paused as if debating whether to answer her question, and then he shrugged. “Gautier International Motors.”
    â€œMmm.” She nodded slowly. “I think I spoke with you. You’re here for an indeterminate length of time, right?”
    He nodded.
    â€œI’ve heard of them. They’re from France, right?”
    â€œCorrect.” Chris turned away, searching for Tia. He found her at the door and waved her to him. “Tia. What are you doing there? Come see.”
    She sauntered down the hall and stood next to Chris. He touched her arm lightly and smiled down at her. “What do you think?”
    â€œI like it. But the real question is, do you?”
    Shrugging, he muttered, “Maybe.”
    Tia moved across the living room to the fireplace. “This is beautiful.” She turned to the older woman. “Does it work?”
    Frowning, Mrs. DiAngelo focused an unfriendly gaze on Tia. “And you are?”
    Chris took a step closer to Tia, wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, and grinned down at her. “We’re friends.”
    â€œOh. Well, you do know that we only accept married couples. No living together or shacking up.”
    Chris’s pale gaze narrowed and he said, “That’s not a concern of ours or yours.”
    â€œWell, you do know that we don’t tolerate a lot of loud noise. I don’t want that loud, vulgar rap music seeping into the halls.”
    â€œI don’t listen to rap.”
    Alarmed by the verbal attack, Tia took a step away, but Chris pulled her closer to his side.
    The landlady’s eyes narrowed and a sneer of disgust appeared on her face. “This is a quiet building. No fooling around or loud noise. The tenants who rent from me live here, but they take their partying elsewhere.” Mrs. DiAngelo stared directly at Tia as she spoke.
    â€œWell, Mrs. DiAngelo, I think Tia