4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Z ylus

Why did I give her an estimate? Well, first of all, how was I to know she'd even entertain the idea of renovation? Every room we looked into pulled a moan or "oh my" from her. And second, I was having fun with her. She's a great conversationalist and it would have been rude to stonewall her when she asked a direct question.

The tour gave me plenty of time to get a good look at my pretty companion. The human is… beautiful. Her long, brown hair is pulled into a tail at her nape and her face is full and round, with a pointed little chin. I doubt she'd enjoy hearing it, but her lips pursed in consternation make her look adorable.

Although I didn't really expect to see anyone at this time of day, I drove by the inn in the hopes of getting a look at its new owner.

For some reason, I always thought it would be a wealthy, chittering, insectoid Frain or a bulbous Mulmout who left a trail of slime behind him wherever he slithered. Not a beautiful, young female who came to collect her prize.

My mind flips through many things that led to this point, starting decades ago when I used to visit my grandparents in this house, still livable though it had faded from its original glory. Even back then, I imagined fixing it up, modernizing, beautifying, and opening it as an inn.

After my grandparents passed, I made it clear I'd like to make 72 Zo'rel Place into the inn of my dreams, but my parents always reminded me of the Astralite law that all goods pass to the oldest son.

Although they were kind but firm in their refusal, somehow I always thought they would change their minds and leave it to me in their wills. This is planet Hallion, after all. The old Astralite customs are no longer binding. Sadly, they stayed firm in their conviction to follow the old ways, leaving everything to Nivar. When he married and gave them a clutch of grandchildren, I knew they would never change their minds.

They couldn't have been more misguided, though. Just as I'd feared, after my parents' shocking passing in a hover crash when they were still in their prime, the house was left to my older brother.

The first thing Nivar did after their death was divorce his wife and become an absent father. As that was proceeding, he stopped all maintenance and put the property up for sale. I scrounged for the credits to buy it, but couldn't swing his ridiculous asking price.

Although I'd been socking credits away for renovations since my first after-school job, I didn't have enough to both buy the property and fix it up. Not even if I sold my tiny starter home.

It was only after a year on the market with no offers that Nivar came up with the ridiculous scam of having people from across the galaxy ante up one thousand credits each to be entered into a drawing to win the place. One night when he was so drunk he was barely able to walk, he bragged that he made five times the worth of the property with this scheme.

Nivar's ads included touched-up photos from the home's heyday. That poor human, Misty, must have gotten the surprise of her life when she pulled up yesterday.

Now I need to do damage control. I've got to figure out how to wrangle my way into the banker's office with her .

"I wonder, Zylus, if you would mind talking to the banker with me? With you there to answer a few questions about the renovation, they might take me more seriously."

What a lucky break! This way, I can steer the conversation in the direction I want, which is to help Misty St. Clair leave town as fast as possible so I can make a reasonable offer on the house now that my brother has already made five times more than the property is worth.

Within half an hour, pretty little Misty and I are sitting in front of Mrs. Slizzax, a reptilian from the Radgon Sector who makes up for her species' reputation for sloth by being perfectly dressed and sitting with textbook posture.

She asks all the right questions, looks at the copy of the deed Misty has digitized on her wrist-comm, and researches the paperwork in the city's online databank. She analyzes housing comps as well as recent drone footage, which she observes with a startled intake of breath.

"250,000 to renovate, you say?" she asks, peering down at the Earther who is a good standard foot shorter than her.

"W-well, Zylus said maybe 300?" Misty squeezes out a worried smile. I can practically hear the wheels turning in her mind as she considers how to convince the banker to see the dilapidated property through kinder eyes.

"It's always more than the contractor's estimate." The reptilian gives me a dismissive glance, then returns her attention to Misty. " Always."

"Your deed is free and clear. That's a good thing, Miss St. Clair, but I'm afraid you only qualify for a loan of 145,000. I can go to 150,000 in good faith, but unless you can prove you have the rest of the money, I won't loan you anything."

Mrs. Slizzax folds her hands on her desk and leans forward as if she's letting Misty in on a little secret.

"The only thing worse than having no money for renovations is having less than you need. You'll spend everything you have and walk away with nothing. Not only will you have to forfeit your property back to First Bank of Arixxia Fields, but you'll still owe us money."

I've never had a warm space in my heart for reptilians, but I must admit, her reasoning is sound, and she's being kind in her own way.

Misty looks so dejected my stomach clenches in sympathy. I certainly know the feeling. Wasn't this how I felt when my parents gave Zo'rel Place to Nivar instead of me?

Before I can think of a way to improve the situation, Misty asks the banker to give us a few minutes to discuss this alone. Certainly she doesn't want me to loan her credits! Why would she suspect I could do such a thing? The hover-truck I drive is so decrepit it can barely accelerate to highway speeds. Besides, we just met!

When we're in the waiting room, before we arrive at our chairs, she turns to me and says, "I want this house, Zylus. I have a proposition for you. What if we use the bank's 150,000 to buy materials and you donate your labor?"

I sputter at the audacity of her request. Does she think I'm insane?

" Donate? " I like this Earther, but I can't keep my shocked derision out of my tone.

"On Earth, we call it sweat equity. I come to the table with a free-and-clear deed." She points to her wrist-comm as if she's pointing to something real instead of a digital record.

"You bring your expertise and muscle. We'll write this up and see a lawyer. It will be fair and square. At the end of the day, we'll be fifty-fifty owners."

This is the worst idea I've ever heard. In my life. I want to get rid of her and buy the house myself. Instead of saying this out loud, though, I clap my teeth together and force myself to think it through.

Fact one: I don't have enough credits to do the renovation even if I owned the property outright. Fact two: I don't own the property .

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and admit the sad truth. The only way I'll ever own this property is to take Misty up on her proposition, which is, in fact, quite generous.

"One condition," I say, suddenly realizing that in her mind, I have the upper hand.

Her face brightens for the first time, revealing her splendid smile. "What?" She's so eager, it's obvious she never expected me to agree to her ridiculous offer. That means I can increase my ask.

"No. Two conditions," I amend. "First, I get an equal say in all renovation decisions. Everything from which walls to remove, to which rooms to begin with, to what materials to buy."

"Done." She smiles up at me, her face beaming with happiness as she awaits my next demand. Is she so na?ve she thinks my second request will be as reasonable as my first?

"Second, I move into one of the spare rooms to reduce my commute."

Her pert, pink mouth pops open and she shakes her head as if she's scandalized. "No way!"

"Less commute means I'll have more time on the job. More time on the job means it will be finished sooner which means our first guests will be plunking down their deposits in record time."

I cross my arms in front of my chest even as I wonder why it felt so imperative that I move into the inn. "Final offer."

"Fine, but I pick which room is mine. As she marches into Mrs. Slizzax's office to sign the papers, she mutters, "Ass," under her breath.