Mr. H.O.A. Carina Taylor (free e novels txt) 📖

by Carina Taylor

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. Copyright law.

Editing: Jenny Proctor, Proctor Editing

Alison Maxwell, Red Leaf Proofing

Cover Design:  Sarah Adams

CJ Taylor

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

The End

Miss Trailerhood | By Carina Taylor

Chapter 1 | Riley

Want to read more? You can order Miss Trailerhood here!

CHAPTER ONE

Homeowners Association Rule #34:

The only HOA approved moving days are Fridays and Saturdays.

Dear Occupant,

The Board of Health has inspected and declared this building, The Market Street Apartment Complex, unsafe and an immediate hazard to anyone in the complex. 

With the discovery of asbestos and black mold in the walls, it is for the benefit of the residents that we require you to vacate the premises.                

The heretofore mentioned building has been condemned and must be evacuated immediately upon receiving this official statement.

Please remove yourself immediately. Liability insurance will not cover any belongings left in the building.

Sincerely,

Robert Robbins, Chairman of the Board of Health

Remove myself immediately? I set the paper down on my kitchen counter and glanced around my apartment. Things weren't that bad, were they?

The ceiling was a little cracked. But that hot, acidic smell that greeted me every time I walked into the apartment was part of the space’s natural musk. The dipped floor was just a result of the building having settled. The black on the wall below the window was part of the old wallpaper pattern. I was sure of it.

A gust of air from the fan on my counter blew the letter onto the floor. I bent down and peeled the paper off the damp ground. My neighbor Melanie's pipes must be leaking again.

After sharing a wall for three months now, I knew whenever her kitchen sink was giving her problems because the water leaked out and drifted over to my side.

Placing the paper inside the toaster oven to dry out, I slipped my suit jacket off and laid it over the back of my overstuffed chair. I lifted my hands, making quick work of my Windsor knotted tie. Stifling heat made it impossible to wear many layers. I unbuttoned the top three buttons and untucked my shirt so I could stand in front of the fan and feel the breeze against my skin.

A small form of relief.

Oregon summers were surprisingly hot despite the amount of rain in the winters. It was only the second week of June, and it was already in the nineties—even breaking the triple digits a few times. I wasn't sure if this building had ever had air conditioning. It definitely didn’t now.

My mind drifted to the letter again. It couldn't be some kind of joke or something, could it? I had too much on my plate to worry about getting evicted. Work was busier than ever, and I didn't want to even think about trying to find another place. I was so close to meeting my savings goal—I didn’t want to backtrack by stepping outside of my budget.

Unfortunately, housing was scarce in Riverly. I would know that better than most as a real estate agent in the area. Housing was being snatched up before it was officially listed on the market. Renting was usually twice the cost of buying. I knew of multiple people who rented out rooms in their house and made a full-time income from it.

The tourist industry was thriving thanks to the resort built on the small lake at the outskirts of town. With enough industry to provide competitive jobs for Riverly residents and an influx of out-of-staters into Oregon, the market was rising rapidly—which was why I was living in a less-than-ideal apartment situation.

It was only temporary—until I could pay cash for a house. The studio apartment I'd rented before moving to The Market Street Apartments had been ideal—above a private home's garage with a private entrance. Unfortunately, the homeowners sold the place and moved to Texas.

The only place that had a similar rental price was The Market Street Apartments. Saving money was a lot easier when your rent was only eight-hundred dollars a month. It was the only reason I would live there.

I'd been in plenty of condemned buildings before, and this apartment—while bad—wasn't the worst I'd seen. Only the second worst.

Pulling the paper out of the toaster oven, I held it in front of the fan to finish drying it out. Once it wasn't in danger of falling apart, I folded it up and headed out of the apartment. The building manager lived on the bottom floor, and I needed to find out if this was for real and if I would get my security deposit back. I liked to know the exact amount of money I could count on—especially in an eviction situation.

I sighed. If the letter was real, the other tenants would have received it too. The Market Street Apartment Complex: a misleading name since it was only one building with four floors and three apartments on each floor. There wasn't much of a complex.

Living on the third floor meant I had to take two flights of creaky stairs. I didn't envy the people who lived on the fourth floor—the third staircase was missing two steps, and the stairs that were there looked rotten. I was certain you could recognize a fourth-floor dweller by their toned calves. Anyone who scaled that staircase regularly had to be in fantastic shape. I'd spotted a few fourth-floor dwellers on rare occasions. They were speedy leapers.

The apartment manager's door was propped open, and a young woman stood in the entryway, her hands on her hips. One