He's still nodding when I wriggle free. "If your email is web-based, we can access it from my machine." I'm almost in my office when Zac stops me.
"Hang on a second, sweetheart. I don't want all the neighbors seeing my woman like that."
I'm still coming to terms with him calling me his woman when he removes his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. He's got a point. How often had I been at my desk when Mary waved to me while out on her morning walk?
It doesn't take long to log into his web mail and find the email from the insurance company. Soon enough I've printed out the attachment on tabloid size paper and we're in the dining nook skim-reading it.
If not for my printer being able to print the policy out nice and big, we'd have missed the addendum for sure. Doubtless why it's tucked away at the end of the policy, when most people will have glazed over.
Zac is the first to react.
"What the hell is a negligence clause?"
Busy as I am trying not to cuss, only a few words from the wordy legalese jump out at me. "If the insured fails to take reasonable steps to prevent or mitigate flood damage, any resulting losses will not be covered."
Zac has no trouble cussing, and I can't blame him when the import of the nasty little addition makes itself clear.
"But how was I supposed to take reasonable steps? There weren't even any warnings!" He then rakes his fingers through his hair, a deep growl in the back of his throat.
According to the local radio station, the intensity of the flash flood had even taken the authorities by surprise. Short of him having his place constantly surrounded by a six-foot wall of sandbags, there was never a chance of his insurance company paying out. "Those, those …"
Next to me, Zac is now bent double, bouncing his forehead off the table, interspersing each thud with a cuss word, and an occasional 'sorry' for his language.
I can't blame him for swearing. I would, too, if not for mom going on about it not being how a young lady talked. "This makes my blood boil."
While not illegal, the addendum is sure immoral. It's also borderline shady. Busy as I've been fuming on his behalf, it takes a little longer than it should for things to slot into place.
First off, Zac is homeless.
Second, he's likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.
Much as I want to suggest he move in with me full-time, I can't get the words out. It doesn't matter that he's as good as living here these days, and that his boss will no longer fire him for it.
It's too soon, isn't it?
More upsetting is that he mightn't want to stay, other than casually.
ZAC
How could I have been so stupid? Instead, I'd let that insurance agent pressure me into signing the policy before I'd read it all the way through.
Much as Kelly is fuming that the insurance company had buried the addendum, if I'd taken the time to read all the fine print, I would have seen it.
Wouldn't I? Truth be told, I hadn't even made it halfway through all those clauses, never mind to the extra bits at the very end.
My forehead still resting on the printout, even up close and enlarged, the font is still at the 'nothing to see here, move along' end of the spectrum. Add in that it's in a soft gray, rather than a more easily read black, and maybe I was never meant to read it?
Either way, I'm screwed.
And while I might be stupid about reading insurance policies, I can read women just fine. Kelly, for instance, is on edge, with nervous energy rolling off her in waves. The only thing I don't know is why.
Could it be she's just realized I need somewhere to stay, and she's not keen on it being here?
Happy to keep screwing me while she needs help with the float, but once that's over, she'll be all, 'Thanks, but no thanks.'
It's then I realize that, but for my interference, she wouldn't even be working on the float.
While it would be easier to keep my head pressed against the worthless policy, I have to face reality soon enough. It's this that has me lifting my head, dread filling me about what will show on Kelly's face.
