Page 13 of Lease to Love

Instead, he was in my space.

Giving me that look.

And I couldn’t quite read it, which I didn’t particularly like.

May as well get this over with.

“Roman.” My voice came out flat. Dry. Unwelcoming.

He gave me an amused look before answering in that low, raspy New York accent that somehow made every word sound like a challenge.

“Hello, Sunshine.”

My eye twitched at the nickname, like it did every time he called me that.

“My name is Summer.”

His mouth curled into a smirk. “Yes, I’m aware of your name.”

He walked toward the counter and leaned against it like he owned the place which, technically he did.

Then he looked at me. “You’ve been ignoring my calls, Summer.”

Somehow, him using my actual name was worse.

I crossed my arms and planted my feet. “I’ve been busy.”

“Very busy, apparently. My office has called six times. My property manager has sent daily emails. I’ve personally called twice.”

“I responded to your property manager.”

“But not me. Because…?”

“Because everything you needed to know was in the email to your property manager.” I shrugged. “I put your messages in a special mental folder labeled ‘Things I’ll Deal With When I Have the Bandwidth.’ I ran out of bandwidth.”

Roman went quiet.

He always did that.

That slow, considering pause before he spoke, like he was deciding whether you were worthy of whatever words he was about to spend on you.

It drove me fucking crazy.

The bastard made me wait while he reached behind the counter, grabbed one of the clear plastic cups, and poured himself a glass of my spa water from the dispenser.

My. Spa. Water.

For customers.

He took a slow sip before speaking.

“The rent is due on the first,” He glanced at his watch. “It’s the twenty-second.”

“I’m aware of the calendar.”

I gave him the same dry tone he’d used on me earlier, but he didn’t react. He simply took another sip, his eyes staying on me over the rim of the cup.

“You’re twenty-two days late and think you can afford to ignore communication?”