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One would think that would appease the jackass. I was pretty much giving him thousands of dollars.
But sadly, no. He moaned and complained as if I was standing in the way of his entire source of happiness, because we both knew he’d had no plans of using the extra money from raising rent for actual building maintenance.
“Why can’t you just front me the money beforehand?” he whined.
I blinked at him, wondering if I really came across as that stupid and naive. Damn, I probably did. “Just get the repairs done. When I’m satisfied with how well you do them, then I’ll pay.”
Snickering, he turned away as if to dismiss me. “Yeah, whatever you say, ya pretentious prick. We’ll do it your way this time. I won’t raise your sister’s precious rent.”
“Good.” I set my hand over my heart. “And I hope this means we can still be friends, Dick.”
He shot me a glare. “It’s Rick. And I’d sooner befriend Satan himself.”
I shrugged, indifferent. “As long as you fix the lighting, I don’t give a fuck what kind of company you keep.” Dusting lint off the sleeve of my jacket, I turned away. “And see what you can do about the ventilation and trash situation around here. Your foyer smells like ass.”
I left him grumbling to himself and started back down the cave-like hall toward the entrance of the building.
It would’ve been easier to just buy the entire place out from under Darmon, but he was being a douche and wouldn’t shoot me a decent offer. Besides, becoming Kaitlynn’s landlord would probably give away the whole “stealth” part of my mission.
You see, I didn’t want her to actually know I kept tabs on her, and it would be impossible to remain discreet if I openly bought the building of the girl I was secretly trying to watch over.
Letting her realize I was so involved in her life was completely out of the question, too. I’d known Kaitlynn since she was seven. The stubborn little sh
it liked to make her own way. If she caught on to the fact that I was around to break her fall, she might get all out of joint or completely take things the wrong way. Hell, she might even start to believe I cared or something.
Which I didn’t.
Not purposely, anyway.
The fact of the matter was her dad had been more of a father to me than my own. Honestly, he’d been the only true parent figure in my life.
After Lana had married him when I was seventeen, he’d taken me under his wing and actually taught me shit, bringing me to the office with him and showing me how to run a business when I was just a teen. He’d taught me that truth, honor, hard work, and tenacity were what mattered most.
I had admired the hell out of Arthur Judge, and Kaitlynn had been his only child, his beloved baby girl. I refused to disrespect his memory by letting Lana destroy her. And hurting Kaitlynn sometimes seemed to be Lana’s sole purpose in life.
I already felt shitty enough about everything Lana had already inflicted on my stepsister. But as soon as Arthur had died, Lana had moved faster than I could anticipate.
I’d still been mourning him and trying to deal with a world where he no longer existed, while Lana had been kicking Kaitlynn out of the only home she’d ever known, disowning her, and leaving her destitute. By the time I’d been able to see beyond my own grief, most of the damage had already been done. I still wasn’t sure how Lana had gotten Arthur’s will to state that practically nothing be left to his only child, but I had never believed it—it had to be a lie—and someday I was going to prove I was right.
Until then, I kept trying to watch over Kaitlynn and prevent her from falling on even worse times. And if that meant dipping into my savings to fix an elevator in her stupid apartment building, then so be it. It was probably rightly her inheritance money—not mine—anyway.
I owed it to Arthur to look after her.
I just wished sometimes—or rather all the time—that she’d picked a different, better place to live. Because this building sucked, and it was run by a dirty crook.
Pushing open the front door, I started to exit, only to be jostled backward against the portal when a kid between eight and twelve years old with floppy black hair came racing inside at a dead run, laughing and shouting, “Watch out!” as he went.
He dashed off, not even pausing to check whether I was okay or not.
I blinked after him as he sped down the north hall of the first floor until a voice from outside shouted, “Miguel! Dammit. Slow down. You’re supposed to make sure I can always see you, remember?”
Since I was still standing in the open doorway with my back pressed against the exit, all I had to do was turn my head to see her.
And just like that, time switched into slow motion.
Juggling three heaping paper sacks full of groceries in her arms, the woman hustled toward the entrance in hot pursuit of the boy.
“Sorry about that,” she told me, out of breath as she reached the entrance. “Are you okay? He can be such a brat sometimes.”
