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“So,you don’t want to go out this Friday?” Giselle sounds skeptical.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t.” I press my cell to my ear with my shoulder as I swivel toward my computer where the IM system has just dinged. A message from Derek.
Mr. Carrington is on his way down in the elevator.
Aha!I haven’t been able to get ahold of the asshole since he busted the front door. He doesn’t answer or return my calls, and both attempts to catch him at home have failed. This time, I have him.
“Well, why can’t you?” Giselle asks.
“I have plans, that’s all. How about next Friday?” I shuffle paperwork around until I find the envelope for Mr. Carrington. “Next Friday works better for me.”
She heaves a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I think that works. But it’s my pick again since it all went to shit last time.”
I laugh. “Fine, fair enough.”
“Good. I gotta go, I have a client coming in to sign some papers. Talk to you later, Billie.”
After ending the call, I shove my phone into the back pocket of my slacks and rush to the front of the building. I don’t want to miss my opportunity to talk to this jerk about the damage he caused. Small incidents can be overlooked. A scratch here or there, or a small tear in a carpet from a heel getting caught, no problem. It’s what our maintenance contracts are for, but breaking a damn door because he couldn’t be bothered to use the service elevator isn’t going to be overlooked.
I reach the lobby just as the elevator dings its arrival.
“He’s on that one,” Derek says from his desk. “If he causes trouble, I’m right here.” He sounds almost hungry for a fight. I’m sure it can get a little monotonous sitting in this lobby; nothing much exciting happens. But I’m not looking to spice up his afternoon with an altercation with a resident.
I brush my hands over my blouse and take a cleansing breath. Confrontation isn’t one of my strongest attributes. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to back down, though.
The elevator doors slide open, and two men step out into the lobby. My throat clenches around a surprised gasp and I catch it before it escapes.
“The blond one,” Derek whispers from behind me. I force my gaze away from the dark-haired one. The one I know, the one that makes me uncomfortable just remembering, and now he’s here, in my building.
“Mr. Carrington,” I call out. I grip the manila envelope tighter.
The blond guy stops, turns toward me with a wrinkled brow. Brian stops too; he’s obviously with Carrington.
I clear my throat and meet him where he stands.
“Hi. We haven’t met yet, but I’m Billie Waters. I’m the property manager here.” I hold out my hand, which he stares at with a raised brow. After a long moment goes by, I drop my hand back to my side.
“Yes, I received your voicemails.” He turns fully toward me now, his expression fierce.
“Isobel Waters.” Brian says my name in the same snapping way he always said it when we were together. And just like then, my eyes jump right to him. “You work here?”
“Brian.” I say it like I hadn’t already seen him. “You live here?” I know he doesn’t. At least he’s not on the tenant list.
“No. I’m picking up Scott here for a meeting.” He tilts his head to the right, inspecting me. “You look… well.”
I clench my toes inside my shoes. He means I’ve gained weight. And I have, an entire ten pounds since we broke up, and I’ve never felt better in my life, so he can go suck it. Mentally, I stick my tongue out at him.
“You look… the same.” I smile. He does. Same perfectly styled hair, held in place with plenty of gel and hairspray. His wardrobe hasn’t evolved either, a neatly pressed, tailored suit and a jacket to match. Today he’s wearing the dark navy blue with thin white stripes.
“You two know each other?” Scott Carrington asks, waving his hand between us.
“Yes, Isobel and I dated for a while. I’m sure I mentioned her to you.” He pulls his gloves from his pocket and holds them in one fist. “She took me to that baptism up in New York.”
Scott’s eyes widen. “Oh! Yes, I remember now.” He swings his eyes to me, an entertained glimmer in them. “You’re the girlfriend with the boy’s name.”
I sigh. “Billie. Anyway, Mr. Carrington. As you know, when you moved that couch into the building, you broke the front door. Completely shattered it.” I gesture to the newly placed glass. “I’m afraid we need to charge you for the damage.” I hold out the envelope to him with the invoices. “Part of your lease discusses using the service elevator for all large deliveries or for moving furniture in or out of the building. And any damage done if not using the service elevator is the responsibility of the tenant.” I point to the copy of his lease among the papers he’s pulled out of the envelope.
He skims the invoice. “The labor charge is a little hefty.” He points to the specific line item.
