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“Yes. The bestest one of all,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone else to know. For some reason, it has piqued my interest. He is a good judge of character. That is one of the reasons he is so good at his job. He picks up things before they come to light. “Catherine Wakeford called last week. Asked me to get the apartment ready. Must be a friend of hers, I am guessing.” I shrug. Not that it matters. Catherine Wakeford owns that apartment. She can come and go as she pleases. Catherine can offer that apartment to anyone she likes, as long as they reside within the building regulations.
“It is nice to have someone in it since it has been vacant for so long,” I murmur. All apartments need life in them; otherwise, they become a little stale. Plus, as the owner of the building, I like to see it at full capacity and in high demand.
“She just called, actually. She is having trouble with the kitchen sink. Says the tap won’t stop dripping. I told her that the devastatingly handsome building maintenance man would be up within the hour,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes at me in jest.
“Please tell me you didn’t,” I moan. I wouldn’t put it past him to say something like that, but it is not the level of professional demeanor I want in this building.
“No, bossman, I didn’t. I just like to see you squirm.” I roll my eyes at him again, and he just smiles wider.
“I’ll go up and take a look at it.” Grabbing my tools, I ignore his satisfied smile, taking the elevator back up. The Wakeford apartment is one of the best in the building. But the fit-out is similar to the rest of the apartments, and like all our apartments here, the tapware is from Europe. There also shouldn’t be any issue with the plumbing, since this building is still considered new. Maybe, like 2B, the new woman broke something herself. I am deep in thought about the project ahead of me when I step to the door and knock.
“Eddie. Building Maintenance,” I say in a baritone voice that doesn’t get old. A small grin dances on my face at me being incognito. I hear the lock unclasp before the door opens, and I look up.
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline at the sight before me.
This is not what I was expecting.
“Good. You’re here,” she pants, which does little to stop my dick from growing in my jeans as I take her in. She is wet. Dripping in water. Brian was right, she is beautiful. Beyond, really.
The first thing I notice are her tattoos, then her long pink hair, currently plastered against her face and down her shoulders. But I pay little attention to that, because her white t-shirt is completely see-through, clinging to her body in a way that should be illegal. I swallow roughly at her black lace bra, fitting around her perky…
“Hey, eyes up here,Eddie!” she snaps at me, and I shake my head.Fuck, that was a slimebag move. I was basically gawking.I clear my throat and make a concerted effort to look at her forehead so my gaze doesn’t drop again.
“What’s the problem? With the plumbing… I mean, the water… err, what is the problem with the sink?” I ask, my voice hoarse as I stumble over my words. Fuck, you would think I have never seen a pair of tits before.Pull it together, Eddie.
“Tap explosion. Water is everywhere!” she wails as she struts back into her apartment, leaving the door open for me. My feet won’t move as I take in her ass. Her jeans are wet as well, the denim stuck to her figure like…
“Eddie!” she yells, and I rush in after her, stopping short as I see the mess that has her stressing.
“Shit!” I mutter as I drop my tools on the kitchen counter, whipping off my hat and diving under the sink. I soon become drenched, but I am not bothered. The cold shower is exactly what I need right now as I try to get my mind off the pink-haired beauty and on the task at hand. Water splashes on my back as I get to work. Tapping, tightening, trying all the things I know to stop the spray of water until I hit the jackpot. I spot a loose valve at the back, and by the look of it, it must have been like this for years, especially since this apartment hasn’t been used in a while. I tighten the valve as best I can with my hands, slowing the spray of water so it remains a small gush. I still need to tighten it off completely, so I rush to my toolbox and grab some tools to do the rest of the job. As I do, I see her out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching me. Even from my peripheral, she is fucking gorgeous.
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to make conversation while averting my eyes. My voice barks out, though, startling us both, and I wonder where the fuck my charm has gone. My brothers would be pissing themselves laughing at me if they could see me this frazzled.
“Katie Taylor. I’m a friend of Catherine Wakeford’s,” she says, seemingly a little more relaxed now that the water is not spraying everywhere.
“Just move in?” But I already know the answer. I still don’t look at her as I sort through my toolbox. My heart is thumping harder in my chest.What is wrong with me?
“Yesterday. The tap was dripping last night, but I thought it would stop,” she says, bringing my thoughts back to the task at hand. I place the tools I need on the kitchen floor, but my wet shirt sits heavy on my body. So before I maneuver back under the sink, I level the playing field. I reach to the back of my neck and pull my now soaked shirt from my frame, slapping it on the kitchen counter, then get back to work to close off this water flow entirely. And while I am not sure, IthinkI heard a small gasp of approval fall from her lips.
CHAPTER THREE - KATIE
Ilike to think that I have my own sense of style. I go through life at the beat of my own drum, not paying any attention to anyone else. But it is at this moment that I realize I am like every other red-blooded woman in this world. I feel my cheeks heat and my heart race as I watch him peel his wet shirt off his spectacular body, right here in front of me. He is confident, and why wouldn't he be with a body like that. It is sculpted. Tight. While I forget to breathe, he completely ignores me. He is hands down one of the best-looking men I have ever met.
I watch him slide to his knees and dive straight into the cupboard under the sink again, showing me that he is not only strong but also agile. He works with speed at closing off the water flow, and I step to the side and monitor him closely as his large arm muscles contract and pulse with his movements. My eyes may have lingered over his tight ass and thick thighs while his head was buried earlier. But now, as I watch his bare back, muscles clenching and bulging, I forget my own name.
“What did you do?” he asks, sitting back on his heels. The small gush of water has now stopped, and I get a full glimpse of his now naked torso. Water droplets trail down his strong chest, my eyes following them, watching them glide over his skin. “Hey, eyes up here, Pinkie,” he says, throwing my earlier words back at me as my eyes flick to his face like I’m in trouble.
I hear him suck in a breath as our eyes connect, my own breath catching in my chest at the same time. He has the clearest eyes I have ever seen, the kind you could easily get lost in. We stare at each other before he gives me a sly smirk, and I feel my cheeks heat even more.
“I didn’t do anything.” I cross my arms over my chest, recalling what he just asked, my defenses up as I ignore his cute nickname. I haven’t had a nickname before. Not one used positively anyway. I straighten my spine. One, because it wasn't my fault. I just tried to tighten the tap some more, since the dripping was still constant and highly annoying. At my touch, it flew off, coating me in so much water, I won’t need to shower today. And two, because I have no money to pay for any of this, so I will deny any involvement until my last dying breath.
“What? So the tap just flew off the sink?” he asks sarcastically as he stands and takes a step toward me. My heart thuds harder as I take in his height for the first time. I feel like I look up forever until I meet his eyes that currently dance with humor. I tried not to pay a lot of attention to him when I flung open the door. I just wanted to be saved from the Niagara Falls happening in the kitchen. But not only is he broad with thick arms, a chiseled torso and back, but he is also really tall. In comparison to me, that is not hard. At five foot two inches, everyone is taller than me. As he places his tools on the kitchen counter, I notice the curves of his biceps that show me that he either works out or does a lot of heavy lifting in his maintenance job. Probably both. It’s incredibly sexy.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, it did. It nearly hit me in the face. It could have broken my nose!” My hands find my hips as the lie spills from my lips. The tap hit the floor straightaway, not coming anywhere near my face. As Eddie and I stand here in my kitchen, we both look around and take in the mess. Water iseverywhere.
“I am sure it wasn’t that dramatic,” he says, looking at me intensely.
“Are you suggesting I am being dramatic?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. I can hear my tone rise, and I know I sound batshit crazy. This is not like me at all. But I feel on edge. I am in a new place, already seemingly causing problems, and there is a smoking hot half-naked man standing right in front of me. I have no idea what I am doing. This is not normal. Not for me anyway.
