Boyfriend Maintenance Read online

  Boyfriend Maintenance

  Copyright © 2019 Lauren Helms

  Print ISBN: 9781092418942

  This book is meant for personal enjoyment only. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it from a proper retailer, won in a verified contest, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete or return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Lauren Helms (www.authorlaurenhelms.com)

  Images © DepositPhotos – palinchak & 4pmphoto

  Cover Design © Designed with Grace

  Editing by JL Anderson (TheAverillScribe.wordpress.com) and Judy Zweifel (www.judysproofreading.com)

  Formatting by Katy Ames

  Contents

  Boyfriend Maintenance

  Playlist

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  What About That Grilled Cheese?

  Love Under Construction - Book #6

  The 425 Madison Series

  Also by Lauren Helms

  Stay Connected

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To Leigh, MK, Allie, Kay, Aubree, Sylvia, Katy, and Claire.

  You took a chance with me and because you did, the journey has been amazing.

  Boyfriend Maintenance

  Emmy

  My bad reputation is coming back to haunt me. Now, I need a date for my brother’s wedding just to keep the vultures at bay. I’ve noticed Jake around the building and he’s the perfect man for the job.

  The thing is, I don’t actually have what I promised in return for his help, but I don’t want this to end.

  Jake

  I’ve seen Emmy and she’s out of my league, but that doesn’t stop me from taking her up on her offer and upping the ante. I have rules, however, the more time we spend together the more the lines get blurred. Her lie made her more like me than I ever thought possible. Too bad liars don’t do it for me.

  A little boyfriend maintenance goes a long way…

  After all, 425 Madison Ave is the perfect place to fall in love!

  * * *

  Each story in the 425 Madison Series is a complete standalone. For more information on the series please visit www.425madisonseries.com

  Playlist

  ‘Welcome to New York’ - Taylor Swift

  ‘Suit and Jacket’ - Judah & the Lion

  ‘Sit Still, Look Pretty’ - Daya

  ‘Connection’ - OneRepublic

  ‘Broken’ - lovelytheband

  ‘Delicate’ - Taylor Swift

  ‘There’s No Way’ - Lauv featuring Julia Michaels

  ‘Hurt Somebody’ - Noah Kahan with Julia Michaels

  ‘Find You’ - Nick Jonas

  ‘I Found’ - Amber Run

  ‘Out Of My League’ - Fitz and The Tantrums

  ‘Born To Be Yours’ - Imagine Dragons, Kygo

  To listen to the full playlist, check it out on Spotify and on YouTube!

  Chapter 1

  Emmy

  I’ve lived and breathed New York City my whole life. The hustle and bustle of the only city I’ve ever known is calming. Sounds of sirens, impatient drivers honking, constant pings of crosswalk lights, and chatter from the masses of people that fill the sidewalks. All of these harmonize into the symphony of a city that sings to my New Yorker heart. Even the city smell is enough to make me smile on a bad day. The fragrances of different foods wafting from the street vendors and coffee shops on every city block feed my city soul. The car exhaust and body odor are no match for the smell of the wet concrete during a rain-shower though. As much as I love the city life with the city streets that never sleep, it can cause sensory overload.

  Thankfully I have the mobile Digibot game in my pocket. This game. I swear, my life would be so freaking boring if I didn’t have it. Living in good old New York City is a Digibot Go player’s dream. The more populated an area is, the more Digibot Go activity can be found. As a Digibot handler, I’m able to catch and train over two hundred Digibots within the game world. There are rewards for every step taken. The game has led people to experience new places around the world by catching special Digibots and placing Digistops throughout the most popular places on the planet. Lucky for me, if I walk to work, I hit nine stops. It’s all about the Digiballs, people.

  After snagging a high-powered Digibot right outside my building, I slide my phone back into my purse. Ah, the perks of living in such a big, luxurious apartment building. Thirty-four floors high, 425 Madison offers a bazillion different amenities. Being the home of a Digistop, isn’t on their website, but I sure as heck consider it a top selling point. The second I set foot into the 425 Madison building, the high-energy city fades away behind me.

  “Good evening, Miss King,” Thomas, the doorman, says with a smile. He backs up and reaches to get the door to let me into the building.

  “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” I smile at him.

  “Just like you, Miss King.”

  I blush as I walk through the open door. He’s a sweet man and I always look forward to seeing him each day, no matter whether I’m coming or going.

  A light, Zen-like music plays overhead. It’s so faint I can hear the click of my heels as I walk through the modern Art Deco lobby. 425 Madison exudes an unsurpassed level of swankiness.

  Too bad I can’t afford to own one of the units in this beautiful oasis of luxury.

  No, I’m not a squatter. I am a paying resident, it’s just that I pay my roommate Becca, who is also my best friend. She pays the rent on our chic little two-bedroom on the fourteenth floor. I cover our utilities.

  Becca is what you would call a trust-fund kid. Her parents are old money, and her trust fund won’t dry up any time soon. If it weren’t for her, I’d be living in a studio apartment somewhere in Queens.

  Speaking of my best friend, I spot her as she steps off the elevator. I raise my hand in greeting when she takes a sharp turn away from the front of the building. She’s heading toward the leasing office.

  Huh. She pays all her bills via online banking, so I’m not sure why she would need to visit the back office. As I get closer to the elevators, she’s still in my line of sight. That's when I realize something looks off about her. My best friend, a five-foot-seven beach-blonde socialite who’d rather wear jeans and a trendy top than the latest, fresh-off-the-runway fashion, looks downright suspicious right now. Like she’s up to no good. I catch her looking over her shoulder more than once; I come to a halt when I spot her leaning up against the wall before turning again, passing up the leasing office.

  What the heck is she up to?

  Curiosity gets the best of me as I follow her down the hall. In addition to the leasing offi
ce, the maintenance office and service elevator are also down this corridor. This is where the waitstaff and other employees access the building’s rooftop lounge. I’m grateful the granite flooring has switched over to plush carpeting which silences the clacking of my heels in my stealth pursuit of Becca.

  Copying her same position moments ago, I lean against the wall and listen.

  “Oh, wow. It’s so big.”

  My eyes go wide at what I hear come out of her mouth. A deep, male chuckle follows.

  “I can’t wait to get my hands on it.”

  What the heck?

  “The balls just fit so perfectly in my hand.”

  I slap my palm over my mouth to trap the giggle about to bubble out of me. What in the world is she doing? I hear rustling, someone brushes up against the wall. Then the man she is with grunts. And to my surprise, another male voice chuckles in response.

  There’s two of them?

  “Watch it, this cost me enough. I better get my money’s worth, boys.”

  Oh, shit. Why would she need to meet these guys in secret, in the back of the building?

  At the risk of catching my best friend in a secret lover’s rendezvous, I slowly backtrack down the hall. Once I get a clear view of the lobby, I hightail it into an elevator. A couple minutes later, I’m unlocking my apartment door. I’m not even four steps in the apartment when I realize the living room has been reorganized. I’m totally alright with the new setup, but Becca normally talks to me before rearranging. Once I’m in my room, I kick off my heels and toss my purse on the dresser.

  Sitting down on my bed, I dig my hose-covered toes into the soft, plush carpet and let out a relaxing sigh. I consider changing my clothes, but we have dinner plans tonight. Just then the front door opens, and I hear Becca barking directions. She’s rather bossy tonight. I wonder if the boys downstairs didn’t do it for her.

  It’s time to sort this out. Stepping into the doorway of my room, I see her standing in the entryway as two men push a massive … thing wrapped in what looks like plastic wrap into our apartment.

  “That’s right, ease it in. You gotta ease it in so it fits … just right.”

  So, she isn’t saying these things in a sexual context, but damn. That’s a lot of “what she said” jokes ready and waiting to be thrown out there.

  “What’s that?” I ask, coming to a stop next to her.

  She jumps and her hand flies to her heart. She didn’t realize I was home. “Ack! Em, what are you doing here?”

  “I live here.”

  I can’t tell what these guys just pushed in to our apartment. Whatever it is, it’s huge and I doubt she’s had it approved by management.

  She places her hands on her hips and laughs sarcastically. “Yeah, I know. But what are you doing here right now? I thought you had to work late.”

  “Oh, yeah, they canceled my last meeting of the day, so I was able to get my work done.”

  Nodding, she looks back to the men, telling them to put it next to the wall, in the far corner of the room, she turns back to me with the biggest smile on her face.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh yeah? That thing?” I point to the machine.

  “Yes, you know that childhood dream of yours?” Both of the men step back and admire their work.

  “The dream where I become a pop princess and marry Justin Timberlake. Joey Fatone officiates our wedding, everyone chuckles throughout because it’s the most entertaining ceremony everyone has ever been to?”

  “No, the other, more attainable one.” She turns to thank the men and follows them to the door to let them out.

  Then it hits me.

  “The one where I have a real, found-in-arcades-everywhere, Skee-Ball machine in my living room?”

  She’s nodding vigorously through a smile and clapping her hands in front of her chest.

  I take a step, zeroing in on the giant, wrapped-up arcade game. “But how? Why? How much did this puppy cost?”

  “I set up an alert a few months ago for a used one in good shape. This one came from a local arcade that is closing. So, I got a great deal on it. And as for why, it’s simple. I love you and you’ve always wanted a Skee-Ball machine. I know you’ll never buy one for yourself, so I’m doing it for you. I’m also like ninety-nine percent sure we aren’t allowed to have this, so you can’t tell anyone. I snuck it up here.”

  A moment later she's standing next to me with a pair of scissors, cutting away the thick plastic wrap. When we have it plugged into the wall, I pick up the brown, faux-wood ball. It fits perfectly in my hand, the cool plastic feel of the ball reminds me of Becca’s earlier words, the ones I overheard in the hall. Chuckling, I roll the ball down the alley and it lands in the center fifty-point slot.

  Hell yeah, that feels good.

  Chapter 2

  Jake

  “Oh, well … hello there, hot stuff.” Mrs. Jenkins stands in the open doorway of her apartment. Her arm slides up the doorframe slightly awkwardly as she leans into the frame. She’s attempting to look sexy in a Japanese silk kimono robe. It’s a red floral print that hangs nearly to her ankles. She has surprisingly good posture for a seventy-year-old woman.

  Her husky voice is seductive as she gestures for me to come in. I have to mentally prepare myself every time I have a work order for unit 2007. Which is normally once a week.

  Mrs. Jenkins is a retired Broadway actress. She hit her stride when she starred in the hit musical Chicago in the mid-seventies. Dorthy Jenkins is a dramatic, wealthy retiree who just happens to hit on me every time I’m here. She may be a tad lonely, so I deal with it.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Jenkins. My work order says that you’ve got faulty smoke detectors.” Honestly, that seems a bit suspicious since we worked through the entire building updating the detectors less than six months ago.

  “Dorthy, darling. Please, stop calling me Mrs. Jenkins. You make me feel like a cougar.”

  I raise my eyebrow at that. More like a puma since she’s got to be at least forty years older than me. I set down my toolbox and scan the living room for the unit’s central detector.

  “All right, Dorthy. You’re having issues with the smoke detectors? Let’s just take a look. I’ll get these fixed up in no time.” Really, I just want to get out of here. The longer I’m in this apartment, the more cheek pinches I get. And I’m not just talking about pinches to my face. She gets a little bolder with each visit. Not looking forward to the day she takes it too far. Her flirting seems harmless though. She just really appreciates those “hot young thangs.” Her words, not mine.

  “Well, no rush. I’ll just pour us a little nightcap.” I don't mention it's only four in the afternoon. “Will two fingers do, Jake? I’ve always preferred two.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  I divert my eyes. The sexual reference catches me off guard and I feel my face heat.

  Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Dorthy, but no drinking on the job.” I pull out my step ladder so I can reach the smoke detector.

  “You’re such a good boy, darling. I admire that. I’ll just have a nip and enjoy the show.”

  Just like she normally does. Unfortunately, she isn’t the only 425 Madison resident to watch me while I do my job. I’ve worked in this building for nearly three years now. Growing up, I never had dreams of becoming a maintenance man, but I’ve always been good with my hands. I was the man of the house, that somehow led me down a path of being the neighborhood handyman. Not having enough money for college, I found a job for a hotel working on their maintenance team. A few years ago, I snagged this job. The pay is a hell of a lot better. Since the building offers 24-hour maintenance, when I’m on call, I stay in a swanky one-bedroom unit on the third floor. It beats the hell out of my janky-ass studio apartment in Queens.

  But I have to admit, I love my job. I like fixing things. I enjoy that every day is different. And there are a lot worse places that I could be stuck fixing up. The only downfall is that I get a
front-row seat to the high-society life I’ll never have. One I never want. I’ve always had to work for the money to pay for a roof over my head, the food I eat. Half of the people living in 425 don’t even work. At least if they do, they don’t work normal nine-to-fives.

  Working here has allowed me to finally be in a good place financially, but I’m barely what you’d consider middle class. These residents though? They might not be the one-percenters, but they are clearly in the top fifteen. I’m not bitter. I just know my place. I’m content down here in the lower middle.

  After unscrewing the faceplate, I twist off the cap of the detector. Sure enough, the battery is missing. As expected. It turns out the wires have also been cut. I shouldn’t be surprised. Like I said, I’m up here on the twentieth floor visiting Mrs. Jenkins at least once a week. Ninety percent of the time it’s not a true maintenance issue. In the past I’ve removed a complete roll of toilet paper from the back of the tank. There was that time I pulled out a purple dish towel from the garbage disposal. Then there was that time she jammed her bedroom window so it wouldn’t close. I had to stand in her room, with her conveniently scattered old lady undergarments strewn all about and realign her window slides. It never ends with this woman.

  “Well, Dorthy, it looks like the battery died. I’m going to have to replace it and a few other key parts. I’ve brought some with me, so I can take care of them now. I’m guessing the other two have the same issue.” I climb down from the ladder and walk over to my bag. Squatting down, I try not to make eye contact with the woman who’s spread out across her chaise watching me like a hawk ready to dive in for the kill.