Boyfriend Maintenance Page 4

  I’m almost positive she just took a picture of me. The pretty blonde that lives here has always been friendly. She’s flirted a time or two, but it seemed harmless. She seems like the kind of woman who would get bored easily. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her body angled toward me, and her phone is where I can see it. Also directed at me. Which puts her into the creepy, “must-avoid residents” column. The column is growing at an astounding rate.

  Thankfully, this maintenance call is legit and isn’t some ploy to get me up here alone with her. I know the blonde, Becca, has a roommate, but she must not be here. She’s actually never been here at the same time as my past maintenance calls to their unit. Which is kind of a bummer since she’s sexy as fuck. But it’s for the best. I’d rather appreciate from afar.

  They’ve got a relatively easy fix tonight. A leaky gasket on their garbage disposal. They reported a leak under their sink two days ago, but we’ve been slammed downstairs with a few higher priority issues in the building. I instructed them to place a large bowl or dish under the unit and avoid using the disposal. They’ve followed my directions and for that, they will get a gold star. I keep a mental tally of which residents are actually worth a damn. Some people, I swear to you, couldn’t follow a simple instruction if their life depended on it.

  Thinking about this has me shaking my head to myself. After reattaching the plug to the garbage disposal and dishwasher drain hose, I start to pack up my tool kit.

  “Well, this was an easy fix. The gasket was getting pretty old, so I replaced it. You shouldn’t have any more leaking.”

  “Oh, that’s great news.” Becca is leaning against the end of the couch, like I expected, facing where I was working.

  “Em, did you hear that? He said we are easy.” She says this right as the roommate in question enters the living room from what I assume is her bedroom.

  I clear my throat. “That’s not what I said.”

  Becca lifts a shoulder but is looking at her roommate.

  The brunette must be used to Becca’s antics because she just smiles then addresses me. “So, what was the issue?”

  “Leaky gasket. It was an easy fix.” Now that I’m taking her in, I don’t think I could look away if I wanted to. Her dark hair is up on the top of her head in a messy bun. She’s wearing a gray Cornell hoodie and black leggings. She’s also barefoot. There is something about this low-key look that I’m drawn to. It’s like she doesn’t care what people think of her. She’s going to do what she wants. And clearly, she wants to be dressed for comfort, not first impressions.

  “Oh, that’s good. I’m glad it wasn’t anything worse. I can’t imagine having to live without a garbage disposal.” She smiles and I can see the laughter in her eyes.

  I crack a smile. We stand there for a moment, smiling at each other when Becca speaks.

  “Jake, have you ever dated for money?” Her eyes widen and her gaze swings toward Becca as I replay the words back in my mind.

  “Excuse me?” My stare hardens on Becca. I’m not sure where this is going. I doubt I will like it.

  “Well, Emmy here has a proposition for you.” She crosses her arms, looking like she’s about to start negotiating a big-money deal.

  “I do not.” Emmy gasps and I steal a glance at her and can easily see her face redden.

  So, this is Emmy. She’s damn sexy all dressed up and down, but she’s fucking adorable when she’s embarrassed. And now I’m curious as to what this proposition is.

  The two women seem to have a silent conversation and I ping-pong glances between the two.

  Finally, Becca speaks, “Emmy needs a fake boyfriend for some upcoming family events. I happen to think you’d be perfect for the job.” She’s not even paying attention to Emmy anymore.

  “A fake boyfriend,” I repeat.

  “Roger that.” Becca looks serious, but I’m not sure if this isn’t just a joke at my or Emmy’s expense. The uneasy feeling is pissing me off.

  I glare at Becca and then do the same to Emmy. “Are you guys fucking with me right now?”

  “Uh—” Emmy stammers her reply, but Becca cuts her off.

  “She really needs a date.”

  “No, I don’t. It wouldn’t work anyway,” Emmy replies. She is wringing her hands. Now I’m just annoyed. I don’t have time for this shit. Stupid games of the rich little Upper West Side princesses.

  I bend down to grab my toolbox. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “She’ll pay you,” Becca sings.

  “I’m not an escort.”

  “We are not suggesting that at all.” Emmy takes a step toward me.

  Becca huffs at Emmy’s attempt to placate me. “Think about it as a vacation from your normal, boring life. You get to wine and dine with the fat cats and pretend to be someone you’re not. Pocket a shit ton of cash and be on your way. Seems like a no-brainer to me.”

  I continue to glare at Becca, having no idea what to say. Shaking my head, I walk to the door. I’m not even going to reply to that. Clearly, Emmy isn’t going to attempt to dig them both out of the hole they just dug. I get about a step away from the front door when I remember the giant-ass Skee-Ball machine in the corner of their apartment. While I would normally ask if I could play a round or two, I’m feeling vindictive.

  “I know for a fact you didn’t get that machine approved by management. You’re looking at a fucking-hefty fine for having this up here. I should probably report you for it,” I threaten, looking over my shoulder at the two socialites.

  Becca rolls her eyes. Emmy on the other hand looks panicked.

  “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars to be my date and keep your mouth shut about the Skee-Ball machine.” The words are out of Emmy’s mouth before I get my hand on the doorknob.

  I slowly turn and look at her. Did she really just offer me ten grand?

  “Four dates. Two thousand each plus an additional two not to mention the machine.” She stands her ground.

  Oh shit. She’s for real with this.

  “You don’t have to pretend to be anyone you’re not. But I don’t want to face my family alone. My brother’s getting married, and I need someone who’s gonna have my back.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. She’s clearly got issues. “You’re fucking insane. Both of you.” With that I turn on my heel and leave.

  Still mentally chewing on the craziness I was just subjected to, I step out of the elevator. Just then, crazy Sara, from my botched date the other night, walks through the building’s entrance.

  Shit.

  She’s looking down at her phone, so I make a beeline for the massive potted plant to the left of the elevators. Normally I wouldn’t stoop to this level of ridiculousness, but I don’t want to engage in any kind of conversation with her. So, I hide.

  I fucking hide from her.

  I duck down behind the plant as she walks past. She waits briefly for the elevator doors to open then she steps in. Once I hear them slide shut, I peek through the greenery. She’s nowhere in sight, so I stand to my full height. Brushing off my jeans, I shift my gaze around the lobby to make sure no one saw me.

  Looks like I’m in the clear.

  Phew.

  What is it with this building? All of a sudden, I’ve found myself surrounded by crazy women. First Crazy Sara and now the girls on the fourteenth floor. If the craziness keeps popping up, it might be time I update my resume.

  Hours later, when I return to my apartment, I can’t stop thinking about Emmy’s proposition. There is a slip in my mailbox from the super, letting me know my application for the shower renovation I requested has been denied. My shower is causing some kind of leak. I’m not sure of the damage it’s already caused, but I’m worried if it’s not addressed sooner rather than later, we could have a major issue on our hands. The unit just under mine may end up with a leak of their own, which then means their unit will be at risk for mold and a sunken-in ceiling. The project isn’t extremely difficult. It’s o
ne I could manage on my own. But it’s the cost that could be an issue. We are looking at at least five grand. If I want this fixed, I will have to fix it myself. As in, cover the cost. I’ve already put so much of my own money into this unit.

  I keep taking money from my savings, making my dream of buying my own house on the island seem farther and farther away. I grew up on the island so settling down there someday just makes sense to me.

  Damn it, that brown-eyed beauty and her fucking money is looking better and better. I start to contemplate the idea of being her fake boyfriend. I’m for shit not going to pretend to be someone I’m not. And what dude wants to go to a wedding to begin with? There will need to be some kind of bonus tacked on for that kind of date.

  Slumping down into my worn leather couch I realize that I’d be a fool to not take this deal. I know I told her she was crazy, but I don’t think Emmy is the same level of crazy as Sara. I kind of feel bad for jumping her shit without considering her offer, but what’s done is done. The point is, I’m considering it now. Since these dates wouldn’t be real, let’s call it a business deal, I’m not at risk of compromising my no-dating-the-residents rule.

  All right. It’s been decided. I’ll talk to Emmy tomorrow with a counteroffer.

  It looks like I’m about to be the fake boyfriend of some high-society princess.

  Chapter 7

  Emmy

  The day after my impromptu request of Jake being my fake boyfriend, I find myself in a rather grouchy mood. When he left our apartment last night, Bex lost it and laughed at the whole situation. Me, I was embarrassed. Also, mad. At both Bex, Jake, and even myself. I'm pissed with Bex because this whole debacle could have been avoided if she had kept her trap shut. I’m annoyed with Jake because, well, he’s a major asshole—a hot asshole, no doubt—but I’m thinking that the hotter guys are, the more asshole-ish they get.

  Mostly, I’m mad at myself for stooping so low I’d ask a near stranger to be my fake boyfriend. I barely have ten grand in my savings account, why I would offer all that up, I don’t know.

  After leaving work early due to a foul mood, I'm sitting here now, relaxing on the couch. I don’t cut out early often, but my work wasn’t the grade-A quality it usually is, so I left. Now I'm binge watching Marvel’s Gifted. Any show with the former Bill Compton is a winner in my book. But I’m always down for a little mutant, X-Men action. Fortunately, Bex isn’t here to hound me about everything X-Men. She asks a lot of questions.

  I’m just getting into my third episode when my phone rings. I look down and let out a groan. Craig, my ex. Why is he calling me? It’s been nearly two years since I’ve even seen him. I assumed he lost my number. Well, I had hoped he did. Then again, I should have lost his. Unsure if it’s the right decision, I answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby doll. It’s Craig.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re still the only one who calls me baby doll. Which I still hate.”

  “You’re still adorable, I see. So, word on the street is that you’re finally ready to settle down.”

  “Ugh, no. Where did you hear that?”

  “I ran into Kitty today. She said you were missing me and invited me to Levi’s wedding and pre-wedding affairs.”

  “Great.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” he purrs in that seductive voice he thinks is the secret to him getting laid with. It has the opposite effect on me, it just makes my skin crawl.

  “I’m being sarcastic, Craig. I don’t know why, but Kitty made all of that up. And I'm annoyed that she would tell you that stuff.”

  “Right, and Kitty would just lie about something like that. I get it, you’re not ready to admit it just yet, so I will take the leap first. I miss you too though, baby doll.”

  I groan. “Craig, just stop.”

  “I’m looking forward to rekindling our world-class romance.”

  I fight a gag, Craig is gross. I know how busy he’s been since we broke up, making his way through all the well-known and wannabe socialites. Looks like I will have to play some hardball to get him to back off.

  “Look, Craig, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a jerk, I’m not interested. When we broke up, I was serious. We are never getting back together.”

  He chuckles. He’s always had a hard time taking a hint. “Look at you, quoting bad pop songs.”

  “Taylor Swift is a phenomenal songwriter.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend the pop princess, but I do it anyway.

  “Whatever you say, Emmy.” I can tell by his mocking tone that he’s still not hearing me.

  “I’m dating someone and I’m happy with where that’s going right now.”

  “Really? Are you really trying that line?” he tests.

  “We are very happy, I’m not pulling any line with you.”

  “Nothing can rival your first love. You’ll see. All I need is one dance and you’ll be swooning in my arms once again.”

  “I’ve never swooned for you.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, baby doll.”

  “I’m hanging up now.” And then I do.

  Tossing my phone on the couch next to me, I realize what I just did.

  Shit, shit, shitballs.

  I really need a boyfriend now. Unfortunately, the engagement party is less than a week away. There isn’t enough time.

  Just as I’m contemplating what the downfalls of a name change and an escape to Mexico might be, there’s a knock at the door. To my surprise, it’s Jake.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.” He’s without his toolbox, so I know he isn’t here on official maintenance business.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Can I come in?”

  I should tell him to go away. He was a total jerk to a poor woman in need of his help. Me being the poor woman.

  I move and open the door wider to let him in. I get the door closed right as he talks.

  “I’ve thought more about your fake boyfriend scheme. And I’ll do it, but I have conditions.”

  “Um, excuse me, but it’s not a scheme.”

  “Whatever. Are you still in need of my help or not?” He folds his arms across his chest. I can’t help noticing the thick, corded muscles of his biceps and—oh, those forearms. I mentally check to make sure I’m not drooling.

  “Yes, I’m still in need of a date.” I mirror his pose, I’m not about to let him come in here and try to intimidate me.

  “All right, first condition. You pay me fifteen grand. You’re asking me to go to a fucking wedding.” I try to hide the discomfort that fills me at his request. I don’t have fifteen thousand. He keeps going, “Second condition is that you buy me whatever clothes and shit I’ll need to wear to these events. I live in jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts. So, if you want me to play the part, pay for it. My third and final condition, no sex. I’m not a man whore and I don’t fuck residents.”

  Damn, he’s a cocky son of a bitch. His stunted view toward the rich and well, me, is stupid-annoying. Yet, his give-no-fucks attitude is kind of hot. I’m struggling between being turned on and pissed. Maybe each emotion is feeding the other.

  I let the anger emotion take over. “I have my own condition.” I jut my hip out a bit, showing him that I mean business.

  “Yeah? And what’s that?” He smiles at my indignation.

  “Don’t ever call me crazy or insane again.”

  “Really? That’s your condition?” He thinks this is a joke.

  “Yes. I’m completely sane. Every decision I make has been carefully made and made in my best interest. I don’t appreciate people who don’t understand me and my decisions blowing me off by calling me crazy. Don’t do it again.” I’m dead serious when I say I’m so sick and tired of people calling me that. If I had a quarter for every time someone called me crazy when I walked away from my family’s money, I would be a self-made millionaire by now for sure.

  “Why do people call you crazy? Is there something I
need to know about?” he asks me, but I can tell it won’t sway his decision.

  “I’m not interested in getting into it with you.”

  “Fine, whatever. So, what will it be? Fake boyfriend or not?”

  Ugh, I don’t have fifteen grand, but I do have a bonus coming up next month. Maybe it will be enough to cover. I will have to save more. Becca will understand that I can’t go out to eat as much. I’ll charge the new clothes to my credit card. It’s got a substantial limit, one I never reach. You’d think a person growing up with a silver spoon in their mouth would be prone to poor money management when left to do it on their own, but no, not me. I’m on top of my shit. I hear my phone text tone from the couch and remember my call with Craig. I have no choice.

  “Deal.” I thrust my hand out for a shake.

  He seems a little relieved himself, but still puts off his don’t-mess-with-me vibe as he takes my hand in his. “Deal,” he agrees, as he should since I didn’t bother negotiating his terms.

  I drop his hand and move to sit back down on the couch. I glance at my phone and see a text from Levi asking why Craig thinks I have a boyfriend. Wow shit travels fast. I ignore him for now.

  “So, I’ll need dates and times. I’ve got a lot of personal time banked up, plus just about everybody on the team owes me more than one favor. But as much notice as possible would be best.”

  I gesture to the lounge chair next to me. He sits. Finally, he isn’t acting like such a tool.

  “Yeah, I have all the dates already. The engagement party is first up, it’s next week, actually.” I brace myself as I know it’s short notice, but Jake doesn’t react. “Then a couple weeks later, the shower, it’s a couples thing. But then we have a little break before the rehearsal and wedding. If you give me your number, I can text all this info to you. Or I can create a calendar invite.”

  “An invite works. I’ll still give you my number though. So, this wedding, are you in it? Like, am I going to have to fend for myself at all?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, more like he wants to be able to prepare for any scenario.

  I snort. Ladylike, I know. “Oh, no. I didn’t make the cut. My sister-in-law to-be and I do not get along.”