by Jody Holford
Rounding the corner, he tucked his chin and sprinted the last few hundred meters back home. Kendrick Place Apartments was a gorgeous structure in a great area. Perhaps he had an unusual attachment to a rental property, but the people he considered family lived inside. Brady stopped at the circular fountain that stood as a focal point. He rested his hands against the concrete bowl and stretched his calves, the air in his lungs icy and crisp.
He’d turned the water off last month, since the weather wasn’t warming up any. Not that it was his job. Glancing at the building, he could point out several things that needed doing. After Christmas, when they’d found out the guy who’d been running the place was a drug dealer and a thief, Brady had stepped up in the absence of Mia’s family. As acting building manager, he’d dealt with tenant complaints, rented out units, cleaned out a couple units that had been vacated, and served as handyman. All while running his own business and trying to have a life. Instead of being grateful, Mia Kendrick had treated him like a hired lackey, sending him to-do lists and complaining over every dollar spent. Like the family didn’t have enough money.
Ms. Kendrick was used to getting her own way, from what he could tell. Gorgeous and shapely, with long dark hair and a sassy attitude, it bugged him that he found her so attractive. That sexy smirk when she’d offered freaking wardrobe recommendations. Like he wanted her advice on clothing…unless she wanted his on the floor… No. Don’t go there. He didn’t date where he lived for a reason and even if he did, Brady liked uncomplicated, easygoing women. Mia Kendrick was neither of those, and yet, she slid under his skin like a splinter. One of those that didn’t hurt but you knew it was there. She pissed him off when few did. This was another layer of complication he didn’t want or need.
Unable to stand the chill any longer, Brady let himself inside and inhaled a warm breath of home. It really was a kick-ass building. The high lobby ceiling, soft gray paint, and wooden trim breathed elegance and history. For a kid who’d grown up on the other side of Boston in a house too small for his dysfunctional family, it was a dream. Especially since his best friends lived two floors above him.
Heading for the elevator, he smiled at Mrs. Waverly, who was already in the car, a stack of copier-size boxes in her arms. Brady stepped all the way in, pressed her floor, and reached out.
“Let me take those for you,” he said.
When he leaned in and boosted the boxes from her grasp, he saw how red her eyes were. She sniffled loudly.
“You’re such a nice boy. Thank you.”
“No worries. You okay, Mrs. Waverly?”
She nodded, but her eyes filled with tears. “Sure. Sure. I’m okay. Just trying to wrap my head around it all.”
The elevator dinged as it passed the second and third floors.
“All what?” he asked.
When the elevator stopped, he let her go first, then followed behind to her apartment.
“Not living here anymore. I mean, I know it’s just an apartment, but it’s home, you know?”
He definitely knew. Hadn’t he just been thinking that himself? She sniffled again and rummaged in her tracksuit pocket for her key. Brady shifted the boxes so he could see her better.
“You’re moving?” A pang of sadness struck his chest.
“No choice.”
She opened the door and turned to take the boxes from Brady. He passed them over and waited for her to put them down just inside the entryway before asking anything.
“What do you mean no choice?”
Mrs. Waverly leaned closer, looked behind her, and then back at Brady. “I haven’t told Marvin yet. Ms. Kendrick evicted us.”
An image of one of those bulging-eyed cartoons popped into Brady’s head. That’s how he felt. “I’m sorry, what? What do you mean she evicted you?”
The older woman patted his arm. “Now don’t go working up a lather. She’s got the right. We’re behind in the rent and she gave us two notices reminding us. I just, well, you know it’s been tough with Marvin’s broken hip and not getting any pay while he’s off.”
Brady did know. He knew all about it because when he’d learned of the man’s injury, he’d told them not to worry about the rent until they were back on their feet. Brady had been acting manager and Mia’s brother had said to do as he saw fit. Since Brady ran his own business successfully, he had an idea as to what he was doing.
“She can’t expect you to just pay it off in one chunk. Did you ask her about setting up payments?”
Mrs. Waverly wrung her hands together and shook her head. “No. Don’t see that being an option. Please don’t worry. I got a sister in Cambridge. We’ll go stay with her.”
Brady clenched his hands into fists, feeling an unfamiliar tightening in all of his muscles. Anger. He’d learned to push it away, along with hurt, from the time he was a kid. But it was making a resurgence now. He gave Mrs. Waverly’s arm a pat.
“Don’t start packing, okay?”
Her eyes widened. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to fix this.”
He turned on his heel to get back on the elevator. Stopping at his own floor, he grabbed his checkbook from his apartment and nearly scrunched it in his grasp. The office door had been closed when Brady had come in from his run, so his guess was Ms. Money-Hungry-High-and-Mighty-Media-Darling Mia was at her own place.
He all but stormed to her apartment and banged on the door with an open palm. When Mia opened her door, she was wearing the same gorgeous outfit as earlier—a sleek, curve-hugging blazer and perfectly tailored pants. He wasn’t in such a haze that he couldn’t acknowledge, though only to himself, that she looked hot as hell. But hot didn’t matter when ice filled her on the inside.
“Brady. What can I do for you?”
He stepped forward, satisfied that she stepped back, letting him in. He waved his checkbook.
“Nothing. I wouldn’t ask you for anything. But what you can do for the Waverlys is dig down deep and see if you can muster up a little thing we call compassion,” he said, storming through the apartment, similar in layout to his own. He stopped in the kitchen and used the pen he’d brought to begin filling out the check.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was tightly controlled, emphasizing each syllable.
“How much do the Waverlys owe you?”
“That’s none of your business,” she answered, putting her hands on her hips.
He had a foot on her, but she looked down her perfect, snooty nose at him.
Straightening, he gripped the edge of the counter to funnel his anger. “I’m making it my business. You know, I get that life comes easy to you, but it doesn’t for everyone else. Your family has more money than all the people in this building put together, ten times over. You can’t extend a little courtesy to someone down on their luck? People who’ve lived in your family’s building for seven years? An older couple who’d do anything you asked? I knew you were cold, but this is a whole new level of frost.”
The only sign that she’d heard him was the way she paled. Her eyes seemed wider with her rich, dark, almost auburn hair pulled back from her face in a fancy twist. She stood stock-still, her mouth in the same position, her eyes latched onto his. Pressing her lips together, he could hear her breathing deeply through her nose. Then she stepped forward and smacked her hand down, dangerously close to his, on the counter.
“You know absolutely nothing about me,” she said. The slight dip in her voice made him feel like a jerk.
“I know you think you can come in here and just do whatever you want with no concern for anyone else,” he said, low and in her face.
She didn’t shrink back. A rigid calm washed over her features as she squared her shoulders. He couldn’t read her expression. “That’s what you don’t get, Mr. Davis. I can do whatever I want. I own the building. You are a tenant.”
“You can’t treat people like this, Mia. The man was off work for six weeks, but they’re loyal tenants and good people.” Did she
have any humanity?
Her jaw tightened and for one second, he thought he saw a flash of warmth, of compassion, in her eyes. “It’s none of your concern.”
They held each other’s gaze, frustration pumping between them like Ping-Pong balls of fire bouncing around in a small space.
Guilt made his words feel strangled. “It is my concern, since I was in charge while you weren’t here. I told them not to worry and we’d figure things out. I thought you’d show a little freaking compassion and maybe let them make payments. That was before I realized you were more money-machine than woman.”
Mia gasped. Her mouth dropped open and Brady cursed himself in his own head. Line officially crossed. He felt the need to step back, physically and literally, but his body was frozen, locked in this standoff with her. Why couldn’t she see these people mattered? Wasn’t cutting them a break better than losing the rent entirely?
If they have rent control like I do, that changes with the new tenants. Which meant she could charge a lot more than many of the tenants were paying, with less structured increases. Could she possibly be so calculating? For some people, money came above all else.
Brady watched as her nostrils flared slightly and she blinked several times. “I don’t understand how it is you can be so kind and jovial for everyone else you meet, but in my presence, you sink to a disgustingly low level. I repeat, you know nothing about me. For someone so worried about kindness, you lack any measure of it when it comes to me. While my family appreciates you stepping in when we needed someone, we’ve more than paid our debt to you. Since I am here to stay, your opinions, suggestions, and help are no longer needed. Unless you have official business with me, I’d like very much not to speak to you again. Unless I find myself in need of an oil change or new spark plugs, I can’t imagine we have anything to discuss.”
Holy hell. The woman had saved her brass-knuckled uppercut for when he’d looked away. But her words hit him dead center, stopping his heart for two full beats. In that time, he was back in all the situations where he’d never measured up. Not for his mom, his dad, his brother, or Bethany. So why did her putting him so firmly in his blue-collar place—a spot he was perfectly comfortable with—feel like spikes driving through his chest?
“As you wish,” he said, ice dripping from his words. If she got the movie reference, it didn’t show in her gaze. Which was probably for the best since there’d be no happily ever after here. While she might be a princess, he was definitely not her knight in grease-stained jeans. As she’d just made abundantly clear.
He stormed out of the apartment, leaving the check filled out except for the amount. She could do that herself. Brady needed air. He needed to be away from her and remind himself that he didn’t have to prove himself to anyone. Especially Mia Kendrick.
Chapter Three
When Michael’s face popped up on Mia’s cell screen, she pressed ignore. He checked in often. Far too often for a man who should have plenty of other things to do. Michael was their parents’ golden child. The one her father entrusted with the family business. If she didn’t lose any more tenants and could find cost-effective ways to do repairs and upgrades, she’d be able to prove her ability to balance the Kendrick Place budgets. She scowled, thinking of her probationary period to do just that. No mention of Michael making that balance so necessary.
Mia’s fingers shook slightly when she pulled the pins from her hair. Even hours after her run-in with Brady, the thought of it made her shake inside. Of all the judgmental jerks she’d met, he might win the top prize. The irony of that was he was known throughout the building for being everyone’s friend.
“You sure aren’t going to be mine,” she said into the mirror, watching locks of hair fall down around her shoulders. Brady’s opinion of her shouldn’t scrape her heart so deeply. He was one tenant.
She’d decided to take Shay up on her offer of a planning session. Mia needed to do something that might make her feel normal—or the way her new normal was supposed to feel. Why shouldn’t she take the opportunity to make some friends? You just want to feel like someone in the building likes you. Grabbing a brush, she ran it through the tangles, then put her hair into a soft, loose ponytail. Approachable. That’s the look she was going for.
Unaccountably nervous, given that she wasn’t even leaving the building, she thought of making something to take with her. But what? She wasn’t a great cook. She did have a box of exotic chocolate truffles her grandmother had sent over. Who didn’t like chocolate?
“Crazy people,” she muttered, heading to the kitchen.
Mia had traded her power suit—her version of a superhero cape that never failed to make her feel capable—for a pair of jeans and a loose knit sweater. While she generally felt invincible in a great outfit, Brady’s words and the way he’d looked at her had left her feeling naked and cold. And cruel. She’d ripped up his check and thrown it out, then set up a payment schedule the Waverlys could work with. Knocking on their door to retract her eviction ranked up there with the toughest things she’d had to do. Going back after understanding their circumstances was the equivalent of advertising that she’d seen them as tenants rather than people. Which was exactly the opposite of what she’d planned to do. Neither Michael nor their father would have made such an arrangement, regardless of the situation, but while she was in charge, she was going to do things her way. Or Brady’s. It churned her stomach that he’d given her the idea. Not that she’d tell him that. Not after the things he’d said. Mia was so used to black and white in the business world, it hadn’t occurred to her to try something unique. Despite the solution coming from Brady, she was relieved the Waverlys took her up on it.
Grabbing the square box of chocolates, she questioned whether to bring them in their expensive packaging or put them on a paper plate. You don’t have paper plates. She sighed. She wanted to smack herself for feeling like the poor little rich girl, but it wasn’t all glamour and fun. Something very few understood. Especially men like Brady who’d already painted her with a diamond-encrusted brush.
Before she could rethink her outfit, her hair, or her chocolates, she grabbed her purse and keys then left her apartment to head to the third floor where Shay and Wyatt lived. Hope fluttered painfully in her chest. For a few brief months, when she’d first arrived at university, no one had known who Mia was. She was just another undergrad with an American accent. She’d gone makeup free, worn sweatpants to her classes, stayed up too late drinking beer with people who thought she was funny and cute.
Until Michael had visited and caused a splash by hauling her out of a campus party and shaming her for her disgraceful behavior. Like he’d never gone to a frat party. Once her family connection was established, people treated her differently. They definitely still wanted to hang out with her, but there was more of an expectation attached to whatever they did. Her friends expected her to foot the bill for lavish outings and help them gain access to London’s hippest locations. They were no longer content to sit around the dorm playing silly games with cheap booze if Mia was there. The sad part was, Mia would have been happy to use her name to get them in a club, but once it became an obligation, she stopped feeling like anyone’s friend. The loneliness was better than wondering if they were still interested in her or her bank account.
Solitude weighed her down in her second semester and after that, she kept to herself, which earned her the bonus title of being a snob. She had some cousins her age—a few of them studying overseas near her, but they weren’t particularly close. It made for a long four years, but they were still better than she’d have experienced if she’d stayed stateside and listened to her father nag her about trying to be more like her mother.
The elevator was empty, thankfully. She pressed the button and sighed, leaning against the wall. Other than in this small, moving rectangle, Mia felt like her life was for show. She’d come home, determined to make a real life for herself, but something blocked her at every turn. Her brother, her mother, her fath
er, the media. Brady. The doors slid open and she straightened, taking a deep breath as she walked to Shay’s door. You can change that right now. These women already know you’re rich, don’t want anything from you, and seem to like you. Unless she was too naive to see some hidden truth.
Gabriella Michaelson, another tenant and good friend of Shay and Brady, opened the door when Mia knocked.
“Hey. Come on in. Ooh, what are those?” She eyed the chocolates with a wide grin.
Mia laughed and the pressure in her chest unwound like a rolling spool of thread. These women didn’t put Mia in categories. They didn’t see her as rich, the landlord, the socialite, the disappointment of a daughter, or a diva. She was just Mia. This was, perhaps, the only time in her life she didn’t feel judged. As she slipped off her shoes and passed the box of chocolates to Gabby, who opened them immediately, she wondered why she kept throwing her walls up. Because it’s too easy to get attached only to have it fall apart.
“Mia, you came. Oh no, did you give Gabby food?” Shay said, coming into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Hey,” Gabby said around a bite of truffle. She let out a heartfelt sigh and closed her eyes briefly. “Good God, bless you and your chocolate.”
Mia laughed along with Shay, pushing aside nagging doubts.
“Come in, come in. I hope you didn’t want any of those,” Shay said.
Mia grinned at their back-and-forth teasing as she followed behind them, inhaling the scent of something delicious.
Gabby snorted and looked at Mia. “Never mind her. I’ll share.”
“You go ahead,” Mia said. The last thing she needed was for the media to catch her ballooning up. She’d be labeled as pregnant with some CEO’s baby.
Gabby’s gorgeous eyes—which rivaled the color of the milk chocolate—widened. “You can’t be around treats like this and not have some.”
She set them on the white countertop, leaving the lid off. Mia’s stomach growled. She’d missed lunch during her dressing-down from a certain hardheaded mechanic. The look on his face when she’d spoken so harshly stuck in her brain like a song on repeat. She should have apologized immediately. Instead, she’d shored up her stubborn Kendrick pride and held firm. Was it any wonder he thought poorly of her?
