14. Bianca #2
He removes his glasses. “Heat’s fine. It’s an old radiator. They clang. That’s what they do.”
“My radiator clangs nonstop and doesn’t consistently put out warm air.
I’m wearing three sweaters in my own apartment.
There’s also the kitchen faucet that’s been leaking since October, the back stairwell light that’s been out since November, and the smoke detector in my hallway that hasn’t ever worked. ”
He picks up his pen and makes a show of clicking it. “I’ll get you on the handyman’s list.”
I open the manila folder and pull out my lease. “You have a legal obligation to fix these things!”
He throws up his hands, as if I’m being unreasonable. “I’ll get to it when I get to it.”
I open my mouth, and the door opens behind me.
Theo walks in.
He doesn’t apologize for interrupting. He doesn’t introduce himself. He glances around the office and closes the door behind him with a click.
Bartley’s face goes the color of cold oatmeal.
“Are you—” He scrunches his eyes, making sure they aren’t deceiving him. “You’re one of the Sawyer brothers.”
“Mr. Bartley.” Theo’s tone is calm. “My friend Miss Donovan has been requesting repairs for multiple things, and you have not been responsive. I’d like to walk through how the rest of today is going to go.”
“Mr. Sawyer, I had no idea Bianca was a friend of?—”
“You shouldn’t have needed to.” Theo doesn’t raise his voice.
“If you know who I am, you also know that my family has made a big part of our fortune from commercial real estate. So, I know what I’m talking about.
I have a legal team that routinely handles habitability complaints.
I have personal relationships with people who could make your life very difficult. Are we clear?”
Bartley nods.
“Let me tell you how this will work.” Theo smiles, but it’s not kind.
“A repair tech is going to be at Miss Donovan’s apartment this afternoon.
Before the storm hits. Heat, faucet, stairwell light, smoke detector, in that order.
He’ll bring the unit into full code compliance by the end of the day tomorrow.
You’re going to credit her next month’s rent for the inconvenience. ”
Bartley is already reaching for his phone.
“Miss Donovan, I am— I’m so sorry. I’ll make the calls right now. I didn’t realize?—”
“You didn’t realize she was worth your time.” Theo opens the door for me. “That was the mistake.”
I walk out. He follows.
In the parking lot, Theo unlocks my door and opens it. I climb inside.
The conversation with my landlord was so short that the car is still warm.
Theo gets in on the other side.
“Thank you.” I don’t bother arguing about him stepping in when I didn’t ask him to. Having someone on my side feels good. Better than I want to admit.
He turns to look at me and brushes his fingers down my cheek. “Nobody is going to make you feel small again. Not if I can help it.”
I lean into his hand before I can stop myself. Then I pull back, still wanting to keep my distance. “The storm is getting bad. We should go.”
He pulls the car out onto the road. The snow is no longer light.
Forty minutes into the drive back, visibility is shot. The wipers shove great white wedges to the edge of the windshield, and the road has gone from gray to white. The radio is doing its weather-alert thing.
Travel not advised has been said three times.
Theo gets us six more miles before the road disappears.
“Bianca, I can’t see the lane.”
I can’t see the lane, either. But I was secretly hoping his view was different from the driver’s seat. “I know.”
“I can’t keep driving.” His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “There’s a sign for lodging at the next exit.”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Bianca, what do you want me to do?”
“No. Nope. No, no, no. We are not doing the thing. We are not doing the snowstorm-stranded-at-a-hotel thing. I refuse. I have read books. I know what this is.”
“Books? What books?” He chuckles. “I can’t keep driving. We’ll get two separate rooms.”
“Ugh, fine,” I relent, only because he really can’t keep driving. “Take the exit.”
He takes the exit.
The Maple Crest Inn is a two-story motor lodge with a buzzing red VACANCY sign and one car in the lot that is probably older than I am.
Doreen, per her name tag, is glued to a soap opera on a TV. She doesn’t look up until Theo clears his throat.
“Cash or card?” she asks in a raspy voice that tells me she’s a smoker.
Theo pulls out his wallet. “Card. We’ll need two rooms.”
“Got one room.”
Theo and I both go still.
I look at him. “See, Theo? It’s like my romance books.” I direct my attention to Doreen. “Let me guess, Doreen, the only room you have available has one bed.”
Doreen is not amused. It might even be possible that Doreen has never smiled a day in her life.
“Yep,” she drawls out. “One room with one bed.”
Theo looks at me, then he looks at Doreen. Then back at me.
“We’ll take it,” he says.
He hands her his credit card. She runs it.
Doreen slides a key across the counter without looking up from her show. “Room twelve. Down the hall. Ice machine is broken.”
I don’t even bother asking about a vanity kit. This place definitely does not hand out vanity kits.
When we get to the room, I look at the one bed pointedly.
“I’ll take the floor,” Theo says.
And here we go. This is going to play out exactly as I knew it would.