Page 1 of Player For Hire

CHAPTER 1

COLDER

Kensington Square was a rainy, slick mess. The air was soft and mercurial in that way April had. Cutting in the morning, warm and sweet in the afternoon, then back to brisk for that kind of good sleep only spring could offer. The days were longer, which I appreciated even if it was a soaker.

People dashed from their cars to storefronts, dodging pedestrians because they all had somewhere to be. Some with umbrellas, some with hoods, most with frowns of annoyance, and then there was me. I was off to the side, so I didn’t get trampled. Though it was a bit more difficult to move me if I didn’t want to move—being six-foot-two had its advantages—but I didn’t bother finding cover.

I didn’t mind the rain.

I tipped my head back and let the fine mist of it wash away the sweat from my workout. Running in the rain was my favorite thing about the spring in New York. The slap of my trainers, my breath puffing out, and the cool, clean air in my lungs.

“Colder, what are you doing out there? Get inside before you catch your death.”

The doorman of my building stood under the awning with his hands on his hips. He was an older gentleman with a quietly lived-in face and a ready smile most of the time. Right now, it was more of a furrowed brow.

I shielded my eyes against the increasing rain. My apartment building speared up taller than most of the businesses on this side of Kensington Boulevard. The dark-tinted glass didn’t dare streak. Instead, the rain beaded up and neatly rolled down to collect in the grates that discreetly lined the building.

No flooding for The Heights. I was pretty sure not a speck of mud or trash dared to mar the sidewalk in front of the building, either. It was the jewel of this part of Kensington Boulevard’s rehabilitation. Two stately Sycamores framed out the front of the building giving us some well-needed shade in the hellish summers.

I jogged over with a grin for the older man. “C’mon, Murray, it’s a beautiful spring day.”

“So you say. I’ve been damp all day. Get in here. And don’t you be tracking in all that wet or Deb will have your hide.”

Fun time was over.

I ducked under the awning and slicked away the wet on my face and hair. I thanked Murray when he handed me a towel. As always, he was ready for all the seasons. The Heights was a bougie place for a guy like me. Then again, I could only afford one of the studio apartments and that was because Deb liked me.

She had to, since she was my aunt and had been looking out for me ever since my mom died.

Deb Gordon was an institution at The Heights. She’d been one of the few people to survive the takeover when a billionaire conglomerate had started renovating most of the damn block. In fact, that guy had loved the area so much he lived on the premises.

Not that Royce Warner showed his face too often since The Heights had opened several years ago. There was still a waiting list a damn mile long for the dozen apartments, even the studio ones. Thankfully, Aunt Deb had become indispensable and had slid my application to the top of the pile when I’d moved back to the area.

I was pretty sure it was only so she could keep an eye on me.

Aunt Deb was a worrier, and I enjoyed a bit of motherly attention. Especially since she left me to my own devices most of the time.

I quickly toweled off my arms and hair, tossing the towel into the discreet bin under Murray’s station. “Where is Deb, anyway? Did she happen to make any of those lemon bars?”

“Do you think about anything other than food, boy?”

“Not after a run.” I grinned down at Murray. “I need the fuel.”

He wrinkled his nose and took a step back. “And a shower.”

“It was a good run. The girls’ track team from the college was out too. Incentive.”

Murray sighed. “I remember those days. I used to run five miles a day myself.”

I glanced at his midsection. “When did you stop?”

Murray patted his belly. “When I married my Kate. She’s a good cook, what can I say?”

I arched a brow at him. “Should still be running it off.”

“Watch it.”

I laughed and stomped off the worst of the wet on the mat, rolling my eyes when he hustled over to open the massive glass door for me. I would never get used to that part. “Catcha later, Murray.”

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