Page 5 of Dark Horse

“That’s why they sign a waiver.” She rolls her eyes.

“A waiver won’t protect you if they argue they were too drunk to understand what they were signing. Or you forget to have them sign one at all because you’re too eager to humiliate them in front of a crowd of your fanboys.” I give her a pointed look.

“Oops.” She shrugs half-heartedly and goes back togrinning while she finishes cleaning up. “I guess I’ll let my lawyer know to expect a call from yours.”

“I’m serious, Hartfield.”

“So am I. I can tell mine to ask when your slumlord ass is going to fix the damn sink.” Her temper slips.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“You’re here for the rent check. I’ve got it upstairs. But I’m deducting money since you haven’t fixed the sink.”

“You’re deducting it, or you don’t have it?”

“When is the handyman coming?” Her eyes narrow.

“You’re looking at him.” I shove back off the stool. I’m headed for the stairs in the back, the ones that lead up to her apartment, before she can say another word. But I hear her shouting my name, and in my peripheral vision, she’s chasing down the backside of the bar, headed for the exit so she can cut me off.

She darts out in front of me just as I reach the back door, putting herself between me and the stairs like a roadblock.

“You’re not fixing my sink.” She looks over my suit with disdain.

“Why not?”

“There’s no way you know how. And getting your hands dirty? Since when?”

“You’d be surprised.” I repeat her earlier claim. “Now, let me upstairs.”

She blinks, her eyes wandering over me for a moment as she runs her teeth over her lower lip. While she tries to make sense of the fact that I can actually do minor repairs, I slide past her and charge up the steps. I want this done and fixed so I can get back to business at the Avarice. Then I want to go home and crash out for the next ten hours.

“You don’t even know which sink!” She chases after me upthe stairs. “Grant!” she screeches as the lock tumbler clicks, and I turn the door handle.

“What the fuck are you so worried about? Something illegal going on up here?” I turn and study her face.

“No, it’s just my private space. You don’t respect anything.”

“Your private space.” I huff as I look at her with frustration mounting in my chest. “The same private space you’re fine with having some random fucking handyman in?”

“It would be better than you!” she argues.

“I can fucking fix it in five minutes without paying two hundred plus dollars.” And without a guy who would probably be trying to root around in her panty drawer while he was at it—or straight up angling to get her clothes off, depending on how much of an ego the fucker had on him. I’m already punching the imaginary handyman in the face, and now I know I’ve lost my fucking mind along with my temper. I take a breath even as she shouts the next sentence at me.

“Because you’re so fucking broke you can’t afford it, right?” Sarcasm leeches through her tone.

I close my eyes, counting to five before I open them again.

“Because I’m here, right now. Do you want it fixed, or do you want to wait for someone to come out? It’s the weekend, and they might not even get someone here until Monday or Tuesday.”

She’s still looking at me like she wishes she could backhand me under the guise of playfulness at the bar, but her shoulders relax the slightest bit. I can tell her gears are turning. The two of us always manage to rile each other up over something mundane, and it takes a minute for us to come down from it.

“Fine,” she agrees, a hint of bitterness still in her tone before she waves me in, and I open the door.

She breezes past me, her cat, Vendetta, zooming out to greether and only sparing me a threatening glance before she jumps up to a perch on the TV stand to keep an eye on her mom. Dakota’s hurrying around, gathering things up off the table and the counter. I suspect she’s trying to hide anything she thinks I might ask questions about. So maybe nothing illegal, but definitely things worth questioning. Unless she’s just worried about it being messy.

“I don’t care what it looks like.” I’m used to messy. I just happen to have maid service every day.

“Right,” she answers sarcastically. “I bet your place is just as messy.”

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