Page 47 of Boyfriend Maintenance

Shit.

The pit of my stomach just drops.

I can’t believe I’m holding a check for fifteen grand. I can’t believe that she paid me even after what happened, especially since the wedding hasn’t even happened yet.

If I didn’t feel like shit before, I definitely do now.

I don’t want her money—not after what occurred, that’s for sure. Plus, I know she can’t truly afford this.

Forgetting about the fact that I’m working, I walk to the elevators. Stepping in the car, I punch the number fourteen and impatiently push the button to close the door. Several times.

Suddenly I find myself knocking on Emmy’s door. But it’s not Emmy who answers.

“Oh, what do you want?” Becca sounds annoyed. I get it, I deserve her snark.

“Is Emmy here?” I try to look around her, but she blocks my view into the room.

“Nope.” She pops the word.

I furrow my brow. “Look,” I start in, but she holds a hand up.

“No, you look. Ghosting her after sex, that’s shitty. But not letting her know that you’ve gotten her fifteen-thousand-dollar check, now that’s fucked up.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, I know, but I just got the check, like less than five minutes ago.”

She eyes me, unsure if she should believe me or not.

“Can you just tell her I was here and need to talk to her?” I can’t help the pleading tone of my voice.

“Here’s an idea, buddy. Pick up the phone and call her. Call. Her.”

I wouldn’t say Becca shuts the door in my face at that point, but it’s not a quiet “I live in an apartment and should be mindful of my neighbors” kind of shut.

With a sigh, I head back down to the lobby.

Once I’m back in the maintenance office, I pull out my phone and call her. The phone rings a few times, then I’m sent to voicemail. Her adorably chipper voice makes me smile. I hang up at the beep. No, what I need to tell her has got to be face-to-face. Preferably in private.

About two hours later, I clock out for the day. I’m considering heading over to Monterey's for a drink before I head home. Normally, after a week like this, I’d open up Match Me and find a hookup for the night. But none of that interests me. I’ve actually considered deleting the app, but the timing might be immature. I’m just not feeling it, but that doesn’t mean I should delete it.

I lock the office door behind me. It’s only seven, but it’s officially considered after hours. Mel is on tonight and he’s already in the maintenance apartment for the night. It’s not a bad gig, being on call here at 425 Madison. The tiny one-bedroom is decked out to the nines, making your night away from home while you work as comfortable as possible.

I barely clear the hall into the lobby when I see Emmy ahead of me, making her way toward the front of the building. I hurry to catch up. I push through the massive chrome doors and yell out to her.

“Emmy, wait!”

She stops and turns toward me. She looks a little startled at first, but she quickly replaces that look with disdain. Clearly, she isn’t happy to see me. I’m not surprised. As I catch up to her, I notice how amazing she looks. She’s dressed in tan dress pants and a silky, black, sleeveless top. She’s wearing heels, which adds to her height and complements her already long, lean legs. When she doesn’t have heels on, she tucks right up under my chin. At this height, though, I don’t have to bend as far down to kiss her. Which is immediately what I start thinking about. Those pouty lips steal my focus, but I quickly regain it and look at the rest of her beautiful face.

“What do you want, Jake?” She crosses her arms.

Damn, her attitude is cute. I bite back a smile. “I don’t want the check.” I fish it out of my back pocket and hand it to her.

She looks down at what I’m offering, her eyes drawn, and brow furrowed.

“What do you mean you don’t want it? We had a deal.” She looks back up at me.

“I know, but I don’t want it.” I shake it toward her again, but she doesn’t take it. Her face starts to blush. She shyly looks around and takes a step closer to me.

“Look, I’m good for it, I don’t go back on my deals. And I don’t appreciate you taking pity on me after what I told you last weekend.” Her whisper is harsh. She’s embarrassed, and she thinks I don’t want her money because I don’t think she can afford it.

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