Mister Fixit (Love in New York #3) (3 page)

The light changes to green and I pull away, but within two blocks I’m crying so hard I have to pull over onto a side street. It’s not until someone taps on my window that I realize I’m on the side of the road in a not-so-great area, and there’s a For Sale sign in the yard right next to me. I could throw my phone out the window and hit it easily, if I had a phone anymore.

“You okay, Miss?” the man at my window asks me. He could be homeless, the way he’s dressed, or he could just be one of those wannabe beatnik cool guys who hangs around the streets of Brooklyn.

I nod, wiping tear streaks from my face with the heels of my hands. “Yes, I’m fine,” I answer through the closed window. My hand moves to the ignition, but just before I turn the key, I realize my engine is already on. I’ve been sitting here for I don’t know how long idling, spewing carbon monoxide out into the atmosphere. I’m sure the people living on this street really appreciate that.

“You sure? You look sad to me.” He frowns and points to his cheeks.

“No, really, I’m fine.” I glance over at the house that’s for sale and then at him. “Do you live around here?”

“You could say that.” He smiles, revealing teeth in sore need of dentistry.

“Do you know what the story is with this place?” I jab my thumb over at the sign.

He looks over my car at it, frowns, and then drops his gaze to me again. “Been for sale for a long time. Nobody livin’ in it. That’s all I know.”

I grab a pen from my purse and a little notebook, writing down the name of the realtor I see on the sign and her phone number along with the street number for the house. I’ll get the street name when I drive out of here.

Idiot me threw my phone out the window, so now I have to wait until I’m home again to call anyone. And that Dicky character will probably call me while my phone’s with that lucky stranger who I nearly nailed with it, so I guess I won’t be meeting anyone today to hunt for houses. I want to bang my head on my steering wheel in frustration. Can nothing go right for me?

“You got any spare change?” the man asks, distracting me from my thoughts.

“Sure,” I say distractedly, reaching into my wallet for some bills. “Here you go.” I slide them through a three-inch space I make rolling the window down. It’s too cold to let all the heat out.

“Ten bucks, hey, thanks.” He gives me a genuine smile, which only makes me feel guilty. My heart lurches over the idea of ten bucks making my day. “Here,” I say, giving him the rest of what I have. “Take it.”

He frowns as the wad of bills come through the crack. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nod, facing out the front of the window. “I will be.”

He takes the money and backs away from the car. “You have a nice day, Miss.”

“You too,” I say, shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb. Time to go get a new phone and find a house to buy. I’m going to do this. This is going to happen. I can’t stay in my apartment anymore; it’s too depressing and I’m going crazy staring at its four walls. Rose is awesome, and I’ll visit her, but I can’t live there right now. Not with all those memories tied to it. Plus, I need a job to do, one that has me as the boss. I’m in no emotional state to be working retail again. Besides, how hard can being a general contractor be, anyway? My late sister-in-law did it, and she made it look really easy. I’m college-educated, smart, and talented in the design department. And it’s been said before: once I put my mind to something, I can make it happen. I glance at the rundown house with the sagging porch outside as I drive past it and smile. Watch out, World, here I come.

Chapter Four

THERE ARE THREE VOICEMAILS FROM Robinson, one from James, and eight from Leah on my new phone when I get it up and running the next day. I listen to Robinson’s on speakerphone as I get dressed in house hunting clothes. Today will be the day that I find a place to renovate. After a fitful night’s sleep and way too much time imagining all the things I could get accomplished, there’s no way it’s not going to work. I’ve got it all figured out.

As soon as I hear the initial part of Robinson’s first message, I stride across the room to the counter where my new phone rests. “Hey, Jana, it’s me. Robinson. Listen, I really think you’ve got this all wrong…”

Click
. Delete. “Goodbye, Robinson, you jerk.” I smile in the mirror, but it doesn’t look happy. The next message comes on.
 

“Are you ignoring me?”

Click.
Delete.
“
Gee, you think? Asshole.” I shake my head. He can’t possibly be that stupid.

I wait for the next message. There’s some fumbling around and then his voice again. “If you’re ignoring me, tell me. Otherwise, I’m coming over. I’m worried about you.”

My eyes bug out as I hear the time the message was sent. I look at my watch. An hour ago. Holy shit, I have to get out of here. I don’t want to see him; I’m likely to punch him right in the nose.

The doorbell rings a half-second later. Not my intercom buzzer, but my actual door. How in the hell did he get inside? Stupid neighbors. Someone in this building needs a bitch-slap.

“Goddammit!” I hiss. I jerk a brush through my hair, wincing as I accidentally yank some strands out in my anger. “Go away, jerk, I don’t want you here,” I say mostly to myself. I plan to ignore his knocking. He’ll go away eventually.

I check my watch again as the doorbell rings. I’m supposed to meet this Dicky person at the home that I saw for sale yesterday in a half hour. Word on the realtor street is that it’s about to go into foreclosure and the owners are ready to deal. I just need Robinson to go away so I can get there on time.

The doorbell rings a third time. “I know you’re home!” comes a voice through the door. “I saw your car downstairs!”

I sneer at my reflection in the mirror. He’d better not force the issue. I destroyed a phone yesterday, I was so mad; there’s no telling what I’m capable of doing if I see him in person.

“Come on, Jana, talk to me!”

He’s going to make me late. I need to do something about this. I slam the brush down on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. “You can do this. Cut him off. Make him go away. It’s over. You’re never going to be with him, so just forget it.”

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’ve had a crush on Robinson since the first time I met him. Actually, since the first time I laid eyes on him, when I saw him in a photo with my brother. This is even more pitiful when you consider how old I was at the time: six. Yes. I was
six
years old when I fell in love with Robinson Arnold.

It was Christmas break, my brother’s first semester of college, and he came home with mementoes of his new life. Robinson was his roommate and new best friend. I still remember the way that picture of him made my blood race in my veins, and I was just a little kid. A baby, practically. But something about this boy made me feel funny inside. He was my first crush.

And when I finally met him in person after the next semester, it was ten times worse. I thought I was having a heart attack when he smiled at me. I was only a little girl, but there was something about this boy that was different from every other one I’d ever met. When I played with my Barbies, he was my Ken, when I playacted being Cinderella, he was my Prince Charming, and as I grew older, he became the man that every other guy was measured against.

Over the years, I’ve gotten better at hiding my reactions — my brothers used to tease me that my face would light up like Times Square whenever his name was mentioned — but my feelings stayed strong, even more than two decades and several boyfriends later. But now it’s over. I’m done with loving him, with crushing on him, with dreaming about being with him. Not like it’s a big deal to anyone but me that this ridiculous wannabe love affair is over; he never saw me as anything but James’s little sister.

I’m on the other side of the door when he bangs on it with his fist. “Jana, so help me, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to…”

I flip the lock and throw the door open. “You’re going to what? Take my child away from me? Oh, wait. That’s right. You already did that.” I stand there with my arms folded across my chest, waiting for him to walk away.

His shoulders sag. “Come on, Jana, you don’t really believe that.”

“Go away, Robinson. I’m done talking to you.”

He takes a step forward. “Can’t I just come in for a minute?”

I reach an arm out and push on his chest. “No. Not even for a second.” I start to close the door, but he puts his hand on it and stops me.

“Wait!”

I stand there, glaring at him, fighting the tears that will give my hurt feelings away. I want him to think I’m just mad, seething with pure anger. I don’t want him to see how deeply he hurt me by standing against me in this thing with Cassie.

“I have to go,” I say through closed teeth.

“You can take one minute to listen to what I have to say.”

“I could, but I won’t.” I try to shut the door, but he’s stronger than me.

“Come on, Jana, stop being so bull-headed about this, would you?”

The door across the hall cracks open just the slightest bit. That’s when I realize that I’m putting on a show for the neighbors. Grabbing him by the front of the shirt, I yank him toward me and pull him into the apartment.

“That was a quick change of heart,” he says, talking past a new smile.

I shut the door and respond in an angry whisper. “Don’t get excited, I was just keeping my problems from becoming the next building soap opera. Thanks for banging on my door and alerting everyone who lives on the block that I have issues.”

“Sorry,” he says, shrugging, “but I called several times. I rang the bell. You can’t avoid me forever, you know.”

I raise my eyebrows at him and laugh. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Says me.” He seems just as shocked at I am. “We’re family.”

I shake my head. “I have news for you, Robinson. You’re wrong; we’re
not
family. You’re my brother’s friend and the family attorney. But after that stunt you pulled, you can consider yourself fired from that job. You don’t represent my interests anymore. I’m done.” I open the door and gesture with my free hand. “Please leave.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His serious expression makes him look very old. Why did I never notice that about him before? Why had his youth and good looks remained frozen in time for me? Now I can see him for what he really is: old, mean, heartless, and stupid. I can do so much better. I’ve wasted enough of my life on this turd.

“I meant every word. Now get out, or I’m calling the police.”

He steps over the threshold and turns halfway to deliver his parting shot.

“I’m not going to give up that easily.”

I laugh as I slam the door in his face, yelling so he’ll hear me through the thick wood. “Give up! It’s over!”

The sound of footsteps going down the hall leaves me breathing easier. Good. That’s done. Now I’m free to live my life how I want to live it, without some jerk telling me what’s best for me and the people I love.

Taking my purse and keys from the table, I leave the apartment for my appointment with Dicky, my heart much heavier than I want it to be. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and I’ve already jettisoned some dead weight. Things are looking up. I just need to keep telling myself that until it really feels that way.

Chapter Five

IT’S AMAZING HOW FAST CASH talks in Manhattan. Three weeks after seeing the house for the first time, Dicky hands me the keys to the front door. “Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of a bona fide fixer upper.” His grin slips, and I know why. He advised me against taking on such a big project for my first attempt. I ignored him, of course, because he doesn’t know me or the power of my determination.

“Thank you, Dicky. For everything. You work fast.”

He shrugs. “Money talks, BS walks. You got them out of a financial bind, and they should be grateful.”

“I doubt very highly that ‘grateful’ is the word they’re using right now.” Dicky bargained them down about twenty percent from what they were asking, but it’s not like we dragged them over any hot coals to get there. When I did my first walk-through and saw the insults spray-painted on the walls, the holes in the plaster, and the torn up floors, I knew they were dreaming with the price tag they’d put on it. Divorces are not pretty, but divorces that include property in Manhattan? Downright ugly sometimes.

“Their loss, your gain, right? And I have no doubt that you’ll turn that place around.”

We walk out of the title agent’s office together and down the elevator into the parking garage. “You sure you’re not worried?” I tease. “You looked a little doubtful there when I said I was going to be the GC.”

He shrugs. “What do I know? Maybe you’ll be a natural. But remember,” he waits for me to exit the elevator ahead of him, “there’s no shame in admitting you’re in over your head and calling in a professional.”

His lack of confidence stings, but I don’t let it show. “Thanks for the advice. See you around?”

He shakes my hand where we’ve stopped at the back of my car. “With pleasure. You know where to find me if you need me.” He walks off and shouts over his shoulder. “When you’re ready for your next project, give me a call!”

“Sure thing!” I get into my car and sit there for a few minutes staring out the front windshield. I am officially the proud owner of a new home with a tiny front and back yard in an area of Brooklyn that’s not too far from some of my favorite places. I smile in satisfaction. Now it’s time to get to work.

I’ve been looking forward to this distraction for three weeks now. Having to put Leah, James, and Jeremy off every time they’ve called has been difficult, but now I have a real excuse. I try a few new ones in my head for practice:

Sorry, can’t come to family dinner because I have some drywall to repair.

Sorry, can’t come shopping with you because I have new flooring going in.

Sorry, no, I don’t have time for visitors today; I have to go buy ten gallons of paint.

The release from the pressure of all the lies I’ve had to make up will be very welcome. I can only have so many hair appointments, friends with birthdays, and contagious chest colds before people start getting pushy with me. As it is, they were pretty much at that point. Just today, Jeremy left me a voicemail telling me they expected me on Sunday for family spaghetti night, and they weren’t going to take no for an answer.