Landlord Wars(42)

Technically, I had never stopped thinking about her.

Sophia had stolen my attention from the moment she carelessly discarded pink panties on my best friend’s couch. I’d brushed off the attraction and told myself it was just another woman looking for a rich boyfriend. But that was an excuse. I’d liked her. I just hadn’t been ready to admit it.

A part of me had been tempted to kiss Sophia sooner than I cared to admit, and I’d finally given in to the temptation the other night in front of her door.

Bad move. I didn’t know how Sophia had felt in that moment, but that kiss was the best damn thing I’d experienced in my life. It was luxury and comfort and arousal all in one, and I was hooked.

If tonight went as planned, I’d catch Sophia on her way home. I had it on good authority (Jack) that she returned around six after her shop closed. Jack said she sometimes worked late, but typically from home.

Visiting my best friend at his apartment after his roommate came home from work wasn’t stalking. I wanted to see Jack, and if Sophia was there too, that couldn’t be helped.

The delusions I told myself were colorful.

After parking two blocks away, I headed on foot to the apartment and rounded the corner to my street, but the vision in front of me wasn’t what I had expected. A pulse thrummed in my eyelid, and I let out a sigh.

My mother was stepping out of a town car, a driver holding the door open for her. She wore a pale gray pantsuit, which meant she was all business today. She caught sight of me as I approached, her lips compressed as though someone had tried to hand her a pair of knockoff Stuart Weitzmans. “Still parking on the street, I see.”

My parents had been horrified to learn I’d converted the garage of my building into a studio and parked my car on the street. “What can I do for you, Mom?”

“You don’t answer my calls.”

I was still irritated with her antics regarding Sophia and the green design of her parlor, but my mother wasn’t a bad person. She was simply unaware at times.

I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Not when you insist on bending me to your will.”

“When has anyone managed that?”

She had a point. Burrows tenacity ran deep. “I’m assuming this visit is about Starlight?”

“Not here.” She moved in the direction of the stairwell. “Let’s talk upstairs. It will give you a chance to show me what you’ve done with the apartment. Jack mentioned you remodeled yours at the same time you repaired the damage to his rental.”

“It made sense,” I said as we walked up two flights of stairs. “The studio was vacant then as well, and updating the electrical and plumbing for the entire building was more economical than one unit at a time.”

We reached the top floor, and my mother leaned a heavy hand to the wall, panting dramatically. “And you didn’t think to add an elevator?”

There was no sense arguing. My mother didn’t believe in economizing.

I punched in the code to my unit and let her inside.

She looked over the updated kitchen with a critical eye. “It’s very modern.”

Anything newer than 1900s design aesthetic was too modern for Kitty Burrows, formerly Kitty Haas. The late 1800s and early 1900s, when her grandfather had made a fortune as a gold rush supplier, were her family’s heyday. “My designer calls it urban modern with warmth.” I gestured to the kitchen. “Espresso?”

She frowned. “It’s five thirty in the afternoon, Maxwell. You’ll stay up all night if you drink caffeine now.” She took a sharp breath and looked away. “Pour me a decaf. And add half an espresso to that.”

My mother fooled no one with her decaf bullshit. If she could attach a caffeine drip to her arm, she would. Besides, I didn’t keep decaf in the house, and she knew it.

She frowned when I set down the espresso, and then proceeded to guzzle it with ladylike delicacy. Pushing aside the saucer and cup, she said, “Your father tells me you refused to see reason where Starlight is concerned.”

“It’s too expensive and benefits few, including the city.” The same thing I’d told my dad, which bore repeating due to the stubbornness gene.

She looked at me sternly. “It benefits our dear friends, and your father and me.”

“Precisely. Very few people, and extremely wealthy ones at that. I told Dad not to put his money into that hedge fund, and he didn’t listen. He made a mistake, but I’m not responsible for cleaning it up.”

She lowered her chin. “You’ve grown cold in your thirty years.”

“If by cold you mean responsible and empathetic to the plight of those with less, then yes.”

She rolled her eyes and stood, wandering to a window that overlooked the neighborhood. When she turned back to me, her expression was one of concern. “Your father and I want to leave you with what we had. Is it too much for us to want to rebuild?”

I set down my cup and joined her at the bay window. “I understand your nostalgia for holding on to what your great-grandfather built, but I won’t live my life trying to recreate it. I have my own dreams and aspirations.”

“To help others,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not entirely altruistic.” Sophia’s comment about my car and clothing came to mind. Clearly, I had my own extravagances. “But yes, helping others is a part of it.”