Page 16 of Zimyra

“She is.”

“Then how do you suppose you’re going to avoid her? I wouldn’t be too concerned about being around her if I were you. Women can usually detect when a man isn’t trying to bethatdude—you know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

“The kind of man who’s trying to holla. You don’t exactly put off vibes that would indicate you’re the relationship type. You’re very dismissive when it comes to women.”

“And you’re not?”

“I am, but I ain’t got nothing on you. And don’t take it the wrong way—it’s not abadthing. It’s who you are. If you can’t be true to yourself…ay, you know the rest. Anyway, I gotta get back to the bar—”

“Wait…one more thing. Do you mind if I list your company as one of my previous employers on this fake resumé I have to do for thisjob?”

“Go for it. If she calls to verify, you know I got your back.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. I’ll holla at you later.”

I hang up the phone, more confused than when I called him. I click open a pen and start on this application. Every line I’m forced to complete has my blood boiling. I shouldn’t have to do this, but at least I didn’t have to come up with a resumé from scratch. I had my assistant prepare a bogus resumé, and she listed two companies where I had supposedly worked. One is Murphy’s bar. I knew he would be okay with it, so I had already instructed her to list it. The other is maintenance for an apartment complex in Connecticut that’s not affiliated with Leverage. Darla knows the manager over there and asked her for a favor.

By the way Zimyra operates, I know she’s calling my references, past employers and doing background checks. She’s just that thorough. She’s one of those overachievers. Always got to have her T’s crossed and I’s dotted. She pays attention to detail. She’s organized. I could tell that by the look of her well-structured desk. She handles her business, and she does it well. I think that’s part of the reason I’m going to dread this so much. The way she works is familiar because it’s how I function. I think I may have found my equal in a woman.

She’s just like me.

CHAPTER 5

I think my booty cheekshave gone numb. I’ve been sitting in this chair for so long processing rent payments that my eyes are weary from staring so hard at the screen. I haven’t even gotten to the maintenance requests – not that I have anyone to take care of them. Until I can hire someone, I’ll have to schedule outside companies. I don’t want to do that. That’s more money, and if you’re not adding to a company’s bank account, they no longer consider you an asset. Then, poof, there goes my job.

I sigh, remove my blue-light-blocking glasses, and massage my eyes. I glance up at the clock. It’s already after eleven. One more hour and I’m on break.

I stand and stretch. A trip to the bathroom reveals that the bucket is still there. I left it just in case it rained over the weekend. I pour out the little water that collected, wipe the bucket out with paper towels, and return it to the closet. Then I step outside and pull in a breath of fresh air. It’s a beautiful spring day. It rained Friday and Saturday morning, but it was clear yesterday and it’s clear today, unlike last Monday when I practically swam into the office.

I stretch again, look up at the sky, and bask in the sun. Just when I turn to go back inside, I see two men – twostrangemen – ones I don’t recognize and I know everybody out here. One is walking with a tool bag and the other is following him into an apartment.

Did my tenant take it upon himself to hire his own maintenance workers?

My heart drops. I feel like a letdown if this is the case. They count on me to do these things and I failed.

Feeling absolutely horrible about the situation, I lock the office door and walk over to get a closer look. I observe the men enter unit 305-A – Mr. Alton’s apartment. He had put in a request for a clogged kitchen sink last Wednesday, but with no workers, it didn’t get done. I thought about doing it myself with some Drano, but that wouldn’t be very professional. Then again, neither is this.

I strive for tenant satisfaction and this is not a good look for a tenant to take it upon themselves to hire an outsider for something as simple as a clogged drain.

I knock on the opened door and say, “Hello? Mr. Alton?”

Walking through the living room, I can hear the men talking, though I don’t hear Mr. Alton’s voice. When I step into the kitchen, I almost lose my freakin’ mind. This man – this ridiculous man who I told to fill out an application – who wasted my time taking a tour of the model apartment – who talked to me with a smirk on his face as if I didn’t know what I was doing – this is one of the men in the kitchen.

My brain swells with anger. I take a breath to calm myself down a bit because I’m not trying to make a scene or do something to injure myself like have a stroke behind this guy. Yet, and still, something is building at my frontal lobes to the point that I rest my palms on my temple and ask in the softest, mildest voice I can muster, “Have you LOST your freakin’ mind?”

“I don’t understand what you mean?”

“You’re not supposed to be here working. That’s what I mean. You do not work for me or Atlantic Properties. I did not hire you, sir!”

“You gave me an application.”

“Yes, and you didn’t turn it in. What are you doing here?”

He reaches into his pocket and hands me folded papers, then says, “Here. There’s your application. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

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