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I stop by maintenance and let them know about the mess in the upstairs ladies’ room. Judging by his response, he already knew the ladies from the mayor’s office were up to no good.
I jump in my truck and note the time. Shit. It’s nearly lunchtime already. I dial Weston’s number as I drive away from town hall.
“Hey, bro,” my best friend greets. “Are you on your way toBootlegger?”
“I have to bail on lunch. I need to deal with some tenant who’s complaining her water isn’t working.”
He chuckles. “You get the most epic booty calls.”
“I hope it’s not a booty call. I’ve had enough of women and their scheming this morning,” I begin and continue to explain what happened at town hall.
“Your life is a damn rom-com,” he says through laughter once I finish my tale.
“Nothing romantic about it.”
“I forgot. The famous Flynn isn’t interested in romance. One and done should be your middle name.”
I scowl. “I think you’re confusing us. I’m not the one who uses his uniform to pick up tourists.”
“I can’t help it if women love a man in uniform.”
I park in front of my apartment building. “Gotta go. Raincheck for lunch.”
I climb out of my truck. This tenant’s problem better be real and not another stunt.
Chapter 3
Of all the sexy handymen in the world, he has to be mine?
Sophia
Istretch as I wake up. I frown when I feel the warm sun shining on my face. Did I forget to close the curtains last night?
I force my eyes open. There are curtains on the window but those aren’t the black-out curtains I have hanging up in my bedroom in my apartment in Atlanta. These curtains are frilly and not what I would have chosen.
Oh, right. I’m not in Atlanta anymore. I’m back on Smuggler’s Hideaway.
I glance at the clock. Eight a.m. Entirely too early to be awake after driving all weekend to get home.
Home? The island of Smuggler’s Hideaway is no longer my home. It hasn’t been in over a decade.
Except I agreed to come back home and work as the marketing manager forFive Fathoms Brewingafter I got fired from my previous job. Nepotism is the worst.
That campaign was my idea! I worked on the pitch for a month. Stupid Shane and his big lying mouth. My boss knew darn well the idea and work was mine. And yet he refused to defend me.
Enough! I can lay here and feel sorry for myself all day, or I can empty my car and unpack.
Since I’ve never been one to lie around and feel sorry for myself – revenge is a better option in my opinion – I roll out of bed and get ready for the day.
I spend the morning unpacking my things. I left my furniture in Atlanta – it was mostly cheap stuff I bought after graduating from college and in need of replacement anyway – but I have plenty of clothes, bedroom stuff, and kitchenware to unpack.
My stomach growls as I finish putting my dishes away in the kitchen. I check the time on the oven. Nearly noon. No wonder I’m starving. I debate eating before I shower but I’m a sweaty, stinky mess. Shower it is.
I dig my toiletries and a towel out of a box before making my way to the bathroom in the hallway. I’d love a bath to soak my sore muscles, but I don’t have time to be lazy. I have clothes to unpack.
I switch on the shower and let it warm up while I strip. I step into the tub and groan when the warm water hits my shoulder muscles. I should probably start working out if a morning of unpacking feels this strenuous.
I wet my hair and massage the shampoo in. I’m rinsing my hair when the water suddenly turns cold.
