Page 5 of Baker

“I suppose not. It’s just that I can’t see how a business management degree – and a few years of experience as a bartender while you were in college – can prepare you to manage two pieces of property that are filled with demanding tenants.” He waved a dismissive hand at my resumé. “Is this the extent of your job experience?”

My qualifications were bleak at best. For fear of tarnishing my otherwise spotless background, I hadn’t bothered listing the job I’d been fired from recently. Excluding it, my life’s experiences – in respect to work – were listed.

“Yes, Sir. But that sheet of paper isn’t reflective of my abilities at all.” I stood and removed a hair tie from my purse. “Give me your best demanding tenant impersonation.”

His eyes thinned. “Pardon me?”

“You’re an angry tenant. I’m the property manager. Go.”

He looked at me as if I was crazy. “I don’t think this is--”

“I’m serious.” I twisted my hair into place. “You don’t think I’m qualified, and I think I am. Try me.”

He crossed his arms and then looked me over. “My air conditioner quit, and I need to get someone to look at it right away,” he said, his tone coarse and challenging. “I’ve got family coming in from Michigan, and I can’t wait all damned weekend.”

I gave him a stern look and dropped my voice a few octaves. “It’s Friday, Mister Greene. You and I both know that getting someone to come look at the air conditioner on Friday at six o’clock is going to be impossible. Rest assured I’ll get it resolved as soon as I can. Have you noticed the fan making any funny noises, or have you seen any signs of backed up condensation?”

“I haven’t noticed, no.”

I cocked my hip and looked him up and down. “You haven’t noticed, or you haven’t paid attention? You do realize it’s your responsibility, not ours, to clean the condensation pan, don’t you?”

One side of his mouth curled into a half-assed grin. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “I thought you had no experience at this?” he asked.

“I don’t.”

“How do you know what a condensation pan is?”

“My uncle owns a heating and air business.”

He stood and cleared his throat. “I’ve been seeing bugs every time I come home at night. I need you to get this place sprayed--”

“Pest control is a preventative measure, not a reactionary one. It’s performed quarterly. We treated the building in June. I’m sure whatever you’ve seen is on the verge of death. If not, we’ll make sure they are in September, when we treat it next. Anything else?”

His eyebrows raised. “Let me guess. Your knowledge of pest control comes from an aunt who’s an exterminator?”

“No. I lived in an apartment. Every time I called them about roaches, that’s what they would tell me.”

He let out a sigh and then lowered himself into his chair. “I’m not convinced hiring you is the answer--”

“That’s funny. I’m convinced if you don’t, you’ll regret it.”

His brows knitted together. “I’ll regret it?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m sixty-seven years old, and I can count my life’s regret with one finger.”

“That’ll all change if you hire someone else,” I assured him. “You’ll reach a point of regret.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked down his nose at me. “Is that a fact?”

“If you could see beyond my feminine exterior, you’d realize how valuable and man-like I am. I cuss like a sailor. I can easily out-drink a Russian peasant. I’m loyal, but not to a point of fault. For me, honesty is second nature. I’ll argue until I’m exhausted if I think I’m right. If I’m proven wrong, I’ll admit it promptly. I earn the respect of those around me by knowing when to listen and when to speak--”

“Why are you speaking?” he asked. “Right now?”

“Because you’re not one hundred percent convinced you want to let me leave.”

“What makes you think that?”