Red Hot (5 page)

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Authors: Niobia Bryant

BOOK: Red Hot
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“Without an appointment,” he inserted.
Kaitlyn snapped her mouth shut in surprise.
“Look, Miss—”
“Strong. Kaitlyn Strong,” she supplied, snatching back her composure. And then she instantly hated how she sounded like a James Bond wannabe. The man was rubbing her the wrong way, but this apartment just might be her last resort.
One thing she learned in life was that money talked and bullshit walked.
“I don't think it would take up too much time from your day to show me the apartment . . .
please,
” she forced out as an afterthought.
Usually, she could wrap any man around her finger with just the right look, but she wasn't even willing to try with this tall and brooding man. It would be a waste of time.
He turned and walked through the break in the cars as he reached for a set of keys in his pocket.
Kaitlyn stayed rooted in her spot and posed with her hand on her hip like a mannequin.
He jogged up the stairs and stopped midway before looking down at her. “I thought you wanted to see the apartment?”
“And we're mentally linked, so I should've read your mind that you changed your mind?” she snapped.
He shook his head like a parent seeing a child do or say something odd. “You want to see it or not? That's
if
you can see anything in those shades,” he muttered under his breath.
Kaitlyn hitched her tote higher up on her arm and followed him up onto the sidewalk and up the stairs.
“Excuse me?” she asked, even though she had heard him clearly. “I'm sure your wife would love Gucci, baby.”
He paused on the step and looked over his shoulder at her. “You're right, she would've . . . and that's why she's my ex-wife.”
“Ooh, not a backhanded insult . . . that I couldn't care less about,” she said flippantly, with a comedic twist of her glossy lips.
She was surprised when he just chuckled as he jogged up the stairs. Holding on to the wrought-iron stairwell, and careful not to twist an ankle as she followed him up the stairs, she was keeping it cute. Real cute.
“Those pretty shoes would catch all kinds of hell if a dog was nipping at your heels.”
Kaitlyn looked up to see him on the second landing, leaning on the railing and looking down at her. She continued up the stairs at her same pace.
“I'm here to see the apartment and not for your impression of Joan Rivers on
Fashion Police.
”
Another chuckle.
She rolled her eyes as she finally reached the top.
Quinton had remained leaning on the railing as he turned his smooth, bald head and eyed her, squinting as the final rays of sun shone in his eyes. Everything about her spelled high maintenance and trouble, with a capital
T.
He couldn't do anything but shake his head.
She suddenly stopped and posed once more. “Want to take a picture?”
“No,” he answered with emphasis.
“I can't tell,” she shot back.
Quint rose to his full height and turned to unlock the door of the apartment, which was directly above his own. He pushed the door open and then stepped back to wave her through. He didn't even know why he bothered to show it to her.
She passed him and her arm brushed his stomach. It clenched involuntarily just as the soft, flowery scent of her perfume reached him.
Quint fought the instinct to jump back from her. And that physical reaction to her surprised him, because her slender build wasn't the thick and curvy shape he preferred on women.
He eyed the small tattoo on her neck's nape. It was partially covered by the soft tendril of her hair; he squinted to make it out.
She turned suddenly.
Quint shifted his eyes away from her.
“It's really small,” she said. “My closet now is the size of this living room.”
With her flashy car and even flashier wardrobe, Quint thought that nothing about the apartment or the complex seemed to suit her. He entered the apartment, leaving the door wide open.
“It's a two-bedroom unit, with a kitchen and two full baths. The master bedroom has an en suite. There is a small washroom in the back, which has the rear entrance leading to a balcony and stairwell, just like the front.”
“No pool or tennis court or spa . . . huh?”
“No, definitely not.”
He watched her move about the apartment. Her heels were clicking against the new laminate flooring like a senior citizen's false teeth. The little part of her face that was visible showed a grimace. Quinton felt himself bristle from her obvious judgment. He opened his mouth to tell her the tour was over.
She reached in her big bag and whipped out a cell phone. “Call Kaeden,” she instructed as she breezed past him to walk down the hall to enter the guest bedroom.
Quint scrunched up his face. The woman moved throughout the world as if cameras were rolling on her and she was the star of her own show. A sitcom. Everything about her was a joke to him.
“I'm here now, Specs,” he heard her say, her voice echoing within the empty apartment.
“It's . . . all right, I guess,” she said. “I'm have to put a lot of my stuff in storage and just pray it doesn't have roaches . . . like I hope this place don't either. I am not looking for any kind of roommates. Ya know?”
Quint stood up straight from where he was leaning against the wall.
This rude bit . . .
He wiped his hand over his mouth and forced himself not to finish the thought as she left the bedroom and crossed the hall to the bathroom.
“Lord Jesus.” She sighed and walked back out, giving Quint a withering look before her feet carried her down the hall to the kitchen.
Quint said a silent prayer for the dude she was on the phone with. His ex-wife, Vita, had been just as spoiled and self-absorbed. He knew she had been a handful for him. Foolishly, he thought his love and his forty-hours-a-week job would be enough for her.
He had been beyond wrong.
Quint had been looking off into the distance, staring out the window, but he shifted his eyes at the sound of her heels getting louder. She stepped into the hall. Her phone call was ended. She pushed her shades up atop her face.
Quint's eyes opened a bit in surprise as he took in her full face as she strutted up to him. Her face was that sweetheart shape with defined cheekbones and a little pug nose, with perfectly shaped lips. Her eyes were almond shaped and almost black in color, beneath thick, shaped eyebrows and the longest and fullest lashes he'd ever seen. Her short haircut framed her face and put even more emphasis on the defined features of her face.
She was a really pretty girl, but what surprised him the most was that her face wasn't heavily packed with makeup.
“I can be back in the morning with a check to pay for three months of rent in advance,” Kaitlyn said with a look that dared him to deny her.
Quint said nothing at first as he eyed her.
She arched a brow. “Will that clear up that waiting list problem?” she asked.
She had spunk and fire—maybe too much of it. Did he really want this diva living above him? But three months' rent in advance! Did he really want to pass up
not
having to chase people for their rent or listen to sob stories (with actual sobs) about why they didn't have it?
“You have kids?” Quint asked.
She looked offended before stressing,
“No.”
“Criminal convictions?”
“Only if being this fine is a crime.” Kaitlyn waved her hand up and down in front of herself.
“Heyy!”
“Married?”
“And about to move into here? No, that wouldn't even be my life as wife. Trust.”
“So it's just you moving into the apartment?” he asked, sounding doubtful as he remembered her phone call to Kaeden. Maybe he was just her lover/sponsor. She looked the type.
“I can hardly believe it myself,” she told him.
“Kaitlyn Strong you said?” Quint asked.
She smiled, showing him a smile that was made all the more endearing because she had a slight overbite, which knocked a chink in her perfect armor. “You come on a bit strong too, huh?” he asked.
“Only for things I really want,” she told him smoothly as she dropped her shades back down on her face and strutted past him, out of the apartment. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “So
you
don't have to worry.
Trust.
”
Quint walked out onto the balcony as she walked away and then down the stairs.
“First thing in the morning,” he advised, hardly believing he was introducing this very complicated woman into his uncomplicated life. “And you'll have to do an application and credit check.”
Kaitlyn pulled out the keys to her convertible and overdid deactivating the alarm and starting the engine with her remote. “Not a problem,” she called up to him before climbing into the vehicle and reversing out of the spot.
Kaitlyn took a deep sip of her glass of red Moscato wine. She stood in the door frame of the double doors leading off her bedroom and out onto the balcony, overlooking the water surrounding James Island. She had two weeks to enjoy the view, and the space, and the high ceilings, and the gourmet kitchen. . . .
Kaitlyn sighed.
If I knew that splurge at Hermès would pop off all this drama . . .
Her cell phone rang from its spot on her nightstand. Wearing her silk robe, she turned to pad barefoot back into her bedroom to pick it up. She checked the caller ID. It was her brother Kaleb. Out of all the siblings, she was closest to Kaleb and Kaeden because they were nearest in age. There was a pretty decent age gap among Kade and Kahron and then the three of them.
Still, she didn't answer him. She didn't feel like talking. She wanted to enjoy her beautiful apartment as long as she could, before she moved to the Holtsville Arms—her nickname for the apartment complex, which was a play on the Sanford Arms from those DVDs of
Sanford and Son,
which her daddy was always watching.
She thought about that rude manager. Quan? Quince? Quint. Yes, Quint. Fine? Yes. Rude? Most definitely.
Kaitlyn turned up her nose. She had enjoyed going toe-to-toe with him verbally, but too much of that mess would irk her nerves. She planned to stay clear of him. No matter how fine. And he was fine. Way too fine to be a dang-on apartment manager in little ole Holtsville, South Carolina. She'd seen male runway models who couldn't lick his boots.
A waste.
She sighed, waving her hand dismissively as she shifted her thoughts to her new miniature apartment.
She could fit the whole thing in a third of her apartment now.
Kaitlyn had already decided to turn the second bedroom into a closet. However, a lot of furniture was too large for the apartment, so it was going in storage. Another bill.

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