“I’m so pleased.” He turned to Shane, putting his arm around the younger man’s shoulder. “Margaret finally got around to forwarding the Gallo-Fishtail numbers to me. Come take a look.”
Mouthing, “See you Saturday?” over his shoulder, Shane followed her father down the hall. Her delicious thoughts of Cameron Winslow were traded for a here and now that felt ever more oppressive.
Chapter 3
Margaret hadn’t texted Cameron a reminder, but she hadn’t canceled their meeting tonight either, which meant, as far as he was concerned, that they were still on.
With butterflies buzzing in his stomach and a rare feeling of exuberance making his stride quick and determined, he walked home from the office without that all-too-familiar drowning feeling for the first time in weeks. Tonight felt different. Yes, there were too many calls to return, too many contracts to review, too many meetings to schedule, and too many reports to write, and yet, he felt almost buoyant as he rounded the corner where he’d bumped into her yesterday morning. Why? Because tonight he was going home to Margaret.
And he couldn’t wait.
Glancing at his watch, he found it was seven forty. He had just enough time to stop by his apartment and change into a fresh shirt and some jeans before ringing her bell, which is why he didn’t stop to chat when Diego greeted him in the lobby.
“Se?or Winslow!”
“Buenas noches, Diego,” he answered, nodding politely as he beelined for the elevator.
Diego followed him. “Uh, Mr. Winslow, I heared that you gonna use my primo, uh, Geraldo, to do the renovations at your apartment, yes?”
Cameron pushed the elevator call button again as he glanced at the graying, potbellied super. “That’s the plan.”
“Miss, uh, Story, she say you need a bathroom?”
“That’s right.”
Diego pursed his lips and shrugged apologetically. “Geraldo don’t do the ba?os.”
“Huh. He does kitchens and not bathrooms?” Cameron grinned. “That almost sounds prejudiced.”
“Yeah, well,” said Diego, wringing his hands together, “he no good on the bathroom work. You gotta find someone else.”
“Excuse me, Diego,” said Franklin, the doorman at the Newbury Arms, who reentered the lobby after helping another tenant into a cab. “Did you finish unclogging dryer four in the basement yet?”
Diego huffed softly and turned away from Cameron. “No, I just, uh, I need to—”
“—fix dryer four,” said Franklin. “And since I’m sure Mr. Winslow here has somewhere he needs to be, let’s stop wasting the man’s time.”
“Uh, yes. Fine, okay,” said Diego, who gave Cameron one last troubled look before waddling away.
“Hey, Franklin,” said Cameron, turning toward the elevator as it dinged its arrival. “You ever seen Diego’s cousin Geraldo doing bathroom renovations here in the building?”
Franklin took a deep breath and scratched his forehead. “Yes, sir. I believe he was here last fall working on Mrs. Montgomery’s apartment. The bathroom, if I’m not mistaken.”
“So he definitely does bathrooms,” Cameron confirmed, wondering why Diego had said differently.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Winslow. You thinking about doing some work up on your place?”
He nodded. “Mm-hm. Me and Miss Story, both. And Diego recommended his cousin to her.”
“Well, if Diego’s any indication, I’m sure Geraldo will do a fine job. Diego gets chatty now and then,” said Franklin with a chuckle, “but he’s the handiest handyman I know. I’m sure his cousin’s in high demand.”
Of course. That was probably it. Diego probably assumed his cousin’s schedule was too full. But Cameron would just as soon let Geraldo decide how much work he was interested in taking on. He could refuse Cameron’s job himself if he wasn’t interested.
“That’s great.” Cameron stepped into the elevator. “You have a good night.”
“You too, Mr. Winslow.”
***
Margaret had rushed home at seven o’clock and changed into a simple cream cashmere sweater dress, which she cinched with a brown leather belt, and matched with heeled boots the same color as her hair. For a moment, she’d considered letting her waves tumble wildly around her shoulders, but she reminded herself that Cameron wasn’t her boyfriend and this wasn’t a date. He was merely coming over to meet with a contractor and settle on a mutually convenient work schedule.
Not a date. Just a meeting. Not a date.