“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he growled softly. He ran the cold water and splashed his face with a handful, using a fluffy white hand towel to mop his cheeks dry. Patting his crotch down and taking several deep breaths, he muttered, “Get it together, Winslow.”
Through the bathroom door, he heard the sound of her doorbell, and while part of him was pissed he’d missed out on a few more minutes alone with Margaret, the larger part of him was mindful that, regardless of his attraction to her, he still wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.
That, and he’d have to be a total dick to go after a girl who already had a boyfriend.
Chapter 4
Cameron stood quietly in the kitchen doorway, watching with an interest that bordered on fascination as Margaret explained to Geraldo that she wanted to take the existing butler’s pantry, tucked in an alcove of her kitchen, and renovate it into a fully functional walk-in wine cellar.
She wanted the pantry lined in brick and outfitted with a special climate control device that would keep the closet at 55oF at all times. She had researched the best lighting to keep the wines stable, and she wanted the shelving to be eight feet long along the three walls and finished in mahogany because, as she explained, mahogany wouldn’t warp or swell due to the humid temperatures required to keep the wines happy.
Since she’d found a craftsman in Upstate New York who would be building the shelving to her specs, it was up to Geraldo to gut the existing pantry, install the climate control system, do the brick masonry work, install the recessed lighting, and have the closet ready for installation by August, when the shelving would be ready.
In awe of her knowledgeable and capable explanation, Cameron almost failed to notice the way that Geraldo only half listened, his keen eyes taking in a lot more than the renovation space, including her expensive espresso machine, the shiny silver platter on her dining room table, and—after nodding at Margaret to confirm he was taking in every word—her derriere as she leaned over to point out a possible issue with existing electrical wires.
When Cameron cleared his throat loudly, Geraldo’s face whipped back to look at him, as if surprised to find another man in the apartment. And while Cameron couldn’t see his own expression, he was quite certain it warned Geraldo that any more lingering glances at Miss Story’s ass wouldn’t be tolerated.
“You must be Geraldo,” said Cameron tightly, holding out his hand.
Geraldo, who was a lean, muscular man, considerably younger than Diego, smirked at Cameron, his smile showcasing a gold-capped tooth. He took Cameron’s hand, giving him a very firm handshake. “Yeah.”
“You’re Diego’s cousin?”
“Yeah. I do work for him sometimes.”
Cameron dropped the younger man’s hand and crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture intended to be intimidating. “How many apartment renovations have you completed?”
Geraldo leaned back against the kitchen counter, his eyes sharp, but his face somehow sly. “A lot. I learned the stone work from my tío, Diego’s pops, who’s the super a few doors down. And I learned the rest from my older brothers.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. And so long as I’m working on this closet, you should know that the recessed lighting she wants is gonna be a problem. This fancy plasterwork can get messy when you start digging around in it, and I’m not sure these old apartments have the ceiling depth for it.”
Hmm. Despite his age, which Cameron guessed at about twenty, and his demeanor, which was relaxed at best and more than a little fresh, he actually seemed to know what he was talking about. Cameron chided himself for rushing to judgment based on appearances and relaxed his stance.
“What’s the solution?”
Geraldo rubbed his small, cropped black beard. “Might be able to cut and repair, but most likely I’ll have to take down the old ceiling and install drywall to accommodate the fixtures.”
“Doesn’t sound too terrible.”
“It’ll be noisy for the upstairs neighbor,” said Geraldo.
Cameron shrugged. “Well, the upstairs neighbor is me, so I give you permission to do whatever needs to be—”
“Oh, you’re not her—”
“Excuse me, boys,” said Margaret, commanding their attention, hands on her slim hips, a no-nonsense glare in her eyes. “But since this is my apartment and my project, perhaps I could be included in the conversation.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Geraldo, nodding at her. “I just thought you was his Jeina.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows.
“I thought you was together. Like he was calling the shots.”
She scoffed. “No, and no. I’m calling the shots. He’ll show you what he needs done upstairs in his apartment once we’re finished here. Which we are . . . as long as you’re free to handle the work on weekends only. Do you have any questions?”
“No, mami. I got it. Weekends is fine. I can do it for you, as long as he don’t mind me needing to dig around in his floors a little.”