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Hate to Love Him
by Jody Holford

Copyright © 2017 by Jody Holford. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

It’s not personal, it’s business. Mia Kendrick repeated the mantra as she waited for the elevator to make its way to the lobby. There was no other choice. The couple hadn’t paid their rent, and Kendrick Place was already leaking money. If she didn’t fix that, her father and brother would never let her get past the ridiculous “probationary” period they’d put her on.

Straightening her shoulders and smoothing out her Armani blouse, she took a deep breath. Look professional. Act professional. No matter how many of her father’s words danced around in her head, she couldn’t stop the turbulent waves from cresting in her stomach. She’d never fired anyone, never evicted anyone, never done most of the things she should have by now. She’d grown up as the daughter of a residential property mogul, but he’d been so busy keeping her on the outside, she hadn’t learned insider tricks.

Like how to feel completely fine with what she was about to do. Butterflies tumbled around in her stomach as though they were drunk. She sighed. Who was she kidding? No amount of practice would make it easier to be the bad guy. Just because she’d gotten to know her tenants, and truly liked most of them, didn’t mean she could sidestep her responsibilities.

The doors slid open and as she stepped forward, she saw the one man she didn’t want to share a small space with: Brady Davis. His full lips tilted up on one side in what he probably considered a sexy smile. His blue eyes danced and those damn butterflies joined in.

“Going up, princess?”

Mia clenched her teeth and stepped forward at the same time Brady took a step out. Because she was looking at him, which always threw her off, especially when he used that ridiculous nickname, she miscalculated and her heel caught in the track of the elevator.

Heat flooded her cheeks as the thin heel of her shoe wedged into the groove and she jolted forward. Without meaning to, because she worked very hard to give this irritating man his space, her arms flung out and grabbed at the only solid thing within reach. Unfortunately, that was his chest. His very solid, wide, notably defined chest. Brady bent his knees, caught her elbows, and grinned. Mia bit down on her tongue to avoid groaning out loud. Of course he would smile over her mishap.

The scent of his cologne invaded her space, and she just knew she’d carry it with her for the day. Great. An all-day reminder of another man who doesn’t see you for who you are. The white cotton T-shirt he wore under his plaid, flannel jacket bunched under her fingers. She’d only curled them into the material for balance.

She shifted, dislodging one of her elbows abruptly. Mia figured that now, at age twenty-six, she’d already achieved a lifetime full of mortification when he went to steady her again. Because she’d pulled her arm away, when his hand touched her again, his palm pressed against her side, his thumb brushing near her breast.

Let this be a bad dream. This is not happening.

With his face—particularly his mouth—way too close to hers, Mia closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. With anyone else. She opened them and saw he was grinning.

“Still here, princess,” he said. The hushed timbre of his voice sent goose bumps up her arms. It’s chilly. That’s all.

She gritted her teeth as he extended a foot to block the door. Ignoring the heat of his palm pressed so intimately against her, and the embarrassment engulfing the rest of her body, she slipped her foot out of her heel and pulled her arm from his grasp. This was not a man she wanted to show weakness in front of. He already considered her spoiled, despite not knowing her at all.

“I believe I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she said.

Mia looked down at her blouse, checking to see that she was unwrinkled and still presentable and professional. Maybe she shouldn’t be using her clothing as armor, but it would be her first eviction, so she’d take whatever backup she could get.

When she looked up, Brady was frowning. “Worried I sullied your fancy clothes?”

“What? No. I was just making sure I’m still all tucked in,” she said. She kneeled as delicately as she could to remove her heel from the track. Her purse slipped into her path and she pushed it behind her. At least she’d chosen one that went across her chest, or it would be on the floor.

“Wouldn’t want to be seen untucked,” he said, his voice now stiff.

She gently removed the shoe, grateful to see the heel wasn’t damaged, then glanced at him and saw his smile had slipped. Most of the time, she didn’t know what she’d done to irritate him, which only served to frustrate her. While she’d been abroad, she’d relied on Brady to watch over her family’s building for a short period of time. It was as though he thought that brief interim gave him a say in how she ran things. Like she didn’t already have enough people telling her what to do.

If Brady didn’t speak to her, he was actually quite pleasant to be around. She knew many women found him attractive, but he gave them his charming side. For Mia, he had an entirely different persona. Since she’d come home from Europe, specifically to take her shot at running Kendrick Place, Brady had been a rusty nail lodged in her vintage piece of wood.

She pointedly looked him up and down, irritated he made slightly torn jeans and a simple T-shirt look so good. “It’s not a crime to want to present myself well,” she said, standing then leaning one hand on the wall to slip on her shoe. So much for any professionalism. Unless she was a professional circus act, she wasn’t at the top of her game this morning. Or ever, when Brady was around.

Because it drove her nuts that he was calm and collected while her heart jackhammered in her chest, she gave him another pointed look. “If you ever need a hand with your wardrobe, I could make some recommendations.”

Inside, she cringed. That’s your idea of trash talk? Why don’t you just tell him you’re rubber and he’s glue?

He smirked, the relaxed veneer showing the tiniest flash of irritation. “No thanks, princess. I prefer casual to uptight and rigid.” He stepped out of the elevator and she wondered, again, how every conversation she had with him managed to go sideways.

By the time she’d righted herself and found her balance again, the doors started to close. She didn’t even get a chance to say thank you. Mia sighed and let her body slump into the glass-paned wall.

“Not a great start,” she muttered as the elevator ascended to the fourth floor.

Taking a deep breath, or trying to, she blocked out Brady and tripping and looking like a fool. This is what you wanted—to show you can do this. You can do this.

Taking measured steps to the apartment door, she knocked with three quick raps of her knuckles. A woman with blue streaks through her gray hair answered. Wearing a tracksuit—an actual velour tracksuit—she stepped into the doorway. “Hi, Ms. Kendrick.”

Why did the tenant’s voice have to be creaky? Stop it. Business 101: no pay, no stay. Mia pressed her perfectly manicured nails into the fleshy skin of her palms.

She inhaled sharply, exhaling her words in a long stream. “Hello, Mrs. Waverly. I…I’m sorry to do this, but as I’ve given you two reminder notices about overdue rent payments for December and January and you’ve still not paid, I have n-no choice.”

Mia undid the satchel hanging over her shoulder and pulled out the sealed envelope. She passed it over, grateful her hand didn’t shake as she forced herself to look Mrs. Waverly in the eyes. “This is your formal notice of eviction. Of course, if you are able to pay the backdated rent and this month’s as well, you are welcome to stay here at Kendrick Place.”

Business 102: always end with a positive. The way Mrs. Waverly’s expression caved in on itself—her eyes sinking further into her face, more wrinkles appearing on her skin, and her mouth starting to tremble—suggested the elderly woman was not seeing the silver lining. Mrs. Waverly took the envelope with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. Mia wanted to believe it wasn’t a sob she heard. She took one step back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

It was completely true—her regret over having to do this. Mia turned and walked to the elevator with long strides, breathing through the pressure in her chest. Though she felt like jabbing the elevator button with a hard push, she used her index finger with controlled precision to call the car. It would do her no good to lose her composure.

Once the elevator came, she stepped in, waited until the silver doors slid shut, then let the tension fall from her shoulders. Using the wall for support, she took several deep breaths.

“This is part of it,” she reminded herself, hating the lump in her throat.

She hadn’t cried over her first boyfriend using her for her money. No tears were shed when her father explained that while she’d make an excellent society wife one day, Mia didn’t have a head for business. Her eyes had stung and watered when her grandfather died, but her cheeks remained dry. So there was no way in hell she was going to cry over a clear business decision. Kendrick men didn’t cry. And if she wanted to be one of the guys, neither would she.

Her father and brother, who ran Kendrick Properties side by side, had given her six months to show she could manage a building. Mia hadn’t pointed out they’d given her the one building falling into disrepair thanks to her brother’s lack of attention. Having loved the building since she was a child, she’d been too excited for the opportunity to complain that they’d essentially set her up to fail. But she wouldn’t. She might not like what she’d just had to do, but she’d done it. Because I can handle this and everything that comes with it.

When the car came to a stop, Mia straightened and her shoulders automatically stiffened. Presenting herself as confident and self-assured had been drilled into her head when her brother and father had explained her six-month trial as property manager. Shay, one of her tenants, stepped into the elevator. Mia’s shoulders loosened and she nearly sighed in relief.

Dressed for running, Shay’s golden blond hair was in a high ponytail that bounced when she walked. “Hi, Mia. How are you?”

“Hi. I’m…good. How are you?”

With a casual elegance and graceful ease, Shay leaned into the wall and shrugged. “Pretty good. My New Year’s resolution was to start running. I’m close to two months behind.”

Mia imagined if fairies existed, and laughed, they’d sound just like Shay.

“Do you make use of the exercise room?” Mia would far prefer that to running outside. Of course, Shay likely didn’t have photographers following her and asking her about her overseas adventures and who she was dating. However, if the residents weren’t using the room, it might be better serviced as a managerial apartment. She’d been thinking about that since she’d had to take over one of the units as her own. Freeing it up for a new tenant would be a better move.

“I have, but I want to combine fitness with getting a better awareness of the city. Much to Wyatt’s displeasure,” she said on another laugh.

Wyatt was the police detective who continued to lecture Mia on security. She’d finally ordered cameras that morning and planned to install them. Very tall, Wyatt’s handsome features tended to get overshadowed by his wary eyes and scowl. But apparently, both of those things worked for Shay, since they’d just moved in together.

“I think as long as you’re keeping to the main roads in the daytime, you’ll be just fine. Boston is such a beautiful city, and this is a nice area.” Maybe running with a friend would be enjoyable.

The doors slid open on the lobby floor and both women stepped out, walking side by side.

“I love it here,” Shay said. “Are you happy you came back?”

Happier than she’d expected. She’d always loved Boston and had missed it while she was studying in England. The break from her family had been nice, but Boston was home. “I am.”

“Were you just saying hi to tenants?” Shay asked, leaning against the high lobby counter when Mia walked around it.

“Pardon?” Mia met Shay’s curious gaze. She wasn’t prying…she had no idea what Mia had just done. Shay was only trying to extend the conversation. She and several of the other residents had been so kind and welcoming. Of course, no one knew about the eviction. Mia needed to remember she wasn’t one of them. She was the landlord, and if she didn’t keep that knowledge in the front of her mind, she’d blur lines and give her father and brother the proof they needed about her lack of business sense. What if it had been Shay she’d had to evict? Could she have done it? Wanting to accept offers of friendship was dangerous. Knowing that didn’t squash the flicker of longing in her chest.

“You were coming from upstairs and had mentioned you were trying to stop by all the residences to touch base,” Shay explained.

“Oh. No. Actually, I just needed to speak to Mrs. Waverly.”

The older woman’s crushed expression jumped back to the forefront of Mia’s mind, like a quick jab to the solar plexus. Nothing to be done. She’d given two written reminders before the eviction letter.

Shay leaned closer, resting both forearms on the countertop. “Oh! How’s she doing?”

Not so great thanks to me. “She’s all right.”

“I heard Mr. Waverly is doing much better now. I’m so glad. It was quite a fall he took.”

Mia’s heart muscles tightened as though squeezed in a fist. “When was this?”

When she’d returned stateside, she’d walked into a number of complications and messes at Kendrick Place. It was hard to keep up with all of them and the tenants as she tried to get her feet under her.

“Hmm. End of December, I think? He wasn’t able to work, and they’re a one-income household. I know she was pretty worried, so I’m glad he’s doing well. I should bring them a casserole,” Shay mused.

Shay’s casseroles were delicious. She’d brought Mia one the first couple of weeks of being back. They’d discussed plans for a party, as Shay was an event planner and Mia wanted to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of her family’s namesake.

“I didn’t see him,” Mia said. The back of her neck was hot. She’d only talked to Mrs. Waverly and only long enough to slap an eviction notice in her hand. A silent groan filled her brain.

“I should get going, but I have some ideas for the centennial party. Are you free this evening? Wyatt has to go into work and Gabby was going to come over as well.”

That sounded a lot more like a social call than a strategy session. But if she kept saying no, she’d be just as alone as she’d been the past few years. Mia had come home to escape that, maybe reconnect with some former friends. That had been easier in theory than reality. And it would be nice to talk about the celebration she’d asked Shay to organize. If you’re here long term, there’s no harm in making friends. You can have a professional and a personal life. Her brother certainly did.

“Can I text you? I have some work to get done and I need to step out, but I’ll text you after dinner to let you know?” She really did want to get going on the planning. The celebration was the perfect opportunity to honor Kendrick Place, her great-grandparents, and show her family that she had everything under control. At least from the outside looking in.