The Woman Upstairs Read online

  “Woah. What?” Under her breath, she added, “Tara isn’t my girlfriend. I told you that.”

  “Why not? Is she not beautiful?” Gloria shrugged her shoulders and held her arms out to the woman that towered above her. “Look at her, bella! So fair. So lovely. A bit skinny, but, hey…” She shrugged again.

  Ricci hid her eyes behind a hand and groaned. “Mom, she’s a tenant. Her apartment is being renovated so I offered her a room down here until its ready.” I don’t even know for sure if she’s into girls, either, she thought.

  Gloria narrowed her eyes. “What’s this about remodeling? Always remodeling! Gardens. Bathrooms. Bedrooms. When are you going to stop fixing all these things and start fixing yourself?”

  “Geez, Ma. I’m not broken.”

  “Then where are my grandbabies? Hmm? Why are you not settled down? Gomez is looking for a mother for his babies. Maybe you can chose him?”

  “Ew. Mom.”

  “Pssh,” Gloria said. “I’m not picky where my grandbabies come from, but if you don’t hurry, mi bella, your womb will be barren.”

  Ricci clenched her jaw and refused to acknowledge the silent chuckle of Tara’s. Her shoulders moved up and down with mirth and her face looked bright red from holding it in. “For God’s sake, Ma! I’m twenty-nine. Nothing has dried up and nothing will dry up.”

  Ricci received a swift slap to the arm. “Don’t you be taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Clenching her fists, Ricci took a deep breath through her nose. A familiar scent was caught in the air. “You brought empanadas?”

  Gloria clicked her tongue. “Of course.” Picking a basket up off the floor, a myriad of dishes and plates came out of it. Ricci’s hand was swatted away as she reached for an empanada. “Eat your dinner first. Greedy.”

  Contrite, Ricci let her mother lead the way as she stocked her freezer with home-cooked meals and collected the washed containers from last time. Tara smirked as she watched the exchange.

  “What?” Ricci snapped at her in a whisper as she passed by Tara in her search for her mother’s washed containers from her last food haul.

  “Your mother still cooks for you, how…sweet.” The woman’s shoulders shook with mirth again.

  “Shut up.”

  “Rica Carrillo Velez! That is no way to talk to a lady!” Gloria stood like an imposing gargoyle as she glared at her daughter with her hands on her hips.

  “Rica?” Tara said.

  It was disconcerting how well that Spanish name rolled off Tara’s tongue. “What of it?” Ricci asked.

  “Rica!” her mother snapped.

  “What?”

  Gloria rolled her eyes at her daughter’s cheek and began talking to the heavens in rapid-fire Spanish. The slowly growing smile on Tara’s face as she watched Gloria made Ricci narrow her eyes.

  “You understand her, don’t you?”

  “Si,” Tara said with a broad grin as Ricci’s mother finished her rant with a curse.

  “You speak Española?”

  Tara nodded at Gloria, whose hands flew up in the air in triumph. “Ella es perfecta!”

  “Ma…” Ricci shook her head in warning.

  “Tell me, bella, are you in love with anyone?” Gloria asked Tara as she looked mildly horrified about the perfect statement.

  Tara’s face crumpled before she turned her back to the pair. “Not anymore.” Quietly attacking the dish in the pot with a wooden spoon. She dropped it to the bench and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up before we eat.”

  Ricci was sure they were tears in her eyes as she rushed out of the kitchen. A curious reaction considering the reputation that had followed her from the west.

  The sound of a door shutting spurred Ricci’s mother to say, “The poor dear. Her heart is broken.”

  “Broken?” Ricci glanced in the direction of the guest room. Had she been in love with the man she slept with? Ricci made a face.

  “Si,” her mother said moments before telling her off for looking so weirded out by the idea.

  Tara emerged stone-faced ten minutes later and plated her mu shu pork before inhaling her portion. Gloria had been the only buffer in keeping the awkwardness to a minimum as she chatted away through the meal Tara had invited her to partake in.

  “I’m going to clean up,” Tara said, collecting everyone’s plates.

  “Nonsense,” Gloria said. “Rica will do it.”

  “Umm…sure.”

  Tara held up a hand to prevent Ricci from standing from her chair. “Really. It’s fine.” With that, she took the plates and left.

  Gloria shook her head and clicked her tongue. “She needs rescuing.”

  Ricci rolled her eyes. “Want me to look up super heroes in the directory?”

  Gloria slapped her arm again. Rubbing it, and wishing she hadn’t sat next to her mother, Ricci pouted.

  “She’s lost, Rica.”

  Ricci looked through the glass into the kitchen and saw Tara completely at ease in her kitchen. “She looks fine.” More than fine, she added to herself when Tara bent over to fill the dishwasher. Ricci immediately cringed at her wayward thought.

  “She would be perfect for you.”

  “How? How can you possibly tell that after knowing her for sixty minutes? She’s a rich executive, and I’m paying off massive debts. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and I worked my way up from nowhere. She’s mature, accomplished and obviously capable, and I can barely make an omelet and keep my coffee machine running.”

  “Coffee machine? Don’t tell me you broke it again?”

  Ricci bristled. “It’s a dud machine, and so not the point. Tara and I are strangers. Yes, she’s beautiful, but that doesn’t mean she’s perfect for me. I need more than physical attraction to want to be with someone. I want someone that sees me as just me, and wants me because of it. Someone who is willing to share my life with me without wanting to change me. Besides, Tara can barely stand the sight of me. We couldn’t possibly be good together.”

  Gloria smiled and looked over Ricci’s shoulder. With dread, Ricci turned to find Tara staring down at her with an eyebrow raised. Damn her life.

  “Have you finished with your glasses?” Tara asked.

  Ricci pulled hers closer and tipped more wine into it in response. Gloria chuckled.

  Taking the empty glasses, Tara smiled at Gloria. “It was lovely to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m exhausted. I’m going to turn in.” Tara’s eyes slid to Ricci’s. “Goodnight.”

  “Night.” Ricci sipped at her wine as Tara walked away and was transfixed by the way her skirt swished across her posterior. She choked the instant she realized she was staring. Wonderful. Just what I need. Lust for a woman I can barely stand.

  When Ricci said goodbye to her mother an hour later, she was up-to-date on everything her niece Estella had done, eaten, and shoved up her nose in the past week. The following lecture on getting more grandbabies ensued and the woman was promptly shown the door as Ricci feigned exhaustion.

  Taking a moment to stare at the unpainted piece of wood guarding Tara’s privacy, Ricci chewed her bottom lip contemplating the woman. So far, she hadn’t turned out to be the worst roommate. She had weeded behind the garden shed, she’d cooked dinner, and she had even cleaned up afterwards. Suspecting that was a ploy to avoid further conversation with her matchmaking mother than actual consideration, Ricci decided to give her credit anyway.

  Chapter Six

  The Truth is Painful

  Ricci inspected the bruise on her hip as she readied herself for the day. Now a dark blue, it looked and felt painful. Prodding at it, she winced. Slipping into a white tank, chambray button-up shirt, and jeans, she fidgeted at the way the waistband rubbed on the tender flesh. It was going to make bending over all day long annoying. Padding to the kitchen, she shuffled her hips trying to get comfortable and found herself the subject of study of one Tara Reeves. The woman in question was looking at her strangely with her head
cocked.

  “What’s up with your pants?”

  Offering the woman her left hip, Ricci pulled down her waistline without thought. Tara winced. Peering down at the injury, Ricci followed suit. Moments later, she realized she was also showing off her underwear, so she quickly pulled her pants back up.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Slipped over. Answering the door to you, actually.”

  “You fell over answering your door? How does one manage that?”

  “By being in the garden and not hearing the bell.” Tara looked confused, and about to explain, Ricci noticed the smell of roasted coffee beans. She bent her body to peer around Tara. Sitting on the bench steaming was the fanciest coffee machine Ricci had ever seen outside a coffee shop. “You bought a coffee machine?”

  “No, I unpacked my Barista Express.”

  “You carried that in your luggage?”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Yes. It was conveniently tucked away between my silk shirts and undergarments.”

  Ricci narrowed her eyes at the sarcastic words.

  Tara huffed. “Some of my belongings arrived at my office yesterday.” She rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher before collecting her bag.

  “You carried that home?” The machine looked like it weighed a ton.

  Tara gave Ricci a curious look then glance at the coffee machine. “No. Your friend offered me a ride.”

  “Who? Alicia?” Ricci frowned. She must have been upstairs with the boys.

  “Why, you have more than one friend?”

  Ricci propped her hands on her hips to give Tara a good old fashioned glare, but winced instead as she pressed down on her bruise. “Ow. Dammit!”

  Tara chuckled as she picked up her brief case. “I think you’ve got more to worry about than how I transport my belongings, Miss Velez. I much prefer having my morning coffee in peace and in my own space. Perhaps you could work on making that a reality. There’s a dear.”

  With a click of heels on tile, the impeccably dressed woman left Ricci glaring at the closed door.

  Ricci muttered her way up to the fifth floor. “There’s a dear,” she grumbled under her breath as she left the elevator. “What does she think I am? Hired help? Bitch.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Shit!” Ricci stopped in her tracks as her heart thudded in her chest. Standing by Tara’s door was a flustered looking woman. “Who are you?” she asked in a blurt of words.

  “I’m…” The woman looked at the floor, her straight, blonde hair falling over her face as she did so. She took a breath and looked up again. “I’m Zoe. Is this Tara Reeves’ apartment?”

  Zoe’s eyes were red and puffy, and what was left of her makeup was ruined. As the woman dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, Ricci said, “Umm…yeah. It is, however, she’s not here.”

  The stranger bristled then and looked Ricci up and down, frowning deeper the longer she looked. What the heck?

  “And you are?” Zara asked, her tone suddenly snippy and sharp.

  “The superintendent.”

  “You? But…you’re a woman.”

  “Your point?”

  “I thought I made it.”

  Well that was bold. “Are you suggesting that women don’t possess the skills to successfully run an apartment building? That we all should be good little wives and stick to the kitchen and laundry?”

  Zoe looked taken aback. “Not at all, it’s just…shouldn’t tools be a man’s job?”

  She’d heard all this before, and sick to the back teeth of having to defend her choice of vocation, Ricci asked none-too-politely, “Who are you?”

  “The wife.”

  Ricci blinked a little. The what? “Whose wife?” This had a potential to get messy and homicidal.

  “Tara’s.”

  Ricci’s mind went blank. “You’re Tara’s wife?”

  Zoe sucked her cheeks in and cleared her throat. “Well…I was.”

  “Was?”

  Narrowing her eyes, Zoe said, “Must you repeat everything I say?”

  “Must you be so vague?”

  “My private life is none of your business. Where is Tara?”

  “As her wife, shouldn’t you already know that?”

  “I just explained that I have no idea where she is.”

  Crossing her arms, Ricci studied the woman. Where Tara had come into her life angry and defensive, this woman was unsettled and mean. “You haven’t explained anything. From what I heard, Tara is here because of an affair with a married man, not because of a breakup with her wife.”

  Zoe’s eyebrows rose and she scoffed. “That’s what’s going around?” She brushed a hand through her hair and shook her head. Closing her eyes, she said, “This is such a mess.” After a deep breath, Zoe looked at Ricci. “Can you pass along a message?”

  “Do I look like a messenger?”

  “You don’t look like a super, so how the hell do I know?”

  Ricci narrowed her eyes. “How did you get into the building?”

  “I rappelled down from the roof.”

  Sarcasm. Terrific. Tara and Zoe make a perfect pair. “Look, Tara’s not here, I’m not relaying messages for you, so I suggest you leave and wait until she gets back.”

  Zoe sniffed with offense. “I’m going to have a word with the apartment owner about you. You are rude and insufferable.”

  “Okay. Sure. The owner lives on the bottom floor. But she’s not there at the moment, because she’s here, talking to you.”

  “You’re—” Zoe scowled. “Fine. I’ll be back.” Sauntering past in a huff, Ricci was briefly incapacitated by the woman’s overdone perfume.

  “What a piece of work,” Ricci muttered under her breath.

  “Who is?” Howie said, puffing his way out of the stair well.

  “Tara’s wife.”

  “She’s a lesbo! I knew it!” Howie flicked his tongue out between two of his fingers.

  “Ugh. You’re crude.”

  “But you’re in with a shot. Tara is sexy as fu—”

  “I’m not interested,” Ricci snapped, unlocking the apartment door.

  Howie shrugged as he past her. “What was the wife like? Smokin’ hot?”

  “A bitch.”

  Howie grinned. “Just my type.”

  “Will you just get to work, please? I want my apartment back to myself. The sooner we get this done the better.”

  “Yes, boss lady.”

  “And where is Lawrence?” Ricci called out as they went their separate ways in the apartment.

  “Fetching pipes.”

  Nodding to herself, Ricci got to work fixing the remainder of the electrics. Despite Zoe and Tara’s cameos in her life, Mr. Carter was still on top of her shit list.

  Deep inhale.

  Long exhale.

  Knock.

  Ricci rapped on Mrs. Dellaroy’s apartment door and waited…for a long time. Looking at her watch, she saw it tick over to exactly three o’clock, the lock clicked and the door swung inward.

  “Yes?” Mr. Yates said, looking down his impressive nose at her.

  “I’m here to inspect for water damage.”

  “And you are?”

  Seriously! “Ricci. Building owner,” she said through a clenched jaw. She shoved the paperwork at him that proved both her identity and permission to enter the premises, and Mr. Yates studied it carefully.

  “Very well,” he said after a sniff. “You may enter. Please put those on,” he said, pointing to cotton gloves and cotton slips for her shoes.

  Ricci gave him an ‘Are you serious?’ glare, and all Mr. Yates did was raise an eyebrow. “Done.”

  “And that thing, too.” He pointed to the ladder she was carrying.

  “You want me to put booties on a ladder?”

  “If you wish to place it on the floor, yes.”

  Darn, freaking rich people. “Fine.” Yanking the protective gear on, she said, “Lead the way.”

  The butler’s quarters,
aka, Mr. Yates bedroom, was suitable for a visiting President or Prime Minister from any country around the world. Opulent was the only word Ricci could think of as she cast her eyes over the teak paneling on the walls and doors. She had installed this herself, and was pleased it still looked like new. “The water was coming down from here,” she said, pointing to the area above Mr. Yates’ walk in wardrobe. “Can I shift some things from the shelf so I can have a look?”

  “No, you may not.”

  Ricci sighed. Climbing up her ladder, she reached up and tapped the ceiling. It sounded dull and not hollow. “Shit.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “There’s water on the ceiling. I need to get into the ceiling space.” Mapping the apartment in her head, she said, “The access point is in the laundry room.” Mrs. Dellaroy refused to wash her smalls in a hideaway cupboard, and had her build in a laundry room. It ended up being a multi-use utility space that Ricci had considered building into her own apartment. In one corner, was Mr. Yates’ model planes neatly tidied away. Thankfully, the access point to the roof was well away from the delicate plastic. Setting up the ladder in the middle of the room, Ricci made her way into the ceiling and crawled like a rat across the beams to the butler’s wardrobe area. There, glinting in her flashlight, was a pool of water spanning a few square feet. More square feet than she had hoped for. “God damn it,” she growled.

  Returning to the laundry, she gave Mr. Yates the bad news. He scowled. “I need to fetch buckets and soak up the water before it seeps through.”

  “I’ll make you an appointment—”

  “No. I need to do that now.”

  “Lady Dellaroy will be returning within the hour, and I cannot have you traipsing around above our heads. I’m afraid you’ll have to—”

  “Get my bucket and come back. Now. If I leave that mess up there, it’ll soak down into your wardrobe, Mr. Yates. If that happens, then I’m going to have to replace the entire roof, possibly a wall, and that will inconvenience you more, I promise.”

  Mr. Yates pretended to suck on a lemon for a moment. “Very well. Hurry along. You have forty minutes.”

  Forty-five minutes and six buckets of water later, Ricci was happy with the clean-up in the ceiling space. The material looked like it may need replacing in some sections, but that was going to be a headache for another day. For now, she was happy Mr. Yates’ pinstripe suits were safe from harm.