Then she was gone.
And I was alone with Wyatt.
Chapter
Eleven
“Is there a problem with your sink?” Wyatt asked.
He stood just inside the door that Jemma hadn’t bothered to close on her way out. That was for the best, I realized. I didn’t need to be alone in my apartment with a man I’d met only twice.
I eyed him with suspicion, searching for potential signs of homicidal mania and definitely not admiring his perfectly tousled dark hair or the way his forest-green T-shirt hugged his impressively toned torso and biceps. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
“I accidentally drove over a box of Froot Loops once, but I didn’t think that was much of a loss. I’m more of a Corn Pops kind of guy.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, but neither my suspicious stare nor my lack of reaction to his joke seemed to faze him.
He came farther into the apartment and crouched down in front of the open kitchen cupboard. “Hmm. Hopefully it’s an easy fix. Do you want me to have a go at it?”
I snatched the wrench up off the floor before he could close his fingers around it.
“No, thank you. I’ve got it.”
He must have noticed the hint of frost in my tone, because he straightened up and backed off a couple of steps.
I tapped the head of the wrench against the palm of my left hand. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”
He gestured at the pipes under the sink. “Don’t let me keep you from your task.”
Gripping the wrench handle so tightly that my fingers hurt, I smiled—although it felt more like a grimace—and sat back down on the floor, maneuvering myself under the sink again. The bottom edge of the cupboard dug into my spine, but I decided the pain might help to keep my mind sharp. I nudged the plastic pail aside so I could shift closer to the pipe and got rewarded with a drop of water hitting me square between the eyes.
“I have to admit, I’m a little confused,” Wyatt said as I wiped the water off my face.
You’re not the only one,I felt like saying. I’d planned to do this job with the help of YouTube, but now I had an audience, and I wasn’t about to let on that I needed video tutorials to help me fix a simple leak. But what, exactly, was I supposed to do?
“I was hoping to talk to whoever’s in charge of Wyatt Investigations,” he continued, “but I thought you were a client, not an employee.”
“I’m neither, actually.”
The light in the cupboard dimmed as Wyatt moved closer. He leaned down to peer in at me. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I’m pretty handy.”
Oh, I bet you are!my traitorous brain purred. Not out loud, thankfully. I’d already met my daily quota of self-humiliation.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I grumbled.
Unfortunately, he kept watching.
“You turned the water off, right?”
“Of course.” I glared at him.
“Sorry.”
Thankfully, he straightened up so he could no longer see what I was doing. Or not doing.
How the heck was I supposed to turn off the water?
I started fiddling with random rings and valves. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to figure out.
