The Tenant (18+) (Sample)

Prologue

With a languid stroke of a paint brush, the canvas before me is met with colour. It's imperfect, the brush marks all too visible amongst a sea of mosaic-like shards of paint, incomparable to my work before my hiatus from art. I step back to assess it more harshly than any critic ever would. It's enough, I think, It's more than I've done since Dad died, and that's better than nothing. My attempts at comforting myself are futile, a frustrated scream escaping my lips as I grab the ringing phone from my pocket and pierce the canvas with the sharp end of the paintbrush. Fuck this.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon Miss Henderson. It's Joanna calling from Henderson Properties ltd. Your brother has asked me to contact you regarding your tenant, Mr Prince," a shrill voice over the phone says, cutting through the silence of the house. 

"What's the problem?" I ask, leaving the enclosing walls of my studio in favour of the lounge.

"Our maintenance team were called out to the property due to issues with heating. We've found a fault with the boiler, but have no team to carry out repairs until next month. Mr Prince is insisting we use an external company to speed up the process, and he would like to speak to you regarding this."

"Tell him I'll be in touch."

"Well that's the thing, Miss Henderson. He's here with me now and-"

"Miss Henderson?" The smooth-like-honey voice of a male replaces Joanna's, instantly dulling the throbbing headache she was giving me. "I'm sure you can appreciate having no heating in the middle of January isn't ideal. I can't wait a month. I'd like to meet with you to discuss the imbecilic team you sent out, and what we can do to rectify this."

"I can come by later if you'd like, Mr Prince," I say with the tone I reserve especially for pissed off tenants. "When is best for you?"

"Let's say 5pm, sharp."

As I begin to utter a reply, the words still somewhere in my throat, the line goes dead.

Property was never something I'd been interested in getting involved in. My Father, God rest his soul, was as big a property mogul as they come, trading everything in exchange for just one more sale, one more letting, one more contract. When he passed, he'd left the business to my brother Tobias and I, with equal stakes. I'd happily sold my half to Tobias, with him agreeing only if I kept one property. 'It'll make Dad proud,' he'd said. 'He always thought you'd make a great landlady.'

It turns out that being a landlady doesn't take much involvement. A standing order goes into my account each month – a tidy sum of 3K thanks to the London property market being a beast of its own – and the company still deals with its maintenance. That is, until Christopher Prince had other ideas.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Mayfair wasn't somewhere I frequented often, simply because I wasn't comfortable with the opulence of it all, but I can see the appeal. The cab driver guides us just past Grosvenor square, a mass of grass and trees that makes it easy to forget you're in central London. From here, old buildings rise majestically, each more rich with history than the next until we arrive at the block of flats Henderson Property ltd owns.

At a quarter to 5pm, I'd figured it was better to be early. The last thing I needed was to piss him off anymore and add any fuel to whatever fire I was going to have to extinguish. I'm let into the building with nothing in the way of greeting, my knees shaking a little as I approach the front door of the flat. I wrap at it with the brass knocker, bracing myself to paint my face agreeable.

"You're early," he says as the door swings open, but I fail to process what he's saying.

Before me stands one of the most attractive men I've had the pleasure of ogling. His chiseled torso is bare, olive skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he discards the weights he's holding. A towel hangs lazily around shoulders that are curled with tension. My eyes trail the length of his body, unapologetic until they meet green eyes that watch me curiously.

"Are you done?" Christopher asks, his lips curling into a wry grin.

"It can't be that cold in here if you're walking around like that," I say, gesturing towards his abs before trying to gain some semblance of professionalism. "I'm sorry, Mr Prince, that came out a little more blunt than intended."

"Working out has a way of warming you up," he says with a shrug.

Standing aside, he beckons me into the flat. It is cold, the temperature dropping dramatically from the hall as the hairs on my arms stand on end. I pull my jacket further into me, encapsulated by the body heat it holds.

"Let's not beat around the bush here, Miss Henderson-"

"Ashleigh," I correct him. Being called Miss Henderson has a way of making me feel much older than my 26 years. "Please, call me Ashleigh."

"Okay, Ashleigh," he says, my name sounding better on his tongue, "I pay a substantial amount of money a month to live here. I should think that it would be enough for you to hire an external company."

"You're more than welcome to cover the costs of an external company and claim the money back through the company," I offer, my words being met with an immediate irritated snort.

"It isn't a matter of money, it's a matter of principle."

"I understand your frustration, however the company deals with the maintenance side of this property. I can't hurry them along-"

"Bullshit," Christopher says simply, folding his arms challengingly. "You own this property, you're the landlady. You can't tell me you have no sway."

"I have absolutely no experience in this side of things," I say, leaving out the fact that I have no experience in any of this whatsoever. I wasn't made out for property. "If they say there's a waiting list for essential maintenance, there's little I can do."

"The way I see it here is that we have 2 options," he says, cocking his head as his face illuminates with the ghost of an idea. "1, you fulfil your legal obligation to your tenant and pay out of your own pocket to have this issue sorted, else I consult a lawyer about unlivable conditions."

"What's the other option?" I ask. I'm not adverse to using my own money, and I'd rather avoid a lawsuit, but something about his domineering stance has me wanting to challenge him.

"2, you stay in the guest room for the weekend and see for yourself just how bad it is. If you realise I'm right, that it's not something that can wait, then you pay up or have your team here to fix it immediately."

"So, you essentially want to make a bet?" I ask, as thought I could really be entertaining option 2. Christopher nods. "And if I tell you that you're wrong?"

"Then you get the satisfaction of telling me so, and I'll wait pretty and patient until it's my turn."

"Fine," I say, before I can truly think about the implications of what I'm agreeing to. "You're on."

"I'll see you on Friday evening then, Ashleigh," Christopher says. "Bring your cheque book."

As the door closes and I walk down the hall, I realise in hindsight that it was reckless for me to agree to Christopher Prince's request. I should have just paid to have the boiler rechecked and fixed; after all, he does pay a substantial amount of rent. But something about his tone and his challenging expression – and perhaps his half-nakedness – made me believe it was perfectly acceptable. I'd risen to his challenge, unwilling to back down and wanting to rub the smug grin from his face.

What I hadn't thought of was how I could survive staying in an apartment with someone who looks like him. When I'd eventually dragged my eyes from his bare chest, I was met with a face that rivaled any man I'd ever met. Strong, handsome features were surrounded by short stubble and tousled, unruly dark hair. And oh, those Emerald eyes.

Remaining professional and unbiased was going to be a challenge this weekend. Keeping my hands off him would be even more difficult.