of my grandfather.”
“Ah, then it’s your grandfather I want to see.”
“That won’t be possible, Mr. Stanislaski, as my grandfather’s been dead for nearly two months.”
The arrogance in his eyes turned quickly to compassion. “I’m sorry. It hurts to lose family.”
She couldn’t say why, of all the condolences she had received, these few words from a stranger touched her. “Yes, it does. Now, if you’ll take a seat, we can get down to business.”
Cold, hard and distant as the moon. Just as well, he thought. It would keep him from thinking of her in more personal ways—at least until he got what he wanted.
“I have sent your grandfather letters,” he began as he settled into one of the trim Queen Anne chairs in front of the desk. “Perhaps the last were misplaced during the confusion of death.”
An odd way to put it, Sydney thought, but apt. Her life had certainly been turned upside down in the past few months. “Correspondence should be addressed to me.” She sat, folding her hands on the desk. “As you know Hayward Enterprises is considering several firms—”
“For what?”
She struggled to shrug off the irritation of being interrupted. “I beg your pardon?”
“For what are you considering several firms?”
If she had been alone, she would have sighed and shut her eyes. Instead, she drummed her fingers on the desk. “What position do you hold, Mr. Stanislaski?”
“Position?”
“Yes, yes, what is it you do?”
The impatience in her voice made him grin. His teeth were very white, and not quite straight. “You mean, what is it I do? I work with wood.”
“You’re a carpenter?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” she repeated, and sat back. Behind her, buildings punched into a hard blue sky. “Perhaps you can tell me why Howington Construction sent a sometimes carpenter to represent them in this interview.”
The room smelled of lemon and rosemary and only reminded him that he was hot, thirsty and as impatient as she. “I could—if they had sent me.”
It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t being deliberately obtuse. “You’re not from Howington?”
“No. I’m Mikhail Stanislaski, and I live in one of your buildings.” He propped a dirty boot on a dusty knee. “If you’re thinking of hiring Howington, I would think again. I once worked for them, but they cut too many corners.”
“Excuse me.” Sydney gave the intercom a sharp jab. “Janine, did Mr. Stanislaski tell you he represented Howington?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. He just asked to see you. Howington called about ten minutes ago to reschedule. If you—”
“Never mind.” Sitting back again, she studied the man who was grinning at her. “Apparently I’ve been laboring under a misconception.”
“If you mean you made a mistake, yes. I’m here to talk to you about your apartment building in Soho.”
She wanted, badly, to drag her hands through her hair. “You’re here with a tenant complaint.”
“I’m here with many tenants’ complaints,” he corrected.
“You should be aware that there’s a certain procedure one follows in this kind of matter.”
He lifted one black brow. “You own the building, yes?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then it’s your responsibility.”
She stiffened. “I’m perfectly aware of my responsibilities, Mr. Stanislaski. And now…”
He rose as she did, and didn’t budge an inch. “Your grandfather made promises. To honor him, you must keep them.”
“What I must do,” she said in a frigid voice, “is run my business.” And she was trying desperately to learn how. “You may tell the other tenants that Hayward is at the point of hiring a contractor as we’re quite aware that many of our properties are in need of repair or renovation. The apartments in Soho will be dealt with in turn.”
His expression didn’t change at the dismissal, nor did the tone of his voice or the spread-legged, feet-planted stance. “We’re tired of waiting for our turn. We want what was promised to us, now.”
“If you’ll send me a list of your demands—”
“We have.”
She set her teeth. “Then I’ll look over the files this evening.”
“Files aren’t people. You take the rent money every month, but you don’t think of the people.” He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. Sydney caught a wisp of sawdust and sweat that was uncomfortably appealing. “Have you seen the building, or the people who live in it?”
“I have reports,” she began.
“Reports.” He swore—it wasn’t in a language she understood, but she was certain it was an oath. “You have your accountants and your lawyers, and you sit up here in your pretty office and look through papers.” With one quick slash of the hand, he dismissed her office and herself. “But you know nothing. It’s not you who’s cold when the heat doesn’t work, or who must climb five flights of stairs when the elevator is broken. You don’t worry that the water won’t get hot or that the wiring is too old to be safe.”
No one spoke to her that way. No one. Her own temper was making her heart beat too fast. It made her forget that she was facing a very dangerous man. “You’re wrong. I’m very concerned about all of those things. And I intend to correct them as soon as possible.”
His eyes flashed and narrowed, like a sword raised and turned on its edge. “This is a promise we’ve heard before.”
“Now, it’s my promise, and you haven’t had that before.”
“And we’re supposed to trust you. You, who are too lazy or too afraid to even go see what she owns.”
Her face went dead white, the only outward sign of fury. “I’ve had enough of your insults for one afternoon, Mr. Stanislaski. Now, you can either find your way out, or I’ll call security to help you find it.”
“I know my way,” he said evenly. “I’ll tell you this, Miss Sydney Hayward, you will begin to keep those promises within two days, or we’ll go to the building commissioner, and the press.”
Sydney waited until he had stalked out before she sat again. Slowly she took a sheet of stationery from the drawer then methodically tore it into shreds. She stared at the smudges his big wide-palmed hands had left on her glossy desk and chose and shredded another sheet. Calmer, she punched the intercom. “Janine, bring
