"Yes, ma'am," Winslow said softly, and he slipped into the suite. The riot of rose was soothing, in a way -- so consciously feminine -- but the reminder that this was a woman's living quarters was also dangerously distracting.
"So the AC unit isn't workin'?" He scanned the room until he spotted the offending machine and he walked toward it. In his work suit with the heavy leather tool belt hanging off his hips, he was warm, and he suspected he was as eager as this woman for the air conditioning to be back on. Ten minutes in the sticky heat and he'd be a sweaty mess.
With practiced ease, he popped the plastic frame off the air conditioner and began taking it apart, his movements precise but quick. "These things usually don't take long," he offered awkwardly after a moment, aware of the silence.