Gage wanting to know if she was okay. Gage, again, hoping that he hadn’t broken her heart too badly. Douche.
“Fuck you, Gage,” she muttered at the phone, resisting the urge to hurl the device out of her window.
Emery was right, she hadn’t been happy with him. He was far too uptight for her, far too worried about what other people thought. But he was the first guy who’d made a good impression on her impossible-to-please parents. And for once, she hadn’t been made to feel like a bloody disappointment. Dr. Amy Prescott and Bert Prescott of Peterson, Prescott & Partners were not the type of parents to give her a pat on the head for the sake of it.
Stupid. You should have listened to your gut.
Instead of worrying about the sad state of her romantic opportunities, she was going to throw everything into advancing her career. By the end of the year she would be a freelance makeup artist, come hell or high water. All she needed was the right opportunity, and Beckett’s sister’s society wedding was it. Then she could leave her department store job behind and prove to herself that she did have the stuff to make it on her own.
She reached for a pair of leggings and tugged them up over her legs. Then she got to work on removing the pins from the elaborate updo holding her brown and purple hair hostage. The bobby pins hit her vanity with metallic clinks as she yanked them out one by one.
The people in her life might not understand her need to be bold and creative, but she was done trying to squish herself into some damn box. She was done worrying what other thought of her style and career choices.
Screw the naysayers, McKenna Prescott was going to be even brighter and more sparkly than ever.
“How’s work?” Emery asked, when McKenna wandered back into the living room. “Have they promoted you to counter manager yet?”
“No.” McKenna slumped back in her seat. “But I want out of retail, anyway. The sales aspect is exhausting and it’s all KPIs and units per sale and daily targets and…ugh. I had a meeting with the area manager last week and she gave me hell over the fact that my average sale is seventy-six dollars instead of seventy-nine. Apparently, I’m pulling down the whole counter with numbers like that. I mean, seriously?”
“But you’re great at sales.” Emery cocked her head. “The girls I sent in to see you said they were only looking for a lipstick and they both ended buying a bunch of things.”
“I spend too long with the customers, according to them. She said I talk to them too much and I should be cashing them out quicker so I can move on to the next customer.” She huffed. “Never mind the fact that I have a bunch of customers who will only come to me because they know I don’t treat them like numbers and just push whatever the company wants. They want us to act like call center staff.”
“That’s bullshit.” Emery rolled her eyes.
“It is. I’m over it.” She sighed. “I want to focus on the makeup application bit, that’s what really inspires me. Not this sales crap.”
“So you’re really going to make the leap to freelancing?”
“Yeah, I am. But I’m not keen to make a leap into not being able to pay my rent. Freelance is competitive and we’re not supposed to take appointments away from the counter, since that’s how they guarantee people buy more products.”
“Ah, so they won’t let you hand out business cards, then?”
“No. I slip a few out here and there, but if the boss catches me I’ll have my head on the chopping block. They caught another girl and cut her hours down until she left.” She sighed. “I suspect it’s coming more from the department store than CAM-Ready, because they figure once people get through the front door then they’re likely to spend in other departments, too. Which means it’s tough to build up a business outside work. But I’ve got something on the hook.”
She thought about telling Emery the whole story with the parcel delivery, but decided against it. No way in hell would Emery ever let her live it down.
Besides, she’d learned a long time ago not to tell people about her plans until she had a win to share. Too many times she’d gotten excited and blurted out an opportunity, only to have it crumble around her. Then she’d be putting herself in the firing line, especially where her parents were concerned.
See, McKenna, you should have stayed in university and finished your law degree like we told you. Then you wouldn’t be struggling to get ahead.
Nope. Not going down that path. Emery wasn’t as bad as her parents, but she certainly told it how it was and sometimes McKenna needed a little more handholding than that.
A big part of Operation Self-Love was putting herself first. And that meant keeping her big mouth shut until she had something concrete to share.
Chapter Four
Beckett stared at his computer screen, willing inspiration to come. But ever since Lionus’s email, the magic that had flowed from his fingertips a few days ago had dried up. He’d been staring at his laptop for hours and felt like he’d somehow gone backward instead of forward.
A buzzing sound cut into his thoughts and a picture of Kayla’s face flashed on his phone’s screen. It had been distorted with some kind of filter that made her look like a deer. Ridiculous. That was the last time he’d give his passcode to her.
“What have I said about changing the photos on my phone?”
“Well, hello to you, too, Mr. Grumpy-Pants.” Kayla huffed on the other end of the line. “Which one did I use? Puppy face?”
“I think it’s a deer…but you look stoned.”
“Wow. Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
“Sorry, Kay.” He rubbed a hand up and down his face. “It’s been a long week.”
Beckett had made the decision not to tell Kayla about his current dilemma—she had her own things to worry about, like her wedding. And besides, Kayla was still holding out hope that he and Sherri would break up. For good. To say the two women in his life didn’t get along would be an understatement. They both tried to be polite…emphasis on tried. It was all the more reason to keep the breakup a secret—she didn’t need more ammunition should he and Sherri reconcile.
When you and Sherri reconcile.
“Good thing I called, then. I’m worried you’ll forget how to speak if you don’t have some human interaction.” She laughed. “If you feel the urge to start communicating in binary, let me know. Okay?”
“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ll be happy to know I had some human interaction last night.”
“Ordering food from the Thai place doesn’t count. You know that, right?” she teased.
“Actually, I had a chat with the girl who lives down the hall.”
He wasn’t about to mention that the only reason that happened was because she came to him. Irrelevant details…for the most part.
“A cute girl who lives down the hall?”
“She’s an attractive woman,” he said carefully.
Bloody hell. McKenna was an attractive woman in the same way that Elon Musk was a “smart” man. Technically correct, but wildly understated. Beckett wasn’t the kind of guy to go ga-ga over a woman—never had, never would. He was far too logical for that. But still, McKenna’s mere presence caused his brain to disconnect from his body. Every bloody time.
He didn’t like it at all.
“There’s a resounding compliment if I ever heard one,” Kayla said with a snort.
“It is a compliment.” He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say. I’m in a relationship.”
So then why had he been replaying their interactions over and over in his head? Why had he gone to bed thinking about how much he liked the way the stuff on her eyes glittered when she blinked. It made her look…magical.
“You can still notice the opposite sex,” Kayla said.
He shook his head. Time for a change of topic. “How’s Mum?”
Pause. “She’s okay.”
“Gee, don’t go into such a detailed report, I haven’t got all day,” he said drily. The silence on the o
ther end of the line had his intuition prickling. “What’s going on?”
His sister sighed. “There was an incident at the supermarket.”
Shit. His mother had worked as a supermarket cashier his whole life—but back then she also juggled it with a second job stacking shelves at the local Kmart. In the last few years, she’d been able to survive on one job, with help from Beckett. And she’d been at the same supermarket in that time, which was a relief. However, the business had been sold a few months back. His mother hadn’t sounded too keen on her new boss last time he spoke to her.
“What incident?”
“How do I put this?” Kayla clucked her tongue. “She got into an altercation with the new manager over a change in the process for how they count the registers.”
“And?”
“They fired her.”
“What? They fired her for arguing about a process change?” He rubbed at his temple. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, technically they fired her for throwing a stapler.” Kayla paused. “At her boss.”
He groaned. “Why the hell would she do that?”
“You know what she’s like, Becks. I love the woman, but when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something…”
His mother had a sense of righteousness that had caused her to lose jobs with frequency over their childhood. She had an issue with authority—something Beckett understood, since he vastly preferred working for himself over being a corporate drone. The difference was, however, that Beckett had sucked it up for years to support his family. He’d flipped burgers, taken shit from customers, and held his tongue all through high school and university so he could pay for his textbooks and contribute to the bills at home.
The security of his family was more important than his own desires. But his mother just couldn’t keep her mouth shut sometimes. Throwing a stapler? Christ.
“She’s lucky they didn’t press charges,” he said. “What’s she doing now?”
“Cooling off. I told her to get her butt back in there tomorrow and throw herself on her sword.” Kayla snorted. “But we both know what the chances of that happening are.”
“Well, I made sure she has enough in the bank account to cover her rent for the duration of her lease. But she can use that for bills and I’ll top it up once we start seeing some money come in from investors.”
“You enable her, Becks.”
“I take care of her, the way she took care of us for years,” he said sharply.
Sure, his mother wasn’t perfect. But she managed to raise two kids on her own—despite being a widow, then marrying a neglectful son of a bitch who never did anything to help her. All while encouraging her son and daughter to chase the best lives possible.
He and Kayla had received a decent education thanks to her pulling two jobs for decades. He couldn’t say he was close to his mother, because he barely spent time with her growing up—but he knew how much she’d sacrificed to make sure they had clothes on their backs and food on their table. If her workplace temper was the worst thing he had to deal with, then he could manage it.
No way was he going to let her down.
“I could always ask Aaron—”
“No, this is our family. I’ll take care of it.”
He stared at his laptop screen again.
The numbers said Beckett’s project could last six weeks without Lionus’s investment. Four, if he wanted to continue eating and paying his bills. Thank God he’d bought his apartment after he’d sold his last computer system. At the time, his friends had given him hell—after all, weren’t young, successful entrepreneurs supposed to splash their wealth around? Buy a sports car and some designer suits to lure the ladies in, they’d said.
Beckett had scoffed. Not his style. So he’d bought himself a modest one-bedroom apartment in a nice suburb that was close to the city, and paid for it in full. Then he’d researched cars and bought a low-level ex-lease Mercedes. It was enough to make him look successful when attending meetings without completely killing his savings. He’d put enough aside to cover his mother’s rent for the next two years—with the promise that he’d secure her a permanent place once his next project paid dividends—and banked the remainder for a rainy day.
No lavish holidays, no shiny gadgets, and no personal indulgences. It was supposed to have been the perfect plan. Not having a mortgage hanging over his head was certainly helping him now, but the numbers didn’t lie. With his mother losing her job, if he didn’t fix this situation ASAP everything would come to a grinding halt. Beckett knew better than anyone that this kind of setback was enough to kill a startup dead in the water.
“Becks, you don’t have to do everything by yourself,” Kayla said quietly. “You know once I’m married, I’ll pay you back everything I owe you for my degree.”
“That was a gift, Kay. Not a loan.”
The opportunity to help his sister get through university without debt was one he’d wanted to take. Now she had the chance to start her life off with a clean slate. Of course, her future-husband would have helped her pay it off…but he didn’t want Kayla to feel like the money was a reason to stay with someone. He wanted to know that she wasn’t bound out of financial dependence.
Lord knew his mother had experienced that with Kayla’s dad. And look how that fuck-up had turned out.
“Anyway, I said I would handle it.” Beckett didn’t want to get into it with his sister tonight, which inevitably ended up happening whenever they talked about their mother. “But I do have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“I have a friend who’s a makeup artist. I know you’re looking for someone to do your wedding makeup and I thought you might be interested in hiring her.” He felt like he should add something extra, something to qualify McKenna’s skills, but what the hell did he know about makeup? “She’s very…professional.”
Kind of.
“I’m happy to do a trial with her,” Kayla said. “You know I can’t say yes simply because she’s a friend, but I’m certainly happy to meet with her.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“Great. Email me her contact details and I’ll call her.” Kayla paused. “She wouldn’t happen to be the cute woman who lives on your floor, would she?”
“I never said she was cute.”
“Right, no. What did you say? Attractive?” His sister laughed. “That’s about as much of a compliment as you’d ever give anyone, so I guess she must be a stunner.”
Beckett grunted. It was time to get out of this conversation before Kayla could press for any more details. “I have to go. I’ll email you. And leave the mum issue to me, I’ll sort something out.”
He ended the call and sagged back in his office chair. Life would be so much easier if he could just deal with computers.
…
It was only Monday and already Beckett was ready for the week to be over. He’d called JGL Investments to tell them that their offer was bullshit—in not so many words, of course—and that he wasn’t going to hand over complete control. This wasn’t his first time around with startups, so they weren’t going to take him for a ride. Unfortunately, they weren’t willing to negotiate.
So that was that. Another possibility biting the dust.
Some small part of him had hoped that they might see reason, which would take the pressure off with everything else. But no such luck. And, since he couldn’t pay his coders yet, he needed to keep on doing it himself. Which meant it was unlikely he’d be stopping work before midnight again tonight. So he’d gone to get a coffee from the only spot that was still open at nine p.m., in the hopes some caffeine might perk him back up. As yet, no such luck.
At least he wouldn’t need to have the “work/life balance” argument with Sherri today. Small mercies.
Beckett sipped his latte and stared at the flashing number above the elevator doors while he waited. Six…five…four…
“Hi, Beckett,” a feminine voice made him snap his
head to the side. McKenna.
She wore black jeans and a bright pink coat. Her long brown and purple hair hung in soft waves, and she smelled like vanilla cupcakes. A pair of impossibly high ankle boots brought her up a few inches closer to him, though he’d still have to bend down to kiss her.
Yeah. Because that’s how you judge someone’s height? Idiot.
Dammit. Why did the elevators take so long in this building? The thought of being inside that tin can masquerading as a form of transport with her made his fingers twitch. Suddenly the issues with JGL were the least of his worries.
She looked at him expectantly. Oh yeah, she’d made that comment about him always grunting whenever she greeted him.
“Hello, McKenna.” He watched the screen count down until it displayed G for ground. A second later, the doors slid open and he motioned for her to go ahead of him.
She’d already tapped the first-floor button by the time he stepped in, and they stood at opposite ends of the elevator carriage like two wary animals trying to preserve their personal space. Her eyes darted over to him, her sooty lashes touching as she blinked.
He got the urge to say something and cut through the tension-filled silence to make her stop looking at him like that. Like she wanted…who the hell knew? What did women want, anyway?
But the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t seem to find the right thing to say.
So, how does the clitoral stimulator work?
I hope you’re enjoying your sex toys.
Perhaps I could have a demonstration?
He almost choked on his own spit. This was exactly why he should have stayed the hell away from her instead of agreeing to her deal. For some reason, she seemed to turn his brain—which he regarded as functioning well above average—into nothing more than a useless mound of pudding.
“So…” She rocked back and forth on her boots, the pencil-thin heels making him struggle to swallow. They were covered in little gold studs that seemed to wink mischievously at him. “Crappy weather, huh?”
Trouble Next Door Page 4
