Trouble Next Door

by Stefanie London

  The waiter delivered a basket of bread to the table and took their orders. When he left, McKenna reached for a chunk and dunked it into a little dish containing oil and balsamic vinegar. “Besides, why do you care? We’re here to discuss your relationship failures, not mine.”

  A flash of emotion streaked across Beckett’s face, but it was gone before she could figure out exactly what it meant. “I haven’t failed.”

  “Call it a temporary setback, then. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” McKenna chewed. “So, have you figured out why you got dumped yet? That would be useful information to have.”

  …

  Beckett got the distinct feeling that McKenna was trying to wind him up on purpose. Though why, he had no idea. He was destined to never understand the female mind, hence why he’d agreed to accept McKenna’s help. She would give him the insight he needed…once she stopped verbally poking him with a stick, that was.

  “I think it was a combination of things.”

  “Which were…?”

  “She thinks I work too much and that I don’t pay enough attention to her, for starters. She would always complain that we never went on enough holidays and that I spent too much time with my family.” He poured them both a glass of water. “Is that enough to go on?”

  “She thinks you spend too much time with your family?” McKenna raised a brow.

  “Apparently.”

  Beckett had dinner once a week like clockwork with his mother and sister. The tradition had started when he’d moved out, because he still wanted to keep an eye on Kayla. She took her father’s comings and goings hard, and Beckett didn’t want her to think he was abandoning her, too.

  “I invited Sherri a few times, but she said she felt like she was encroaching.”

  “So she would have preferred you to not go at all.” She made a little noise of annoyance, but the waiter arrived before she could continue.

  The guy was about Beckett’s age, with dark hair and olive skin. He had a slight Italian accent and stared at McKenna appreciatively as he announced the dishes, turning her from prickly interrogator to giggling flirt in less than a second. She all but batted her lashes at the guy, laughing sweetly at his jokes. For some reason that made a tight ball of tension gather in Beckett’s stomach.

  For all the waiter knew, they were on a date. And as uncomfortable as he’d been with McKenna’s needy gaze on him the night they got stuck in the elevator, it felt even worse when she directed it at someone else.

  “I don’t know,” Beckett said after they’d ordered their meals. “She seemed to be under the impression I should know what she wants at all times, even though she’s not always very forthcoming with information.”

  Beckett sighed. It seemed to be a game that Sherri played with him—sometimes he got it right and was rewarded with her blissful smile. Other times he missed the mark, and bore the brunt of her cold shoulder for days at a time. He’d never quite figured out how to tip the odds his way.

  But he shouldn’t be telling McKenna all this. Their issues were private, and it was only right to pass on what McKenna needed in order to help him.

  “I do work a lot, though,” he admitted. “I get absorbed by my job.”

  “You like what you do, huh?” McKenna smiled. “I’m like that, too. Sometimes when I’m working on a face chart I block out the rest of the world.”

  “What’s a face chart?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s a map of the face that makeup artists use to plan out a look. We sketch out the design and fill it in using makeup products so when we need to recreate the look we have an exact guide of what to do.”

  They paused as the waiter arrived with their food.

  “So what’s your plan, Miss I’m an excellent matchmaker?” He drove a fork into his ravioli. “How do I fix this problem?”

  “I need to figure out the situation before I devise a plan. No point jumping the gun, because you’ll only get one shot at this.” She twirled her spaghetti around her fork. “I need to understand why she left.”

  “I told you, she didn’t say anything. She just…left.”

  He’d been a little dumfounded, since her usual departures had been accompanied by lots of bluster and yelling. This time he didn’t even have the chance to argue, she’d already had her bags packed by the time he returned home from his meeting, and she’d walked past him without a word.

  “You told me what her complaints were,” she said. “And women don’t always say exactly what they mean. You have to read between the lines.”

  “Maybe they’d have a better chance of getting what they want if they came out and asked for it,” he grumbled. “I’m not a bloody mind reader.”

  “In any case, I know why she left, because I know how women think.” She set her cutlery down as though about to make a very important announcement. “She thinks you don’t love her.”

  “Because I work hard and make time for my family?” he scoffed.

  “Because you don’t make her your top priority.” She looked far too smug for her own good. “She probably feels like she’s playing second fiddle to a whole host of other things, like work and other people in your life.”

  “Those things are important to me.” His voice came out a little sharper than he’d intended, but this picking apart of his personal life was like having needles stuck into his skin.

  After growing up the local “charity case” in his middle-class suburb—where everyone knew his family’s troubles—he craved privacy. It was his shield from the world. His protection. Because it allowed him to be anyone he wanted—so he’d chosen the path of an entrepreneur, where a little mystery was a good thing. But McKenna’s comments and questions were like tiny hammers against his outer shell, and the feeling of her trying to get closer vibrated through his body.

  “Of course they are. But you’re a workaholic, right? You said yourself that you work a lot.”

  “I’m working on a startup. Being a workaholic is in the job description.” Beckett forced his shoulders to relax, as they were bunching around his neck the way they usually did when he felt defensive. “Look, you want to start you own business so surely you understand. It takes hard work to get something off the ground.”

  “Oh, I understand.” She bobbed her head, her dangling earrings making tinkling sounds. “But you work long hours, right? What time do you usually finish up at night?”

  Beckett speared another ravioli. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d logged off before midnight. It’d been months. Some nights he didn’t even make it to bed, because he only had enough energy to collapse on his couch.

  Okay, so maybe McKenna was onto something. “It depends,” he said. “I work until the job is done.”

  “That’s a fallacy.” She offered a knowing smile. “Because the job is never done, is it?”

  “No, it’s not,” he admitted. But the job wouldn’t be done unless he started taking action. In his experience, talk was cheap…and pointless. “Have we finished with the Dr. Phil portion of this meeting? Because I’d really like to know what the next steps are.”

  McKenna stifled a smile. “Step number one is to stop treating this like a business transaction. Personal relationships aren’t always logical, trust me. If you’re going to do this, then you need to loosen up a bit.”

  “Do I not seem relaxed?” He raked a hand through his hair, unsure how to deal with the bubbling frustration that was slowly swelling within him. All he could think about was how much work he had to do—and how delectable McKenna’s mouth looked as she pushed each forkful of food between her lips—neither of which were helpful.

  “I’ve seen politicians in the middle of media scandals who looked more relaxed than you.” She laughed. “You’re uptight in a cute, Clark Kent meets Christian Grey kind of way. I’ll be honest, I dig it. But the first thing I’m going to do is teach you how to relax and enjoy a date.”

  Questions ran through his brain like a bunch of toddlers high on sugar. He couldn’t e
ven begin to unpack her comments—she thought he was cute? She wanted to teach him how to relax…on a date? And who the hell was Christian Grey?

  “How exactly do you plan to do that?” he asked, shoving the rest of the questions aside.

  “You’re going to go on a date with me and I’m going to critique you.” She grinned. “Think of it as me beta-testing your dating skills.”

  “You’re kidding me.” He couldn’t even begin to list all the things wrong with that scenario. But right there, at the very top of the pile, was the rush of satisfaction knowing that he’d get to be with her alone again. And that was a very, very bad sign.

  “Nope.” She reached for her water and sipped, leaving behind a perfect imprint of hot pink lipstick. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Fine.” He nodded, digesting the information. “A test date it is.”

  He didn’t like the self-satisfied look on her face, that subtle little smirk that told him she thought he’d fail. Beckett didn’t like failing, so he certainly wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction. If she wanted the date to end all dates, then he was going to give it to her.

  Chapter Six

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Emery held up her hands as she perched, feet tucked under her, on a stool. “You’re going on a date with this guy? What happened to Operation Self-Love?”

  Emery, her sister Isla, and McKenna had gathered for their weekly wine and bitch session. They rotated hosting duties, and tonight the three girls were lounging around Isla’s immaculate kitchen. A spread of veggies, dips, cheeses, crackers, and chocolates were artfully arranged—as was Isla’s style. Two bottles of wine were open, but Emery had opted for a boutique beer, which she gestured with as she spoke.

  “I thought you were trying to help him get his ex back,” she added.

  “It’s a test date,” McKenna clarified. “So I can really see what’s going on. If I’m going to have any chance of helping him, I need to know what his flaws are. Well, other than being a workaholic.”

  Isla leaned on the kitchen counter, propping herself up on her elbows. “Any guesses?”

  “He’s a bit of a mystery,” she said, reaching for a celery stick and dunking it into a bowl of homemade hummus. “Definitely an introvert, which normally I wouldn’t like. But he’s got this strong, silent thing going on that’s quite yummy.”

  “Why does it matter whether you like him if this is just a test date?” Emery asked.

  “It doesn’t.” McKenna busied herself with cutting the wheel of camembert into six perfect pieces. “I’m just saying…”

  “Self-love not all it’s cracked up to be?” Emery cackled. “Screw the ex. Maybe you should take him for a ‘test drive’ as well.”

  “Emery!” Isla shook her head in a disappointed mother hen way. “McKenna is doing something good for herself. There’s nothing wrong with taking some time alone to figure out what you want in life.”

  “Not the advice I was expecting from Mrs. Love-up Wifey To-Be.” Emery took a long draw on her beer. “I thought you were pro commitment.”

  Isla huffed. “I’m anti settling.”

  “For the record, I know exactly what I want.” McKenna sighed. “That’s part of the problem. Reality is not matching up to my expectations. Hence why I’m fine going on a fake date.”

  “So where is he taking you?” Isla asked.

  “I have no idea. I told him to set it up so I can see how creative he is. All I know is we’re meeting after work Wednesday night.”

  The truth wasn’t quite so cut and dry as that. McKenna hadn’t initially planned the whole test-date thing in advance. But having dinner with Beckett—watching him glare at the waiter when she’d flirted with him and hearing that he made time weekly for his family—was a little too enjoyable. Why shouldn’t she get some personal benefit out of this arrangement? And a fake date was the only kind she was allowed during Operation Self-Love.

  Though keeping her end of the bargain might be tougher than she expected. McKenna had a pretty good idea what had gone wrong in Beckett and Sherri’s relationship—it was the same reason McKenna was still single. Expectations.

  They were good to have, but they also caused problems. She didn’t want to settle for a deadbeat, but it seemed the serious guys didn’t want to settle for her. And she’d put money on the fact that Sherri wanted hearts and flowers and romance, while Beckett wanted someone who understood and supported his drive and ambition.

  Yeah, expectations could be a contrary bitch like that.

  “So what’s the criteria?” Emery rustled around in a bag of corn chips and pulled out a handful, dropping crumbs all around her in the process. Isla frowned and reached for a tissue to wipe them up. “Are there any instant fail sections? Like if he clips a roundabout?”

  “I see you’re still going with the whole driving test thing,” McKenna said drily. “No instant fails. But I want to see how he goes setting a date up, if he’s attentive and engaged, if he makes me feel special. I suspect his ex was looking for a little more romance but Beckett is…well, he seems like a very logical guy. So maybe I can give him a few pointers for the grovel.”

  “The grovel?” Isla raised a brow.

  “You know, that bit at the end of a chick flick where the guy is all ‘I made a terrible mistake not treating you right’ and then they kiss and she does the foot-pop thing.”

  Emery shook her head. “The foot-pop thing?”

  McKenna rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you watched The Princess Diaries or like any other rom com made in the last two decades?”

  “Uh, no, because Anne Hathaway is the spawn of the devil and I don’t hate myself.” Emery munched on her corn chips.

  Isla shook her head. “You hate everything romantic.”

  “It’s the way of the man-repeller.” Emery winked.

  McKenna’s friends dissolved into an argument about the merit of chick flicks and she went to pour herself another glass of wine. As she reached for a fresh bottle, her phone buzzed. These days, especially when she was already with her besties, that was a rare occurrence. Which could only mean one thing…

  Mother.

  Or rather, her mother’s assistant. The formidable Mrs. Jones, a woman whom McKenna was certain had come out of the womb wearing a twinset and a disapproving frown. Her first word had likely been no.

  Evil Jones: Your mother requests your presence at the family home for dinner next week, Thursday night. 7p.m. sharp. Smart casual.

  Smart freaking casual? Honestly, who required a dress code for a family dinner…at home, no less.

  McKenna: So that’s a no to booty shorts, then?

  Evil Jones: Don’t be smart.

  McKenna snorted. No chance of that, at least not where her family was concerned. They had three doctors, one lawyer, and her, the lowly retail worker. A.k.a the black sheep. Just freaking great.

  At least her faux-date with Beckett would give her something to look forward to. She’d been planning to wear her sparkly dress on their outing, but that might now have to be saved for the family dinner.

  Sequins were smart casual, right?

  McKenna rolled her eyes and tapped at her phone.

  McKenna: Don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect outfit already picked out.

  …

  Beckett raked his hand through his hair for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon, while he waited for McKenna to show up. They were supposed to meet in the foyer of their building. But she was already ten minutes late.

  He frowned. Perhaps he should have brought his laptop down with him. Ten minutes could be used to achieve quite a lot—he could have answered some emails, or tweaked that one line of code that was bugging him. He could have approved the graphics his designer had sent over, or worked on his beta testing release schedule. Or he could have even—

  “Beckett?” McKenna waved her hand in front of his face, blinding him with her neon-pink nails. “Oh, you are awake. I thought you might have been in some weird open-eye slee
p trance.”

  He pushed up from the foyer’s couch. “Definitely awake.”

  It would be hard not to be wide-awake around McKenna, not only because she was gorgeous but because she seemed to enjoy wearing shades of the retina-searing variety. Usually coupled with something sparkly. Beckett briefly wondered if looking at her clothing had the same effect on the brain as looking at a screen before bedtime.

  He zeroed in on the purple leopard print book in her hands, which had a pen attached with a black ribbon. “Why are you holding a notebook?”

  “How else am I going to take notes for the review?” Her tinkling laughter ran right through him, like the sound had somehow hitched a ride on the blood pumping through his veins.

  It left him with a most unusual humming sensation that was equally pleasant and foreign.

  “Review?” He raised a brow.

  “Well, this is a test date. I’m sure you’d want some feedback at the end so you can understand how to improve, right?”

  Beckett wasn’t so sure about that. He’d never been the kind of guy to crave praise. In fact, he much preferred to know in his gut that he’d done a good job rather than hear it from someone else. However, he had struck a deal with McKenna and if this was her method of helping him get Sherri back, then so be it. Any discomfort from listening to her pick apart his approach would be well worth it when he got his life back on track.

  After speaking to his mother today—who was adamant that she was in the right and, as such, had not gotten her job back—he really needed to make sure things were smoothed over with Sherri and her father. Quickly and for good.

  “That was a rhetorical question, in case you wondered.” McKenna smiled sweetly, but Beckett had the feeling there was a tough interior beneath her My Little Pony packaging. “Don’t worry, I won’t be harsh.”

  “My feelings don’t bruise easily,” he replied.

  “Good to know you have them,” she said with a wink. “I wasn’t so sure.”