…
McKenna walked along the street to her apartment building, her chin buried in a thick wooly scarf. It was dark and drizzly outside. Miserable, like her. She hurried along the pavement, cursing herself for wearing heels when flats would have been far easier and more comfortable. But she’d developed this habit of dressing outrageously for family dinners—a little middle finger action to her parents’ overly conservative views on personal appearance.
And really, pink glitter stilettos were the only thing that would go with a silver sequined dress.
She laughed bitterly. Her mother had looked like her head was about to explode when McKenna had walked into their foyer. Her brother, Jason, had stifled a snort behind his hand, but his girlfriend had looked horrified. And McKenna wasn’t even showing that much cleavage. Truth was, she hated the dress—it was too tight and felt scratchy against her skin. But she hated being forced into a box even more.
She walked through the front doors of the apartment building and gave a wave to the concierge. The heating was cranked to accommodate for the unusually shitty weather—even by Melbourne’s standards—but she didn’t want to take her coat off yet. She’d wait for the safety of the elevator.
“Yeah, because it’s fine to give your family an eyeful but you wouldn’t want to flash the concierge,” she muttered as she jabbed the up button.
When the doors slid open, she stepped inside without checking the direction and found herself heading down instead of up. Sighing, she hit the button for her floor and shucked her coat. A second later, once they’d hit the basement parking area, the doors slid open.
Beckett stood there, wearing well-fitting jeans and a navy V-neck jumper that clung to the muscles in his chest. His stormy expression dissolved when he saw her—his brows lifting out of a frown like sunshine breaking through clouds. Dammit, how did he do that?
His gaze raked her over as he stepped into the elevator and stood beside her. “Coming or going?”
She stifled the urge to play with the double-entendre, not wanting to discourage him from talking to her instead of grunting like he used to. “Coming.”
“It’s early.”
“Not early enough,” she said with a wry grin. “It was a family dinner.”
“Oh.” He raised a brow, looking a little confused. She couldn’t blame him—it looked like she’d gone shopping in the sale section of Club Rats R US. “I had one of those, too.”
His tone said that his night had been about as good as hers. “Why are families so difficult?”
He laughed. The deep, smooth sound rippled through the air, sending a pulse of awareness through her. She almost sighed at the little shiver that darted down her spine. Was it possible for her ears to have an orgasm? Because she was pretty sure they just had.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head.
“It’s like they try to be difficult, you know?” She mimicked his action. “I mean, I’ve resorted to dressing like this”—she waved a hand up and down in front of her—“to distract them from talking about the real ways I disappoint them. I’m basically Vegas Bender Barbie at this point. And for what? So they’ll talk about my skanky outfit instead of telling me, yet again, that I should consider going to university so I can get a real job?”
The silence that followed her outburst was broken only by the cheerful ping of the elevator. Wow, that had gotten a little too real a little too quickly.
“I’m sure you have no idea what that’s like,” she said, hoping to hell her face wasn’t as shiny and pink as her shoes. “I mean, you’re a big, successful entrepreneur and all. Your family must be really proud of you.”
They stepped into the hallway and Beckett looked at her, his intense blue gaze drilling right through the sparkle and flesh until it hit bone. “Do you want ice cream?”
McKenna blinked. “Huh?”
“I have some in my freezer.” He cocked his head.
It was impossible to read a man like Beckett. But she figured the offer of food was a good thing. Had she somehow broken through that tough outer shell? The thought warmed her far more than it should have.
“Sure.” She couldn’t stop a smile spreading over her lips. “But I’ll get changed first, if that’s okay. This dress sheds like crazy and I don’t want to defile your couch.”
Oh God. Wrong. Choice. Of. Word.
Defiling Beckett’s couch—with Beckett—was exactly what she wanted right now. She had all this pent-up energy and he looked tastier than a giant slab of cheesecake. Luckily for her, he seemed to take her intended, rather than Freudian, meaning.
“Sure. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” His eyes skated over her one more time, leaving fire blazing in her blood, before he headed toward his apartment.
Biting down on her lip to stifle another stupid, dangerous smile, McKenna unlocked her front door.
She was going to hang out with Beckett. A simple dessert between family dinner survivors wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
“It is,” she scolded herself. “Because you want to jump his bones.”
So true. She did want to jump his bones. Even Mr. Whopper was getting jealous. But that would be bad for the plan. Bad for Operation Self-Love.
Her breath hitched. What if he’d stripped and was taking a shower? It was all too easy to imagine the hard muscle beneath his sensible button-down shirts. He was the hot IT nerd of her dreams.
She pulled up Emery’s number and shook her head as she typed.
McKenna: Help!!! I’m having a self-love emergency.
Emery: You know I love you…but not like that.
McKenna smirked. Trust Emery’s mind to go straight to the gutter.
McKenna: Not that kind of self-love emergency. There’s a guy…there’s not supposed to be a guy!
Emery: Sexy toy guy?
McKenna: Can we not call him that?
Emery: STG for short.
McKenna: Fine. He’s too tempting. I’m about to have ice cream at his place. Having visions of defiling his couch. How did this happen???
Emery: Are you planning to check something off the sex bucket list??
Emery then sent a string of eggplant emojis, and McKenna shook her head.
McKenna: You’re supposed to be my self-love Sherpa.
Emery: I never agreed to that.
McKenna: What should I do??
Emery: …
The three little dots in the bottom corner of her phone’s screen taunted her. Emery never gave that much thought to a text—it was straight from her brain to her fingers. No filter.
McKenna: Well?
Emery: Is he the right guy?
McKenna put the phone down and huffed. The whole reason she even imposed Operation Self-Love was because of her inability to pick the right men. That was, men who didn’t think she was vapid or stupid for her career choice, who wouldn’t put pressure on her to change. Who didn’t think she talked too much. And that went double for guys who’d just gotten dumped by the person they were supposed to marry.
She’d been the rebound girl before. Not. Fun.
McKenna: No, he’s not the right guy. He’s totally Mr. Wrong.
Emery: Then pick up a vibrator and move on.
Emery was right. What the hell was McKenna doing with her life? Wasn’t the very definition of insanity making the same mistake over and over while hoping for a different result? But before McKenna had the chance to figure out what to do about Beckett, her phone started to vibrate.
“Crap,” McKenna muttered. Her mother’s number flashed up on the screen.
She never called to chat. If there was one thing McKenna had worked out about her mother—it was that a phone call meant she was about to get bitched out.
“Hello?” She tried to sound like she’d picked up the phone in a rush, without seeing who’d called.
“McKenna.” Her mother was the only person who could instill such gut-twisting emotion with only the use of her name. “I was going to let it go tonight, I really was…�
��
“What were you going to let go?” She tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice, because there was nothing that fired Amy Prescott up faster than the sound of someone sighing.
“Your dress, your attitude…just you!”
“Oh, so the usual then?” She cringed as soon as the words flew out of her mouth. How was it that the second she had to deal with her family she regressed to this sarcasm-loaded way of communicating? It was like their mere presence turned her into a sulky teenager.
But dammit, she was so sick of them and their judgmental attitudes.
“You cannot turn up to a family dinner dressed like you’re about to go work a street corner.”
McKenna looked at herself in the mirror of her bedroom. The silver sequined dress had thin little straps that followed the curve of her shoulders and a built-in bustier which pushed her boobs up. She’d worn a black cardigan over the top, because it was cold out, but it didn’t do much to dull the impact of the dress. Sure, it was a little over the top for dinner. And sure, she’d worn it to prove a point.
But having her mother tell her she looked like a hooker…well, that was low. Even for Amy.
“I have to afford my crack habit somehow,” she said sarcastically. “Also, it’s usually dark out and sequins reflect the car’s headlights. So really, it’s a safety thing.”
“McKenna, you are just…” Her mother broke off in an irritated huff. “I try so hard with you but you refuse to listen to anyone. Your life could be so great, you could have the world at your feet. But you make stupid decision after stupid decision.”
The pause stretched out for several heartbeats and McKenna could practically see her mother shaking her head.
“You can’t expect anyone to support you if you continue to act like a child,” she added. “I can’t say I’m surprised that Gage wouldn’t put up with it.”
McKenna swallowed, anger burning a path up the back of her throat. “What’s the real problem? That I came to dinner with my boobs out or that I refuse to let you stifle me with your life plans.”
“Stifle you? I’m trying to enlighten you. I’m trying to help you see that you need to change.”
Amy was right. McKenna did need to change. She needed to take charge of her life and go after the things that she wanted. She needed to change by not being afraid of failure. And, most importantly, she needed to change by seeing that her family might never support her dreams…and she needed to be okay with that.
“I appreciate your concern,” McKenna said. “But I’m not going to be your Mini Me. Sorry, but that’s not the life I want.”
Chapter Ten
After hanging up on her mother and then ditching the sequined monstrosity, McKenna changed outfits three times in under two minutes. Going to Beckett’s might not be the smartest move, but dammit she was riled up right now. Listening to her parents’ lectures always drove her in the opposite direction to what they’d intended. Why should she feel guilty for being who she was?
And that comment about Gage…
Oh, it made her see red. She hastily wiped off her hot-pink lipstick and replaced it with a tinted lip balm, then wound her purple hair into a fat bun on top of her head. Nothing could be done about the heavy eye makeup without taking the whole thing off and starting again. So the smudgy black shadow and false lashes would have to stay.
“Why do you even care?” She rolled her eyes as she shut the door on her apartment and headed to Beckett’s place. “You know they’ll never come around.”
She glanced at the numbers on Beckett’s door and swallowed. Right now, she had bigger problems to deal with, namely the fact that her body started humming at the thought of seeing him again.
Shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
“You’re a big girl. You can totally restrain yourself.”
Ugh. Why couldn’t he be awkward and dowdy and on the unappealing side of the introvert spectrum? And why the hell did a guy like him even need to be chasing an ex-girlfriend?
Ex fiancée, remember? He was going to marry this woman and he wants her back. That means he’s not interested in you.
Thinking about Sherri was like having a bucket of ice water tipped all over her. McKenna couldn’t help the little ball of resentment unfurling in her stomach. What the hell was so special about Sherri, anyway? What did she have that McKenna didn’t?
Oh yeah. McKenna knew exactly what Sherri had—family money. And that wasn’t something McKenna would ever allow to be a factor in her love life.
She glanced down the hallway back to her apartment. Maybe she should stay in and forget about sexy Beckett and his frozen desserts. But he had mentioned a family dinner. Which meant he’d seen his sister. Maybe he’d have the inside info on whether or not she was going to get the wedding gig.
Sucking in a breath, she knocked and then pushed on his front door. “Hello?”
“In the kitchen,” he called out.
She found him retrieving a small tub from his freezer. Unlike her, he hadn’t changed out of his original clothes. Except for his feet—where a pair of leather boots had been a moment ago he now wore socks. They were bright yellow and had cacti all over them.
“I like your socks,” she said, leaning against his kitchen counter.
“They’re obnoxious.” He popped the lid on the ice cream. “But Kayla bought them for me and she made me promise I’d wear them to dinner.”
“Did she choose them because she thinks you’re prickly?”
He looked up and shot her a perplexed expression. “You two are scary similar.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re prickly.”
He dug an ice cream scoop into the creamy dessert, which looked to be vanilla with some kind of chocolate and caramel swirls. “What do you think I am, then?”
Hmm. How to handle this question without being too honest? “Umm…”
“Is this the first time you’ve ever been speechless?” A crooked grin lit up his face. “Should I get in touch with the people who do the Guinness Book of World Records?”
“Oh, so now you’re chatty.” She rolled her eyes. “Funny, I didn’t know you were such a joker.”
“I’m not, usually.” He handed her a bowl of ice cream with two generous scoops.
“So…” She followed him out of the kitchen and into the lounge area of his apartment. When he dropped down onto the couch, she took a spot at the other end, wriggling back into the corner to remind herself to keep her distance. “I don’t suppose you got the inside scoop about how I did at the trial?”
“Kayla said she was impressed.”
“And?”
“She has one more trial.”
“Oh.” She tried not to be disappointed. But it wasn’t easy, considering her parents had gotten particularly stuck into her earlier that evening. Even the sequined dress hadn’t been able to distract them. She wasn’t sure which parent was worse—her mother, who constantly told her that working in retail was only acceptable if you were studying for a future career. Or her father, who’d interrupted her so many times she’d started to wonder if maybe she was in some kind of Sixth Sense situation.
When she’d tried to tell them about her business, not one of them engaged. As far as the Prescotts were concerned, the arts were for people who didn’t take life seriously. And, given her website wasn’t garnering many hits, let alone conversions, she needed to land this makeup job.
“I told her I thought you were very good,” Beckett said.
“You did?” She smiled in spite of her down mood. “Was that because of my ‘fringy things’?”
“Yes. And your sparkly things.” He pointed to her eyes. “I notice them.”
Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes and she blinked them away—horrified that his simple comment might cause her to break down. How was it that this man, whom she barely knew and who’d only made noises at her in the beginning, was more supportive than her own family?
He’s getting some
thing out of it. You’re helping him get his ex back.
Well, she was supposed to be doing that. “Thanks,” she said, looking down into her bowl.
“Do you like the ice cream? I try not to eat a lot of crap, but this is my weakness.” He nudged her with his cactus sock-covered foot. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
McKenna drew a cross on her heart with one finger. “I promise.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Beckett put his ice cream down and reached for a laptop sitting on the coffee table. “I made something for you.”
A tiny little seed of warmth unfurled in her chest. “You did?”
He tapped at the keyboard, his long fingers flying. “Yeah, I had a look at your website when you gave me the card for Kayla. And it’s not very well designed.”
“That’s probably because I cobbled it together myself.” She spooned a mouthful of ice cream between her lips. “I work magic on faces, not on screens.”
Beckett didn’t reply, but a second later the page loaded and McKenna gasped. Instead of her old, basic website with the black banner and a stock image of a few makeup brushes with the pink font that she never could seem to get 100 percent clear, her name jumped out in a pretty, silver font.
The background was black with small purple dots. Edgy, yet still girlie. Exactly like her business cards. A large image on the front showed one of McKenna’s first brides—a friend of a friend who’d kindly given her a chance last year. Then it changed to another photo, this time of McKenna herself with her eyes cast down, revealing a subtle smoky eye in shades of mauve and soft pink.
“You made this for me?” she asked in disbelief.
Beckett nodded. He wasn’t quite smiling, but his eyes were soft and she now knew that meant he was happy. “Your old site didn’t have the best navigation and the design wasn’t mobile friendly. This one will adjust the size according to the device. I also built in a private section for your clients to log in where they can fill in a form with all the information you need to do their makeup trial. I probably didn’t get all the fields right, but I can help you update them.”
McKenna’s mouth hung open. She’d looked into getting a professional site made up before, so she knew that to hire someone to do this would have cost her a few thousand dollars. Given the business cards had almost blown her budget, fees for a web designer weren’t something she could even consider right now.
Trouble Next Door Page 10
