Beckett made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat.
“You don’t—?”
Her words were cut short when the elevator jolted suddenly, its smooth ascent halted with an abrupt jerk and an unhealthy grinding sound. The lights flickered and then went out.
“What the hell?” McKenna squeaked. “Beckett?”
“It’s okay,” he said calmly. This wasn’t the first time the elevator had malfunctioned, and he’d complained to the maintenance manager a few times that they needed more regular servicing. “It’ll be working in a minute.”
Her breathing cut through the quiet. Without the electric hum of the elevator, his ears tuned in to every little sound. In the pitch black, his other senses were heightened. Awareness prickled along his skin. She was close. So close.
Something brushed his arm and he turned, bumping into the solid warmth of her. The back of his hand met her fingertips and they both pulled away.
“Sorry, I…I don’t like the dark,” she said breathlessly, speaking over a rustling sound. “Dammit, my phone’s dead. I don’t suppose you have yours?”
“I left it upstairs,” he replied.
“Shit.” Her voice wavered.
Bloody hell. The desire to wrap her up in his arms surged through him with the force of a runaway train. He cleared his throat and the sound echoed in the quiet carriage. Touching her wouldn’t be appropriate, but he couldn’t shake the urge to comfort her. He remembered spending hours sitting on the edge of Kayla’s bed, talking her to sleep each night after her father had taken off. She’d hated the dark, too.
“What did you do today?” he asked.
“Just work.” Her shaky voice came from right next to him. “And I was getting some business cards printed up for my freelance work. I am so ready to be done with retail.”
“You’re not happy at the department store?”
She made an adorable snorting sound. “As much as I enjoy picking up after customers who have no sense of hygiene when it comes to testers…uh, yeah. I’m a little sick of that place.”
“What do the cards look like?”
“Oh, they’re really nice.” Her voice perked up significantly. “I had a friend design them for me. They’re purple and black with silver writing, kind of edgy but still girlie. Like me.”
Edgy but still girlie. It was the perfect description.
“It took me ages to pick the right font. Who knew there were so many fonts in the world. I like the loopy ones that kind of look like handwriting, but some of them were hard to read. I think the one I ended up with for my name was called Allure…or was it Allura? Something like that, anyway…”
He found her stream-of-conscious chatter soothing. Which was unusual. Bizarre, even. Normally, after a rough day of work—or in this case, a rough couple of days—Beckett would crave peace and quiet. It had driven Sherri nuts, because she always wanted to debrief. Dissect. Brainstorm. And Beckett simply wanted to throw his headphones on and go for a run. Alone.
But McKenna’s voice had a musical quality that lured the trouble of his day away from him.
“And then we had to pick a pattern. Stripes or spots. I’m partial to stripes, because I think they’re quite chic but apparently that can make it hard to read the words in such a small space. So, we went with polka dots. Not those big ones, but more like delicate little dots. Like the size of a pinhead.” A nervous giggle punctuated her sentence. “Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous. That was probably way more detail than you wanted.”
Why was she nervous? Was it simply being in the dark, or was it something else?
“I only wanted you to talk so you’d stop worrying,” he said. “You can talk about whatever you like.”
“Oh, so it’s a tactic.”
Was it his imagination or did she sound disappointed? “I prefer technique.”
“Right.” The silence stretched on in the dark for a few heartbeats. “You’re a bit of a mystery, you know that?”
He forced down the bubble of annoyance in his throat. McKenna wasn’t to know that she’d hit on a sore point of his—but Beckett was sick to death of hearing people say words to that effect. Sherri had hurled something similar at him during more than one fight. Closed off, she’d called him, a total bloody mystery. She’d also had a few other choice words. Impersonal. Impassive. Stoic. A brick wall of a man with a steel gate around his heart.
Better than being like an emotional firework, in his opinion.
He frowned in the darkness. The elevator didn’t usually take this long to get going again. The last time it had barely been a minute…and how long had they been here now? Five minutes? Or was it more? None of the buttons were showing up on the control panel.
“I guess I keep to myself,” he said.
He wasn’t about to tell her that he found relationships to be a minefield. Because someone like her would never understand that.
“Ha, unlike me. I tend to blurt everything out about myself. Like that time when—” She stopped abruptly when the elevator made a whirring noise and all the lights suddenly flickered back on. “Oh, thank God.”
His eyes reacted to the sudden influx of light, flinching away from the brightness. Or perhaps they were flinching away from McKenna because her hand had flown to his bicep, and for some reason his skin was doing this weird burning, prickling thing.
“Thanks for not judging me,” she said, her tongue darting out to smooth over a plump, pink bottom lip. The shade matched her coat. “I know it’s stupid to be scared of the dark as an adult.”
“It’s not stupid.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. For a moment, neither one of them moved. McKenna’s eyes tracked his face, as if she was waiting for something.
“After you.” He held his arm across the doors to make sure they wouldn’t close.
They walked down the hall in companionable silence, and she stopped in front of her door. An invitation hovered on his tongue.
Come to my place. Let’s have a drink.
No, he had to keep his eye on the prize. His brain, at least, knew the score. As for his body…well, the way McKenna looked at him had some tension building behind the fly of his jeans. Her eyes seemed to comb him over, stoking embers burning in his chest, encouraging them to catch alight.
“I told Kayla about you, by the way,” he said, hoping that if he kept his brain moving, then his body might calm the hell down.
“You did!” She clapped her hands together. “Why didn’t you lead off with that? That would definitely have distracted me in the elevator.”
Truth be told, the second he saw McKenna pretty much everything else had flown out of his head. She had a very annoying way of making that happen. Beckett shrugged.
“And?” McKenna blinked at him incredulously. “What did she say? Don’t leave me hanging.”
“She asked for your details and said she would call you.”
A high-pitched squeal shot out of McKenna’s mouth and she grabbed his arm again. Why did she keep doing that? More importantly, why did it make his throat feel all tight?
“That’s great!” Her eyes sparked.
“It’s not a guarantee that she’ll hire you.”
“I know. But my work will speak for itself.”
There was a time bomb ticking in his chest and whenever she got close it felt like the countdown sped up, inching him closer to trouble. To doing something stupid like asking her over to have a drink with him. Or worse, giving in to the fantasy raging in his head that was yelling at him to push her hard against her front door and lower his head to hers.
“Well, good night,” he said suddenly before turning on his heel and heading toward his apartment.
“Good night.” Her voice floated behind him. She sounded confused.
Ugh. The quicker he got into his apartment the better. He needed all the distance he could get, though something told him that a couple of apartments between them wouldn’t be enough. If he wanted any chance of keep
ing his head in the game—and keeping his focus on solving his current problem—he needed to keep face-to-face contact to a minimum.
“Wait!” she called out, the sound of her footsteps quickening behind him. “We need to have dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah.” She stopped short. Was it his imagination or were her cheeks a little pinker than before?
“Why?”
“To discuss how we’re going to get your fiancée back.”
“Why does that require dinner?” The thought of sitting down for an evening with McKenna unnerved him. The scene in the elevator was bad enough, how would he keep his head straight for more than ten minutes around her?
“People often discuss business over dinner.” She smiled. “Tomorrow night, meet me at Wentworth on Bourke Street at six.”
He frowned. This was courting disaster. He couldn’t seem to hang on to his usual logical state around her. So that meant he needed to keep interactions to a minimum. Risk management, that’s what it was. “Can’t we just do it over email?”
“No,” she said, looking at him as if he’d suddenly started talking gibberish. “This is a personal problem, and I know I won’t get the information I need over email. Six p.m. sharp.” She whirled around and headed to her apartment without giving him time to protest.
So much for keeping his distance.
Chapter Five
McKenna stared intently at the lash line of her client, carefully dragging an angled brush coated with black gel liner to create the perfect flick at the corner of her eye. She leaned back to take in the bigger picture, her gaze sweeping from one eye to the other. They matched. Perfectly.
“I usually press a little black shadow over the top of the liquid liner to set it in place,” McKenna said as she dipped her brush into a pan of inky shadow appropriately called Jet. “Just be sure to tap the brush and remove any excess. You don’t want dark shadow falling onto your cheeks because it can be a real pain to remove.”
The client sat patiently with her eyes closed while McKenna put the finishing touches on her special date-night makeup. Friday afternoons were usually back-to-back with city workers on their way to parties and events. It was the best part of McKenna’s week, since she got to spend more time applying makeup than selling it. Although, she still had a quota to meet. Which meant a little would you like fries with that action.
“I’d definitely recommend a matte formulation for the black shadow. It’ll help the liner look more striking and it also comes in handy if you want to create a smoky look.” She studied the makeup with a critical eye, brushing a cotton bud over a tiny dot of mascara that had transferred from her client’s lashes. “The shimmery blacks don’t have the same punch. I’m sure we’ve got a matte one left if in stock, so I can put it with the rest of your purchases. Here, let’s see what you think.”
The client opened her eyes and her mouth hung open in a surprised O as she peered into the small mirror that McKenna was holding up. “I love it!”
Those three words never failed to make McKenna’s chest warm with pride. The big reveal was the best moment of a makeup artist’s day. Seeing the joy and confidence radiating from her clients’ faces made all the crappy bits—like sales targets and dodgy returns and lectures from her boss—feel worth it.
“I feel like I could never master the winged liner.” The client sighed. “Can’t you live at my house and do this for me every morning?”
“You’d be surprised how often people ask me that.” McKenna grinned. “But practice makes perfect and there’s always makeup wipes if things don’t go according to plan.”
She grouped the products together into categories—base, eyes, and lips. It was part of the CAM-Ready Cosmetics selling procedure. Never assume the client is only going to buy one product, because you might lose a sale.
“Now, I know you mentioned that you wanted to take the lipstick and gloss for touch-ups tonight. But I definitely recommend grabbing one of the gel liners and black shadow so you can practice at home.” She held up her angled brush. “A brush like this will be easiest because you can fit it against the lash line and ‘stamp’ the wing into place. It’s what I used when I first learned how to do winged liner.”
“Okay, you got me.” The client shook her head ruefully. “I’ll take it all. My credit card will hate me, but at least I’m having fun. Right?”
“Exactly. Makeup is meant to be fun. Stay here and I’ll go get everything.”
As she was scurrying around the store, excusing herself to squeeze between customers so should could get to the drawers containing the stock, she spied a male figure.
Beckett.
He stood at the edge of the retail chaos, hands shoved into his pockets, legs crossed at the ankles. Looking like a freaking GQ model in suit pants instead of his usual jeans. A white shirt was tucked in and open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a heavy silver watch. A neat tan belt accentuated his trim waist.
Their moment in the elevator was still fresh in her mind. The way he spoke to her in the pitch-black, his tone soothing and warm. The easy way he’d taken control of the situation—of making her relax—was enough to get her knees wobbling. The air had been filled with that snap, crackle, and pop of tension she knew to be rare. She’d used up every last drop of willpower not to reach for him in the anonymity of the dark.
Ducking her head, she opened the drawer containing the lipsticks. Rows upon rows of neat black boxes stared back at her, the tiny font of the shade names swimming as her eyes failed to focus. She knew Beckett was coming to meet her after work so they could discuss the particulars of their deal. So why was she shocked?
What if it wasn’t shock? That pulse-racing, dry-mouthed feeling might be a symptom of something else.
You’ve agreed to help him get his ex back. That makes him the very definition of the wrong guy to lust over.
If only her lady bits would listen to her brain. The brain was smart, the lady bits…well, not so much. And for some reason they remained disconnected, despite McKenna’s attempts to get them on the same page.
She cashed her customer out, slipping a few samples into her bag with a cheeky wink, knowing the woman would be delighted. Then she stood at the register, waiting for her daily summary report to print out so she could scrawl her tally on the piece of paper in their day folder. Two hundred dollars over her target, with an average Items Per Sale of 1.95. Not bad at all. She bid her team a farewell and grabbed her bag from the lockers out back before making her way through the store, her eyes immediately zeroing in on where Beckett stood.
“Hey.” She held up her hand in greeting.
He nodded. “Hello.”
“No grunting today, very good.” A cheeky grin spread over her lips. “I guess that means you’re getting comfortable with me, huh?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
As usual, she couldn’t tell if he was joking. Perhaps she’d try to work that into their plans—after all, clear communication was good for relationships. At least, that’s what she’d been told by people who managed to not get dumped every few months.
“So I thought we could grab a drink and bite to eat at Ca de Vin.” She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder as they walked through the Wentworth Department store’s front doors and out onto bustling Bourke Street. “It’s just here and I’m starving.”
“I forget to eat when I’m working, too,” he said.
McKenna had to stifle a laugh. Forgetting to eat wasn’t something that happened to her—being on her feet all day at work helped her maintain a healthy appetite. And she had a reputation for snacking. No bag of chips or chocolate bar was ever safe around her.
They headed into Ca de Vin and were seated at a small table against a wall. The restaurant itself was the epitome of Melbourne dining—stuck between two buildings in what used to be an alleyway, some industrious person had slapped a tarp over the top and voila! Instant restaurant. The city was like that—if there was an unused n
ook, someone would find a way to serve food there.
“This looks like we’re on a date,” Beckett said, his brows creased.
He had a point. The table was intimate, meaning they were seated close to one another. And a single tea light candle flickered inside a glass, giving off a warm orange glow.
“So what?”
“It isn’t a date,” he said.
McKenna rolled her eyes. “I am aware of that. Especially given we’re here to discuss how to get your girl back. Now I’m going to stop you before you accidentally insult me by assuming I want you, because I don’t.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
His blue eyes raked over her in a way that made it difficult for her to swallow. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Good. And I doubt anyone will assume we’re together because it’s not like there’s any chemistry.” Her traitorous mind flashed back to that moment in front of her door, where she’d been at risk of bursting into flames from his stare alone. “You’re not my type.”
Operation Self-Love step one: set boundaries to avoid self-sabotage.
“What’s your type?” His head tilted slightly.
McKenna picked up a menu and pretended to inspect the drink options while she grappled for a response. What was her type? “Men who are wrong for me.”
Dammit. This wasn’t the time to be telling the truth.
Beckett ran a hand along his jaw as though giving her statement serious thought. “So you have bad taste in men?”
“No need to kick a girl while she’s down, buddy.” McKenna pursed her lips. “But yes, I may have some trouble picking men who have long-term staying power. Not exactly my fault, most men aren’t looking to stick around and the older they get, the better they are at hiding those intentions.”
Her track record showed a sad inability to learn from her mistakes. She seemed to aim too high or too low, picking men who either missed the mark on her relationship dreams or the ones who labeled her a good-time girl. Where was her Goldilocks of men? Was it so damn impossible to find a guy who had a decent job, wanted to be in a committed relationship, and gave her the jittery feeling that only came with good chemistry? Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.
Trouble Next Door Page 5