Trouble Next Door

by Stefanie London

  “Did you just…?” Beckett leaned forward, his eyes widening. “Shit.”

  He grabbed the linen napkin from his lap and wadded it up, coming around the side of the table to press it against her hand to stem the bleeding. How in the hell did she manage to make herself look like such an idiot? She told the guy to take her on a date, and what did she do? She bloody stabbed herself.

  Like a moron.

  “Are you okay?” Beckett was suddenly close—too close—his aftershave and the wine on his lips invading her nostrils. The warm touch of his hand holding the napkin over her sending heat flaring through her body.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  People were starting to look at them. A waiter was making his way over, brows creased, as more people turned to look. It was just like that time she knocked over the Baccarat vase at a charity event. She could practically feel the scorn clawing at her skin.

  Who the hell buys a five-thousand-dollar vase anyway?

  “McKenna?” Beckett frowned. “You’re breathing really funny. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The words barely came out.

  “Miss?” The waiter was suddenly at their table. “Is everything okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she repeated.

  “We had an incident with the oyster fork,” Beckett said.

  We. Like they were in it together. God, she could only imagine what Gage would have done. If he hadn’t laughed at her, he probably would have left her to deal with it on her own. But Beckett was here, still touching her. Still comforting her with his free hand resting at her back.

  “Here, let’s have a look,” Beckett said.

  “Wait—” she protested, but he was already pulling the napkin back and blood rushed from the small wound.

  It was so red. So very red.

  “Oh no.” Her vision swam.

  Then it went dark.

  McKenna blinked, golden dots flashing in her vision. No, they weren’t dots. They were light-fittings. Groaning, she pushed up into a sitting position.

  “Careful.” Beckett stern tone made her wince, but he eased her up.

  “What happened?” Her voice was groggy. Her brain scrambled to try and put the pieces together.

  “You were out for a second.” His blue eyes searched her face, brows knitted above his perfect nose. “Just long enough for me to carry you out here.”

  “Where are we?” It looked similar to the restaurant but they were in a small room with an empty table. She appeared to be lying on a couch.

  “We’re still at Tide Pool. Thankfully their private dining suite wasn’t booked tonight.” He sat stiffly beside her, looking as though he wanted to say more—or do more—but wasn’t sure how to proceed. “They’re calling an ambulance.”

  “What? No!” She shook her head. “Oh God, this is so embarrassing. I don’t need an ambulance.”

  The pulsing started up in her hand again. The linen napkin was now mottled with red and pink, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. She swayed a little and wrenched her eyes away.

  “I just…get woozy at the sight of blood.” She cringed. “Funny how I could make the grossest flesh-eating monster in my SFX class at makeup school and be totally fine, but at the tiniest drop of real blood…boom. Out like a light.”

  His lip twitched, and she couldn’t tell if it was a smile or something else. “I’m glad I was standing next to you. You went down fast.”

  Ordinarily that would have been a perfect “that’s what she said” opportunity, but McKenna was too mortified to make jokes. “Can you please tell them not to call the ambulance? I’m fine, honestly.”

  “You sure?” He checked her face, though she wasn’t sure what he was looking for since he wasn’t a doctor.

  “I am. I’ll even go to see my mother tomorrow so she can check out my hand, okay? I have her on speed dial if anything happens.”

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly, as he pushed up from the chair. “Do you want to go back in and finish our dinner?”

  And walk past all those people who probably thought she was a freak who didn’t even know how to use her silverware? No, thank you. She shook her head.

  “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  …

  Beckett thanked the Tide Pool manager with a brusque shake of the hand as he settled the bill. Or rather, as he tried to settle the bill. The manager insisted that what little food they’d eaten be comped, so that Beckett and McKenna would return for another romantic dinner in the future. Beckett didn’t bother to correct the man that there wasn’t supposed to be anything romantic about his date with McKenna. In theory, anyway.

  She’d seemed more embarrassed than hurt, which was fine by him. Better that her ego be a little bruised than anything be wrong with her physically. The second she’d slumped against him, his heart had leaped into his mouth and he’d rushed to hide her away from those gawking eyes. People were animals when it came to that stuff—couldn’t they mind their own business instead of ogling some poor woman who’d fainted?

  That moment on the couch—when her eyes had still been closed and her lips parted—something had struck him in the chest. He cared about her, in some way. He was worried for this quirky, sparkly, funny woman who was basically a stranger. Well, maybe not a stranger…but he didn’t really know her.

  Shaking off the weird thoughts, Beckett pushed open the door to the private dining area. McKenna was sitting up, her blue eyes looking more alert than a few moments ago. She also appeared to have cleaned up her hand in the private bathroom there. The napkin was gone, and so was the blood.

  “Do we have to amputate?” he asked with a mock serious tone.

  She rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled at her lips. “It’s touch and go. I’ll have to keep an eye on it.”

  He held out her coat, which he’d collected from the manager. “How about we get some fresh air?”

  She nodded. “Good idea.”

  She let him help her into the coat, slipping one arm into each sleeve. Against his better judgment, he swept her hair out from the collar. It was silky and thick, the purple ends glistening like magic under the intimate lighting. That was McKenna in a nutshell: magic. Otherworldly.

  Like she’d been born in another realm and had been dropped off on Earth by mistake.

  He smoothed his hands over her shoulders and she turned, blinking up at him with those big blue eyes, those fringy mink lash things making her look like a doll. A perfect porcelain doll. Something glittered on her eyelids. Black and sparkly like the sky at night. Smudgy. And, God, sexy as anything.

  McKenna’s breath hitched. “Gee, it’s, uh, warm in here.”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t seem to say anything else.

  “We should go outside now.”

  He didn’t want to. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to hers. To see if she tasted like sprinkles and cupcake icing. To see if it would be as all-consuming as he suspected.

  “After you,” he said stiffly, pulling himself away and shrugging into his own coat.

  Her heels clicked quick and sharp across the floorboards as she all but ran from the room. Christ. What was he doing acting like he wanted something with her? They were here so he could get his ex back. The woman he wanted to marry.

  He followed her outside and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was a typical Melbourne winter night—a damp chill on the air, drizzling rain that would relentlessly soak through your coat without you noticing it. The Southbank boulevard gleamed with moisture and a dark river reflected the glittering city lights.

  Beckett popped his umbrella. It was one of those small travel-sized ones that folded up small enough to fit into the deep pockets at his hip.

  “You really do think of everything, don’t you?” McKenna immediately stepped closer to him, sheltering herself. “I bet you were a boy scout.”

  “Briefly,” he replied.

  They stood aimlessly at the edge of
the river, watching one of the night cruise boats floating along. Most of the guests were inside, save for a brave soul who stood with an umbrella in one hand and a drink in the other.

  “Sounds like there’s a story there,” she said.

  “Not really.” He smiled at a memory. “I just preferred LAN parties over camping.”

  “LAN parties. Like those geek meet-ups where you all hooked your computers up and played games overnight.” She looked up at him. “Or what was it called when you would take the contents of someone’s computer? Leeching?”

  Beckett raised a brow. Now that was not something he expected her to know. “Are you a secret nerd, McKenna?”

  “Uh, no. But my brother Jason used to go to them all the time. I think that’s how he used to get his porn.” She wrinkled her nose. “He hosted a small one years back while my parents were at some gala dinner. I snuck down to see what they were doing…”

  “And?”

  “I saw a lot of boobs and things getting blown up. Can’t say I was too keen to ever get involved after that.”

  Beckett nodded. “Ours were mostly friends playing multiplayer first-person shooters like Counter-Strike. Highly nerdy and unattractive, I can assure you.”

  She grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Hand-eye coordination is a valuable skill to have.”

  Something about the way she said it made him think she wasn’t referring to video games. McKenna’s cheeks were flushed pink and she gave a little shiver next to him.

  “You’re cold,” he said, frowning.

  She raised a brow. “You asking or telling?”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “Ah, telling. Got it.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “This is going to sound terrible since I just abandoned our dinner but…”

  “You’re hungry.”

  “Getting real good at anticipating my feelings, aren’t you?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I’m sorry I ruined the fancy dinner.”

  “It’s okay. It was only a fake date, anyway.” He bumped her with his elbow. “Come on. This way.”

  Chapter Eight

  Fifteen minutes later, Beckett and McKenna were seated on a hard-plastic Crayola yellow bench. They were separated from the deteriorating weather by a plastic tarp, which covered the “outdoor” dining area. Rain pelted steadily against the plastic. It could have been a dreary turn of events, if it wasn’t for the glorious twinkle in McKenna’s eye as she held a McChicken burger so reverently that it may as well have been a Michelin-starred masterpiece.

  “McChickens are vastly superior to Big Macs,” she said, gesturing with a fry. “What the hell is secret sauce, anyway? I don’t want secrets in my food.”

  “One, it’s ‘special’ sauce. Not secret sauce. And two, you’re eating highly processed chicken from a fast food restaurant.” Beckett took a bite out of his Big Mac. “There’s a whole lot of secrecy going on there.”

  “Nuh-uh.” She flipped the lid on her burger and stuffed a few fries in, trapping them between the bun and the chicken. “God, I’m so hungry I could eat three of these.”

  She chewed happily, a dot of sauce on her cheek that made Beckett want to grin from ear to ear for some stupid reason. “Trust me. I ate a lot of burgers in my formative years in university.”

  “Your formative years?” She rolled her eyes.

  “McDonalds is standard coding food,” he said. “Fact.”

  “So you subsisted on a steady diet of Big Macs, cheap beer, and Twisties?”

  “Cheezels,” he corrected. “But yeah, essentially.”

  Her eyes raked over him, a skeptical quirk on her lips. “I somehow doubt you ended up with that body by eating junk.” A second later, her brain seemed to have caught up with her mouth and she grimaced. “What I mean is that you look too fit…uh, muscular.” She swore under her breath. “Well, I have seen you topless so I know you’re not skinny fat.”

  He tried to stifle his smile. “Dig up.”

  “Oh, be quiet,” she grumbled and took another bite of her burger. “You’ve got a great body. It’s a fact. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  Beckett wasn’t a gym junkie by any means, but he always seemed to have energy to burn. Going for a run was the best way to clear his head when the code wouldn’t cooperate—so he was fit. Muscular. That was a fact. But hearing her say it stoked some primal, egotistical part of him.

  A part that usually only flared around work-related things.

  “Okay, change of topic,” she announced. “Tell me about your sister. What do I need to know to make sure I nail my meeting with her?”

  “You’re the makeup artist.” He shrugged. “How do I tell you about that?”

  “Tell me about her. What’s she like? How does she dress?” She brought her drink up to her lips and sucked, leaving a perfect pink line on the straw. “That kind of stuff.”

  “Kayla is very…” He thought for a moment. “She likes fashion. She’s outgoing.”

  “Okay.” McKenna rolled her hand around. “Keep going.”

  What else was he supposed to say about his little sister? He knew all the things that wouldn’t matter to a makeup artist—like that she was still terrified her husband-to-be would leave her just like her father did. That she was whip-smart, witty. Emotionally intelligent. Great with people. Basically, his opposite.

  “She’s classic,” he said after a pause. “She likes Audrey Hepburn movies.”

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He could see McKenna’s mind drifting. “I’m thinking winged liner, nothing too dramatic but a nice little flick. Some feathered false lashes, maybe. Or individual clusters. Fresh skin.”

  Wasn’t all skin fresh? And what the hell were individual clusters?

  “Why did you decide to become a makeup artist?” he asked.

  “I’ve always liked makeup,” she replied. “I used to sit and watch my mum get ready for all these big events when I was little. I love the transformation. Makeup can turn you into anyone.”

  Her eyes were alight with passion; it radiated from her like a wave of energy. It was exactly how he felt when he was talking about his business.

  “I used to experiment a lot when I was younger, and all my friends would get me to do their makeup. It makes me feel like a fairy godmother.” She popped a fry into her mouth. “That moment when you hold a mirror up to the client’s face and see their confidence blossom is truly a wonderful thing.”

  “And they always like the makeup?”

  “Yeah, mostly. But I’ve had a few disasters in my career, too. They happen.” She chuckled. “One time, this woman brought her daughter to the counter for a special event. The mother stood over me the whole time, telling me that this bit wasn’t even and that bit wasn’t blended properly.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I handed her my makeup brush and told her that if she thought she could do a better job then she was welcome to finish it.” She nodded, pride etched into her features. “I thought the floor manager was going to kill me, but it worked. The daughter ended up loving the makeup and the mother didn’t make a complaint. I’m sure you have to deal with difficult people in your line of work, right?”

  “It’s a different dynamic.”

  “Because you work for yourself?”

  He nodded. “And because it can take a while to create the product.”

  “Does it feel like you’re in that grind for months and months? Must be, since you work such long hours.” She studied him. “How do you think you’re going to fix things with Sherri if your work isn’t going to change?”

  Her question struck him in the chest. Of course his work wasn’t going to change, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t smooth things over with Sherri. She needed to see that he still loved her, that was all.

  So why did he suddenly feel like a weight had settled on his chest? That caged feeling was back—the one that made his heart and lungs want to cave under the pressu
re of walls closing in.

  “I have to fix it,” he said. “That’s why I need you.”

  “You mean, need my help,” she corrected him.

  He swallowed. “Right. Exactly.”

  …

  By the time Monday rolled around, McKenna was a bundle of nerves. Beckett’s sister, Kayla, had called over the weekend to set a time for their catch up. Instead of having a meeting, Kayla wanted to jump right into doing a trial. Turns out she hadn’t found a makeup artist she liked after four trials. Four.

  What makes you think you’re going to be any better than any of these other artists? They probably have more experience than you, and a better portfolio. And I bet their families support them, too.

  God, her inner voice was such a bitch sometimes.

  McKenna sucked in a breath and jabbed at the doorbell to the stunning white townhouse. A tune played inside, something that caused a memory to spark. It was a classical piece. A failed ballet exam.

  “Don’t panic,” she told herself. “Be cool, calm, and collected. You’re a cucumber. A talented, professional cucumber.”

  A second later the door swung open and a gorgeous pixie of a woman stood in front of her. “You must be McKenna. Come in.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” McKenna replied as she stepped into the house, rolling her kit in behind her. She’d fashioned a carry-on suitcase into her perfect travel kit, which made it a hell of a lot easier than lugging a case around. “You have a beautiful home.”

  Kayla beamed. She had Beckett’s blue eyes but her hair was darker—more chestnut brown than his sandy dark blond. She also smiled more readily than he did—but the smile was similar. Slightly crooked. Charmingly off-center.

  “Thank you.” She motioned for McKenna to follow her into the main area of the house. “Will we be okay to do the trial in here? I figured you’d need natural light and this room has the most at this time of day.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “So, my brother was a little quiet on how you two know each other,” Kayla said, interest twinkling in her eyes. “Tea?”

  “Yes, please.” McKenna stopped next to the dining table and dropped down to open her kit. “I live a few doors down from him.”