So Much Trouble: Bad Boy Forbidden Love Romance Collection (So Wrong It's Right Book 4)

by Jamie Knight

  “Okay.”

  I don’t know why I agree. I want to tell myself that I am trying to make my friend/manager happy, but deep down, it’s probably because I want to be down in the basement again with her brother. Her older brother. Her very hot older brother.

  Even though I know this is a really bad idea.

  Sloan nods, a slight smile on her lips. “Thanks. I’m not sure when he will want to get started. So, dress the same tomorrow and bring a change of clothes. Okay?”

  I nod, get up, and turn to leave her office. On the trip back to my desk, I stare at Eileen’s empty cubical. She and Ray are on vacation, going to some sort of conference in Orlando. Her presence is greatly missed. I need to talk to someone right now. My head is spinning. I know I shouldn’t, but I head up to the executive floor. Maybe Reese, my other best friend, and the CEO’s wife is here. She visits often.

  The elevator doors open on the top floor before I can figure out what I am going to say, but luckily, I see Reese walking towards me. She smiles, waves, and brushes her long honey-blonde hair over her shoulder. For just having had a baby, she looks great. How she got her figure back so quickly, I will never know. I’m pretty sure Reese doesn’t bother with working out.

  “Hey!” She stops right beside me. “I was just about to come down to see you. Want to go grab a bite for a late lunch? We could grab Sloane on the way down.”

  “No!” I squeak, grabbing my friend’s shoulder. “No Sloane.” Reese looks at me with her blue eyes wide. I step back a bit and try to act like I wasn’t just panicking. “It’s just that…I need to talk to you alone.”

  Reese nods and smiles at me. She slips her arm over my shoulder and turns me back toward the elevator, which is still open waiting on us. “Very well, then. Let’s get our favorite booth at that place down the block. I need something greasy.”

  I don’t feel like opening up yet on the walk over to Sadie’s, our usual restaurant, so I ask Reese about the baby, Kaylyn. “Where is the little bundle of joy?”

  Reese smiles and puts her head back, staring absentmindedly at the clouds. Stretching her arms up over her head, she stands up a little taller. “Kane has her. He doesn’t have any meetings this afternoon, so she is in the crib in his office.” My friend turns to me with a blissful smile on her face. “I didn’t know that he was going to be such an involved father. Most business guys just disappear into work, leave you all alone.”

  An unwanted set of brown eyes comes to my mind. In my imagination, I can see my ex-boyfriend Jered smiling at me. One side of his lips was always slightly higher than the other. It made him look like he was constantly smirking. At the time I found it sexy. Now the thought turns my stomach.

  I shake my head a little, trying to clear it of his unwanted presence, and realize that Reese is staring at me. She raises one perfect eyebrow. “Where’d you go just then? You got real pale.”

  The grin I give her is fake. I’m sure she knows that, but I keep the act up as much as I can. “I’m fine. I just have something weird going on at work.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you know that Sloane’s big brother is working for the company now?” It’s a stupid question. Reese knows everything that Kane does. But I can’t think of another way to broach the subject.

  “Christian? Yeah. He is a bit of an odd duck, but I don’t think you should be worried about him.”

  I want to tell her what happened. I want to tell her how crazy it was and that I am dying for it to happen again. But I also don’t want it to happen again because men are cruel and Christian is Sloane’s brother, and foremost, I don’t date! My head is spinning.

  Reese folds her arms, raising one hand up to her chin and holding it. She stops on the sidewalk. “Wait! You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Her lips pull up into the biggest smile. Reese wants all her friends in relationships and as happy as she is. What she doesn’t realize is that she and Eileen got the only good guys.

  “No! I don’t like him,” I protest too loudly. “I don’t like him at all.” I sound like a third-grader. I stop myself from shrieking, take a deep breath, and relax my shoulders. “Mr. Keeley asked that I help him run cables in the basement.”

  Reese looks at me, obviously puzzled. “Are you offended by that?” she asks.

  “No.” I shrug. “But it feels like an odd request.”

  Reese slides her arm over my shoulder again, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “I get that. But don’t worry. Christian may be a little cold, but I don’t think he is a bad guy. And if you help him out, you will make him feel more welcome at McKenzie Tech. Cool?”

  I nod. I want to tell my best friend so much, but I can’t. It’s too crazy. The truth gets caught in my throat. I can’t think of anything else to say on the way to the restaurant, so Reese starts talking about her little girl again. Such talk should distract me, but all I can think about is going to the basement the next day.

  Chapter Five - Mandy

  I barely realize where I am going on the walk home. My feet just move automatically on the sidewalk. All I can think about is the fact that Mr. Keeley is Sloane’s brother. They look nothing alike. It’s crazy. How can they possibly be related? Plus, that makes what happened between him and me today so much worse. If he tells Sloane my secret, I’m totally screwed — out of a friend and a job. Sloane would never approve of sex in the office. She is kind of a prissy.

  Taking the stairs fast up to the third floor, I rummage through my purse for my keys. A few feet away from my door, I hear Pumpkin calling. Her hearing is better than mine, and somehow, she has figured out how my steps sound. Either that or she cries when anyone reaches my hallway, but the neighbors haven’t complained, so that is good. As I unlock my door, her yowls get louder and more insistent. According to her, it’s time for dinner.

  “Hold on. Hold on,” I mutter, fighting with the lock a little. These old buildings tend to have charm — which means they have things wrong with them. For example, I have to saw my key in and out of the lock to get it to turn. It’s a total pain in the ass, but my landlord refuses to do anything about it.

  Finally, the lock twists and the handle turns. I step into my brightly sunlit kitchen and keep Pumpkin from running through the open door. I don’t know why she tries. The one time she did get out into the hallway, she freaked out so much that she just found a corner and crouched in it.

  My orange furball twirls around my feet, crying and meowing at the same time. She is happy to see me and probably even happier at the prospect of getting fed. I dump my purse on the counter in a rush and hurry over to pull out a bowl. Pumpkin tries to trip me at every step, but I manage to avoid her and get her dinner plopped down into the right spot. Only at that point do I take a deep breath and let my thoughts return to my obsession: Christian Keeley.

  That boy could use his tongue. Just thinking about what he did to me in that cluttered little piece of the basement gets me hot. Hot enough to forget my own dinner. Intent on another orgasm, I pull my new vibrator out of my purse and head towards my bedroom and the comfort of my bed.

  Halfway through the living room, my toes get wet.

  “What the fuck?!”

  There is a large pool of water coving one of my Asian rugs. A rug that I got in Morocco when I was sightseeing in Marrakesh during my junior year in college. A very expensive rug. It squishes grossly under my feet, and my eyes follow the line of water that is somehow coming from my coat closet.

  “What the fuck?!” I repeat, reaching for my phone to dial the super. He picks up as soon as I open my coat closet and see that my winter coats are being treated to an unwanted shower.

  “Yes, Miss Burmmell?” He immediately sounds annoyed. We have discussed before that I call too often.

  “Mr. Girdner, there is a leak coming through my coat closet from the apartment upstairs,” I hiss. “There is almost two inches of standing water in my living room. It’s ruining my rugs I might add.”

  He tuts, like my concerns are childish. Honestly,
a lot of people treat me like I am a child. Shortness should not equal immaturity.

  “Mrs. Shuffield probably left her bath running. I’ll go talk to her.” I can practically see him roll his eyes as we talk. I’m probably ruining his dinner plans. “Go stay with your grandmother for a few days, and I will have your floors cleaned.”

  “And the rugs,” I add.

  He sighs. “And the rugs.”

  I thank him, hang up and immediately text my grandmother, Bubby. Well, I call her Bubby. Her real name is Elizabeth. Bubby texts back that I can come to stay with her a few days, but she warns that I need to bring a pair of earplugs; she is hosting a séance at eight.

  She’s a bit of an odd bird, always onto some new thing every week. She tells me that she likes to take trips down rabbit holes of adventure. This means that she will find one new thing, get obsessed, read everything she can about it, and then move onto something else in the blink of an eye. Apparently, it keeps her young, at least at heart. She’s ninety-two, and last week she tried horse racing — won a blue ribbon in an amateur league. I’m still not sure where she got the horse.

  I have the cat carrier in hand by the time Pumpkin is done with her food. She looks up at me with haughty golden eyes, looking like she would raise her eyebrows in annoyance — if she had eyebrows.

  “Come on, Punk,” I croon. “We are going to Bubby’s for a few days. Just chill, and I’m sure she will share anchovies with you when we get there.”

  Despite my attempts to tempt her, I end up chasing my cat around the apartment for the next fifteen minutes ruining my dress shoes and getting muddy cat prints all over my ivory duvet. It is going to have to be dry cleaned, and that does not make me happy. This day just keeps getting more stressful.

  Cat finally contained, I pack a quick bag and head off to the subway. Bubby lives in the Bronx. It’s not as convenient for work but no sense in getting upset about the situation. Personally, I try to roll with the punches — no matter how odd they are.

  ****

  Bubby is wearing a pink turban when she opens the door of her apartment. With one skeletal hand, she reaches for Pumpkin’s carrier and pulls me inside with the other. “Get settled, doll,” she hums. “I just put the kettle on for tea. Did you eat?”

  I shake my head and look around her cluttered apartment. “No, Bubby. I just saw the damage, packed up and headed over.”

  Bubby’s living room has been redecorated since the last time I was here — which was only this past Sunday. I’m not too surprised. Change and my grandmother are fast friends. I set my purse and bag down on the new, large, round wooden table and glance at the mismatched chairs that surround it. There are six. Bubby is expecting a lot of company.

  Heading to the kitchen, she drops the cat carrier to the floor, causing Pumpkin to let out a mournful meow. “I don’t have time to fix much,” she tells me. “Just a sandwich or two.”

  I drop my bag onto the couch that is overly crowded with throw pillows of all colors. Leaning against the narrow kitchen doorway, I watch my grandmother work, observing the flamboyant robe she is wearing. It is covered in orange and yellow butterflies. Most of them clash with the rest of her purple pantsuit and pink turban. Thankfully, I do not get my fashion sense from my grandmother.

  While slapping a few thin slices of turkey lunchmeat onto a few pieces of dry bread, Bubby looks over at me. “What’s going on with you?” She raises a wispy, bleached-blonde eyebrow. She thinks bleaching her hair makes her look younger. It doesn’t. “Usually you are talking my ear off about work or your friends.”

  I blink at her, realizing that my mind has drifted back to the broad shoulders of Christian Keeley and the way his tight black t-shirt showed the vee of his torso. His jeans, also black, had ridden low on his hips dangerously close to another part of his anatomy that I am dying to see. A sigh escapes my lips.

  “Ahh,” grandmother hums. She turns back to the counter, shuffling the sandwiches over to a pale pink plate. After handing me the plate, she points at the table in the living room. “I hear the sound of boy trouble. Better sit down and tell me all about it.”

  Staring at the plate in my hand, my throat closes up. It’s not just the sad sandwiches. It’s the idea of telling Bubby exactly what my boy trouble entails. Could you imagine? Bubby, I let a strange man eat me out and then found out that he is my new boss. I can feel the color draining out of my cheeks.

  Bubby pushes me with her hip so that I walk over to the table. Picking a chair with an extra-tall back — the thing looks like something out of a gothic cathedral — I slump down and set my plate before me. Taking a chair across from me, my grandmother looks at me expectantly; her eyebrows pushing up against the pink turban that is hiding her hair.

  “You know I don’t date, Bubby.” I fake a laugh, but Bubby’s eyebrows only climb higher.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bubby! Language.”

  She snorts, then casually regards the chipping nail polish on her fingernails. “Please. Don’t sass me, child. You swear like a sailor.” This is true. “And I know you are over the moon about some lad. I remember that look from when you were with that last boy…Jered.”

  I flinch at the sound of my ex’s name. There are some things my grandmother doesn’t know, and I plan on keeping it that way. Old people can still buy guns.

  “No, seriously,” I argue. “Nothing is going on with a boy and me. I’m just distant because I have a new job at work, and I don’t really like it.” I casually try to bite into one of the sandwiches she made me. There is no lettuce or mayo, so it really is hard to swallow.

  “You’re out of accounting?”

  Before I can answer, a whine brings my eyes over to the discarded cat carrier. Pumpkin is still trapped and not happy about it at all. I move to get up, but Bubby points back at my chair, insisting that I stay seated. She pulls herself up onto her narrow feet and pads over to let out my cat. I turn in my seat, watching her and eating another bite of my sandwich. I have to finish these things. If I didn’t it would be rude.

  “No, I’m still in accounting,” I explain. “Just for the next week, I have to help the new partner set up his…area.”

  Bubby heads into the kitchen with Pumpkin rubbing at her ankles and trying to trip the ancient woman. “His what?” she calls. I hear her opening the cabinets and banging them closed. Pumpkin is chatting up a storm. “I know I have tuna in here somewhere,” my grandmother mumbles. “Just a second, you good kitty kitty.”

  “This new partner, he is setting up in the basement,” I explain. “He wants me to help him run computer cables…because I am small.” I mumble this last part.

  “Damn, no tuna. Sorry, Punk.” Bubby shuffles back through the kitchen door. “I’ll get anchovies tomorrow at the dollar store.” Sitting back down, she looks at me. “So, what is the problem with that? Running cables might be fun. You could end up changing your whole job and finding new meaning in your life.”

  I snort around my next bite of sandwich. “I don’t think running cables is lucrative.” My phone pings from inside my jacket pocket. I slide it out and look at the text message. “It’s Eileen. She and Ray are back from vacation early, but she is still taking tomorrow off.”

  Bubby nods. She knows everything about my closest friends. Putting her hands under her chin and striking a pose, she tells me, “Tell Le Le to tell that hot husband of hers that I am ready to be one of his cam girls.” She flutters her mascara clumped eyelashes.

  Ray, Eileen’s husband, owns and runs quite a few sex-related websites. Including a few that host cam girls. It’s not something I ever thought I would be associated with, but given my desire to try out every vibrator on the market, I certainly could be helpful to Ray in other ways.

  I roll my eyes at my grandmother. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. And please never talk that way to me ever again.”

  “Prude.”

  While sticking my tongue out at my grandmother, I text Eileen back and tell her
that I can’t wait to see her at work later in the week. Finally, someone who will understand how not cool it is for me to be working down in the basement with the new hot boss.

  Bubby slaps her hands on the table. The movement and sound get my attention. “Finish those sandwiches up. My group will be here any minute. Did you bring the earplugs like I requested?”

  I have to stare at her a moment, figuring out what she is talking about. “Oh right, you are having a séance at eight. I suppose that is what all this is about?” I gesture to the new chairs and the table.

  Bubby nods. “Keep Pumpkin in the guest room with you.” She leans down as far as she can to grab the cat, but Punk just slips out of her bony fingers and dashes into the kitchen like orange lightening.

  I watch her go. “I will try, but she will likely yowl. Won’t that scare your new ghost away?”

  “New ghost?” She turns and blinks at me.

  “Yeah.” I shrug and swallow the last dry bite of my second sandwich. “I thought séances were your new obsession. And why eight? Shouldn’t they be held after dark or at midnight?”

  My grandmother shakes her head. A tiny wisp of bleached-blonde hair escapes her turban. She eyes it then tucks it back in. “Nonsense. Your grandfather likes to go to bed early.”

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up and look at her wide-eyed. “Bubby, Grandpa has been dead for over forty years. I never even met the man.”

  She shrugs just as there is a knock at the door. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to know what is happening with your life. Kin is kin. I’ve been giving him updates every Tuesday since the day you were born.” She points to the kitchen as a second knock hits the door. “My séance group is here. Get that cat and go to the guest room. Grandfather and I have a lot to discuss.”

  Getting up, I head to the kitchen to put my plate into the sink and grab the cat. As I do, I hear the sounds of Bubby’s friends coming in and taking seats. Some of the voices are familiar and as much as I enjoy seeing my grandmother’s friends — I don’t — I take that as my cue to hurry to the back bedroom and hide.