Chapter Four
Beckett stared at his computer screen, willing inspiration to come. But ever since Lionus’s email, the magic that had flowed from his fingertips a few days ago had dried up. He’d been staring at his laptop for hours and felt like he’d somehow gone backward instead of forward.
A buzzing sound cut into his thoughts and a picture of Kayla’s face flashed on his phone’s screen. It had been distorted with some kind of filter that made her look like a deer. Ridiculous. That was the last time he’d give his passcode to her.
“What have I said about changing the photos on my phone?”
“Well, hello to you, too, Mr. Grumpy-Pants.” Kayla huffed on the other end of the line. “Which one did I use? Puppy face?”
“I think it’s a deer…but you look stoned.”
“Wow. Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
“Sorry, Kay.” He rubbed a hand up and down his face. “It’s been a long week.”
Beckett had made the decision not to tell Kayla about his current dilemma—she had her own things to worry about, like her wedding. And besides, Kayla was still holding out hope that he and Sherri would break up. For good. To say the two women in his life didn’t get along would be an understatement. They both tried to be polite…emphasis on tried. It was all the more reason to keep the breakup a secret—she didn’t need more ammunition should he and Sherri reconcile.
When you and Sherri reconcile.
“Good thing I called, then. I’m worried you’ll forget how to speak if you don’t have some human interaction.” She laughed. “If you feel the urge to start communicating in binary, let me know. Okay?”
“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ll be happy to know I had some human interaction last night.”
“Ordering food from the Thai place doesn’t count. You know that, right?” she teased.
“Actually, I had a chat with the girl who lives down the hall.”
He wasn’t about to mention that the only reason that happened was because she came to him. Irrelevant details…for the most part.
“A cute girl who lives down the hall?”
“She’s an attractive woman,” he said carefully.
Bloody hell. McKenna was an attractive woman in the same way that Elon Musk was a “smart” man. Technically correct, but wildly understated. Beckett wasn’t the kind of guy to go ga-ga over a woman—never had, never would. He was far too logical for that. But still, McKenna’s mere presence caused his brain to disconnect from his body. Every bloody time.
He didn’t like it at all.
“There’s a resounding compliment if I ever heard one,” Kayla said with a snort.
“It is a compliment.” He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say. I’m in a relationship.”
So then why had he been replaying their interactions over and over in his head? Why had he gone to bed thinking about how much he liked the way the stuff on her eyes glittered when she blinked. It made her look…magical.
“You can still notice the opposite sex,” Kayla said.
He shook his head. Time for a change of topic. “How’s Mum?”
Pause. “She’s okay.”
“Gee, don’t go into such a detailed report, I haven’t got all day,” he said drily. The silence on the other end of the line had his intuition prickling. “What’s going on?”
His sister sighed. “There was an incident at the supermarket.”
Shit. His mother had worked as a supermarket cashier his whole life—but back then she also juggled it with a second job stacking shelves at the local Kmart. In the last few years, she’d been able to survive on one job, with help from Beckett. And she’d been at the same supermarket in that time, which was a relief. However, the business had been sold a few months back. His mother hadn’t sounded too keen on her new boss last time he spoke to her.
“What incident?”
“How do I put this?” Kayla clucked her tongue. “She got into an altercation with the new manager over a change in the process for how they count the registers.”
“And?”
“They fired her.”
“What? They fired her for arguing about a process change?” He rubbed at his temple. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, technically they fired her for throwing a stapler.” Kayla paused. “At her boss.”
He groaned. “Why the hell would she do that?”
“You know what she’s like, Becks. I love the woman, but when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something…”
His mother had a sense of righteousness that had caused her to lose jobs with frequency over their childhood. She had an issue with authority—something Beckett understood, since he vastly preferred working for himself over being a corporate drone. The difference was, however, that Beckett had sucked it up for years to support his family. He’d flipped burgers, taken shit from customers, and held his tongue all through high school and university so he could pay for his textbooks and contribute to the bills at home.
The security of his family was more important than his own desires. But his mother just couldn’t keep her mouth shut sometimes. Throwing a stapler? Christ.
“She’s lucky they didn’t press charges,” he said. “What’s she doing now?”
“Cooling off. I told her to get her butt back in there tomorrow and throw herself on her sword.” Kayla snorted. “But we both know what the chances of that happening are.”
“Well, I made sure she has enough in the bank account to cover her rent for the duration of her lease. But she can use that for bills and I’ll top it up once we start seeing some money come in from investors.”
“You enable her, Becks.”
“I take care of her, the way she took care of us for years,” he said sharply.
Sure, his mother wasn’t perfect. But she managed to raise two kids on her own—despite being a widow, then marrying a neglectful son of a bitch who never did anything to help her. All while encouraging her son and daughter to chase the best lives possible.
He and Kayla had received a decent education thanks to her pulling two jobs for decades. He couldn’t say he was close to his mother, because he barely spent time with her growing up—but he knew how much she’d sacrificed to make sure they had clothes on their backs and food on their table. If her workplace temper was the worst thing he had to deal with, then he could manage it.
No way was he going to let her down.
“I could always ask Aaron—”
“No, this is our family. I’ll take care of it.”
He stared at his laptop screen again.
The numbers said Beckett’s project could last six weeks without Lionus’s investment. Four, if he wanted to continue eating and paying his bills. Thank God he’d bought his apartment after he’d sold his last computer system. At the time, his friends had given him hell—after all, weren’t young, successful entrepreneurs supposed to splash their wealth around? Buy a sports car and some designer suits to lure the ladies in, they’d said.
Beckett had scoffed. Not his style. So he’d bought himself a modest one-bedroom apartment in a nice suburb that was close to the city, and paid for it in full. Then he’d researched cars and bought a low-level ex-lease Mercedes. It was enough to make him look successful when attending meetings without completely killing his savings. He’d put enough aside to cover his mother’s rent for the next two years—with the promise that he’d secure her a permanent place once his next project paid dividends—and banked the remainder for a rainy day.
No lavish holidays, no shiny gadgets, and no personal indulgences. It was supposed to have been the perfect plan. Not having a mortgage hanging over his head was certainly helping him now, but the numbers didn’t lie. With his mother losing her job, if he didn’t fix this situation ASAP everything would come to a grinding halt. Beckett knew better than anyone that this kind of setback was enough to kill a startup dead in the water.
“Becks, you don’t have to do everything by yourself,” Kayla said quietly. “You know once I’m married, I’ll pay you back everything I owe you for my degree.”
“That was a gift, Kay. Not a loan.”
The opportunity to help his sister get through university without debt was one he’d wanted to take. Now she had the chance to start her life off with a clean slate. Of course, her future-husband would have helped her pay it off…but he didn’t want Kayla to feel like the money was a reason to stay with someone. He wanted to know that she wasn’t bound out of financial dependence.
Lord knew his mother had experienced that with Kayla’s dad. And look how that fuck-up had turned out.
“Anyway, I said I would handle it.” Beckett didn’t want to get into it with his sister tonight, which inevitably ended up happening whenever they talked about their mother. “But I do have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“I have a friend who’s a makeup artist. I know you’re looking for someone to do your wedding makeup and I thought you might be interested in hiring her.” He felt like he should add something extra, something to qualify McKenna’s skills, but what the hell did he know about makeup? “She’s very…professional.”
Kind of.
“I’m happy to do a trial with her,” Kayla said. “You know I can’t say yes simply because she’s a friend, but I’m certainly happy to meet with her.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“Great. Email me her contact details and I’ll call her.” Kayla paused. “She wouldn’t happen to be the cute woman who lives on your floor, would she?”
“I never said she was cute.”
“Right, no. What did you say? Attractive?” His sister laughed. “That’s about as much of a compliment as you’d ever give anyone, so I guess she must be a stunner.”
Beckett grunted. It was time to get out of this conversation before Kayla could press for any more details. “I have to go. I’ll email you. And leave the mum issue to me, I’ll sort something out.”
He ended the call and sagged back in his office chair. Life would be so much easier if he could just deal with computers.
…
It was only Monday and already Beckett was ready for the week to be over. He’d called JGL Investments to tell them that their offer was bullshit—in not so many words, of course—and that he wasn’t going to hand over complete control. This wasn’t his first time around with startups, so they weren’t going to take him for a ride. Unfortunately, they weren’t willing to negotiate.
So that was that. Another possibility biting the dust.
Some small part of him had hoped that they might see reason, which would take the pressure off with everything else. But no such luck. And, since he couldn’t pay his coders yet, he needed to keep on doing it himself. Which meant it was unlikely he’d be stopping work before midnight again tonight. So he’d gone to get a coffee from the only spot that was still open at nine p.m., in the hopes some caffeine might perk him back up. As yet, no such luck.
At least he wouldn’t need to have the “work/life balance” argument with Sherri today. Small mercies.
Beckett sipped his latte and stared at the flashing number above the elevator doors while he waited. Six…five…four…
“Hi, Beckett,” a feminine voice made him snap his head to the side. McKenna.
She wore black jeans and a bright pink coat. Her long brown and purple hair hung in soft waves, and she smelled like vanilla cupcakes. A pair of impossibly high ankle boots brought her up a few inches closer to him, though he’d still have to bend down to kiss her.
Yeah. Because that’s how you judge someone’s height? Idiot.
Dammit. Why did the elevators take so long in this building? The thought of being inside that tin can masquerading as a form of transport with her made his fingers twitch. Suddenly the issues with JGL were the least of his worries.
She looked at him expectantly. Oh yeah, she’d made that comment about him always grunting whenever she greeted him.
“Hello, McKenna.” He watched the screen count down until it displayed G for ground. A second later, the doors slid open and he motioned for her to go ahead of him.
She’d already tapped the first-floor button by the time he stepped in, and they stood at opposite ends of the elevator carriage like two wary animals trying to preserve their personal space. Her eyes darted over to him, her sooty lashes touching as she blinked.
He got the urge to say something and cut through the tension-filled silence to make her stop looking at him like that. Like she wanted…who the hell knew? What did women want, anyway?
But the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t seem to find the right thing to say.
So, how does the clitoral stimulator work?
I hope you’re enjoying your sex toys.
Perhaps I could have a demonstration?
He almost choked on his own spit. This was exactly why he should have stayed the hell away from her instead of agreeing to her deal. For some reason, she seemed to turn his brain—which he regarded as functioning well above average—into nothing more than a useless mound of pudding.
“So…” She rocked back and forth on her boots, the pencil-thin heels making him struggle to swallow. They were covered in little gold studs that seemed to wink mischievously at him. “Crappy weather, huh?”
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 keeping 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.