Nightmare Neighbor

CHAPTER 5 - Alek

I shut the door behind me, silencing Madeline's angry voice. Was it a wise thing to do? Nope. But I had enough on my plate without fighting with her, and I didn't trust myself to remain civil if she kept getting on my nerves.

I dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, loosening my tie. How could my day go off the rails so quickly?

Mason texted he was at the front door five minutes later, and I buzzed him in. He wore his usual faded jeans and a plain grey T-shirt, his tattooed arms on full display. Thanks to his tall, muscular frame and short beard, he could easily pass for a gangbanger, even though he was one of the most decent guys I knew. Lately, the lousy impression was multiplied by a freaking beanie he'd chosen as his preferred piece of accessory. It was still too hot to wear a hat other than a baseball cap, but I knew better than to make fun of him. Dental care was expensive.

"Sorry, I got..." He stopped talking once he noticed the shit brown stain on my white shirt. "Did you get into a food fight? Or do I need to teach you how to use utensils properly?"

It took everything I had in me not to slam the door in his face. "I met my new neighbor," I said, letting him into the apartment.

His confusion deepened. "What?"

"We ran into each other in the coffee shop around the corner. Literary."

He pressed his lips together, fighting to keep a neutral expression. It was useless. His shoulders shook with silent laughter. "You must've made quite the impression if she threw a cake at you."

I shot him a warning glare that made him raise his arms in surrender.

"Not in the mood, got it. But before we move on, I have one more question."

Of course, he did. "Go on."

"Is she hot?"

His knowing grin made me roll my eyes. She was nice to look at; no argument there. Her personality sobered me right up, killing off any signs of attraction. "The biggest nutcases always are, aren't they? They have to make up for the craziness somehow."

That asshole laughed. "That should keep things interesting."

"Are you done?"

He used the back of his hand to wipe tears from his eyes. "Yes, please."

"Great. Now shut up, sit down and listen. I have about two hours; I won't waste another minute."

* * *

I could tell the meeting would be a bust the second I laid my eyes on her. First, the small, curvy woman that approached my table was no Sierra Cabot. In her late twenties, she wore a dark pantsuit, her tightly pulled-back blond hair bringing attention to her sharp features. Her face looked like made of ice, and the bright red lipstick gave her pale skin a sickly tint. Second, a poorly hidden disapproval filled her grey eyes to the brim.

She greeted me without a drop of warmth. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kowalski."

I stood up, shaking her hand. I was almost a foot taller; her hand was tiny in my palm. She squeezed it way too tight like she had something to prove.

"My name is Helene Iseman. I'm the HR Director of #loveyourself."

Iseman, huh? Fitting.

I flashed her my best smile. "Nice to meet you."

She dropped my hand like a hot potato, irritation flashing across her face. "Sierra sends her apologies, but she won't be able to attend your meeting."

My heart dropped into my stomach, and the bitter taste of disappointment filled my mouth. I did my best to hide it. "No problem, we can reschedule." Come to think of it; it was for the best. Today sucked. "I'm sure we can agree on a new date..."

"That won't be necessary," she interrupted. "Sierra sent me to hold your interview instead. Should we sit down?"

We took chairs on opposite sides of the table. Helene stayed quiet for a long time, judging me. It was uncomfortable as hell, but I didn't move a muscle. She was trying to throw me off my game, and I'd be damned if I let her win this little staring contest.

The waiter approached our table and saved me. It was supposed to be a lunch meeting; however, Helene ordered nothing but coffee, so I followed her lead. The bad feeling in my gut kept increasing.

Once the waiter left, Helene took out a thin folder from her shiny black handbag. "Let's not waste any time. My next meeting is in fifteen minutes."

I clenched my teeth so hard a few of them might have chipped. Fifteen minutes? It seemed I was fighting a lost battle, but I wouldn't just throw in the towel. "Of course."

She flipped through the folder, looking unimpressed. "Sierra went through your campaign proposal and saw some... potential." The last word got stuck in her throat, almost choking her. "Please, tell me more."

Her face revealed she didn't give a crap about what I had to say, but that didn't stop me. I prepared for this moment. I'd dazzle the shit out of her if it were the last thing I did.

Or so I thought. I was talking for maybe two minutes when Helene closed the folder firmly. "That'll be enough, thank you. It's apparent our visions are vastly different. We're looking for a bit more... feminine touch."

My blood was boiling, but I kept a level voice. "As you can see in my resume, I have plenty of experience with marketing products targeting female audiences."

"Oh, yes, of course, the lingerie." Her lips curled up in a grimace I suspected was supposed to be a smile. "I've seen those adverts. I'm sure objectifying women is a successful marketing strategy; however, it isn't what we want for our brand."

What the hell... How did I objectify anyone? The damn slogan was: You deserve it!

She stood up. "I'm very sorry, but you aren't the right fit."

I forced myself up, fighting the urge to give her a piece of my mind. "I understand. Thank you for your time, Ms. Iseman."

"Please, order anything you want. It's on us."

She shook my hand and walked away, crossing the restaurant to approach a young redhead. Her expression shifted, and her hard look melted, her smile sincere. There wasn't a piece left of that stuck-up woman I'd met. I couldn't tell whether her issue was with me personally or my gender in general, but it was apparent she came here already decided I wasn't the right person for the job. I never stood a chance.

I sat down, dropping my head in defeat. It was over. I bombed.

The waiter took pity on me and returned despite my coffee being intact. "Would you like anything else, sir?"

To hell with it. I worked my ass off, and the Ice Queen brushed me off like dirt from her shoes. I deserved at least a good meal for my troubles. "Whiskey, neat. And a menu, please."