Nightmare Neighbor

CHAPTER 10 - Alek

Meredith Lancaster was a dead woman walking. I didn't give a single fuck that we'd known each other since I was fourteen, and until recently, I'd considered her one of my closest friends. She took my home, my haven, and turned it into a hell on earth. That ginger traitor was going down—slowly and painfully.

"Hello there, stranger," she chimed when she finally picked up her damn phone. I wondered if she could hear the annoying pop music my neighbor blasted for the past hour. The sad part was that it was an improvement. Yesterday, Madeline listened to some sappy song on repeat. I was this close to marching upstairs and chucking her radio out of the window. She was messing with me for sure. No one would listen to the same song for three damn hours without an ulterior motive. "Long time, no call. I was beginning to think you didn't like me anymore."

My sanity was hanging by a tread; I didn't have it in me to put up with her teasing. "Are you fucking with me?"

She didn't skip a beat. "Possibly. Would you care to elaborate on the subject? There're so many things."

"That chick you let move in. Where the hell did you find her? Is this your idea of a joke? Some sick revenge? Are you trying to drive me insane?"

"I'm afraid I still don't follow."

I couldn't tell if she was pulling my leg or not. "Let me spell it out for you, then. She is a nutcase."

"Careful there, Aleksandr," she purred, but her voice carried a slight edge that wasn't there before. "Maddie is a dear friend of mine."

"So am I. Get rid of her."

"No can do. She has nowhere else to go; therefore, I offered a helping hand. You know, as I had to you two years ago."

She was striving to play on my feelings. Nice try. "Very generous of you, but does she have to stay here? I'm sure she would be more comfortable in hell—with the rest of her family."

She paused. "Are we talking about the same Madeline? Because mine is the sweetest girl I know."

I remembered seeing this Madeline for the first time. She seemed pretty sweet, but looks could be deceiving. "Agree to disagree."

"Am I correct to assume you guys didn't hit it off?" She sounded amused.

"That's an understatement of the century. I mean it, Mer. This won't work."

She signed. "What a shame. When are you moving out?"

"Hilarious."

"I assure you I'm dead serious. If you want to keep living in my house, you'll have to get over your issues with Maddie. She isn't going anywhere."

I ground my teeth. "Fine." This place was too convenient to give up over some crazy chick nesting on the first floor. With a bit of luck, I'd barely see her. I'd need to invest in some noise-canceling headphones, though. "But if they drag her dead body out of the bay, I expect you to provide me with an airtight alibi."

"Deal. Is your little tantrum over now? I have better things to do than listen to you whine."

"I hate you."

"Right back at you, cinnamon bun. See you tomorrow."

I tossed the phone on the bed with a groan. I was regretting playing Cupid right about now. Jess was the roommate of my dreams—she had zero interest in the male sex, so our relationship could never get weird because of unrequited feelings, and she grew up with three brothers, meaning she was used to dealing with guys. We lived in perfect harmony for almost two years. After her last ugly breakup, when she staggered around my apartment drunk as a skunk shouting at the top of her lungs that she would join a monastery because girls sucked, I took pity on her and introduced her to the love of her life—her words. A year later, she lived the fairytale, and I had to deal with the nightmare stomping over my head.

Seriously, how could someone her size sound like an angry elephant walking around? Were the soles of her shoes made of lead? Or did she have hooves to match her horns? It wouldn't surprise me.

I shook my head to get rid of the image. Dealing with Madeline was annoying, but at least being mad at her kept me too occupied to do something stupid, like marching to Sierra's office and demanding to see her. Since the blown meeting with Helene Iceman, I'd considered whether to push the matter or give up. I wanted the job, and I sure as hell was qualified enough to nail it, but I'd already called Sierra's office twice to schedule a new appointment. She wasn't in either time, and her receptionist wouldn't put me through to her assistant. Yesterday, I left a message asking her to get in touch, and I didn't dare to call again, concerned I'd look clingy and desperate.

But I wasn't ready to accept defeat yet. If Sierra didn't return my call in the next couple of days, I'd find another way to reach her. Perhaps bump into her somewhere neutral? In today's age of social media, it couldn't be that hard to find out her favorite coffee shop or restaurant. Once I got face to face with her, I was cautiously optimistic I'd get her to listen to my proposal. If she didn't feel I was the right guy for the job, fine. I could live with that. But I wanted my shot first.

I returned to my desk and opened my laptop, barely registering that the loud music had stopped. I had research to do and a job to get.