Текст книги "Perfection"

Автор книги: R. L. Mathewson

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Perfection: A Neighbor From Hell novel

by

R.L. Mathewson

Copyright 2011 by R.L. Mathewson

Published by R.L. Mathewson at Smashwords

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events described in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Perfection: A Neighbor From Hell novel © R.L. Mathewson 2011. All rights reserved.

http://www.rlmathewson.com

Rerum Publishing House

eBook ISBN– 978-0-9832125-5-3

This book is dedicated to everyone who was willing to take a chance on me, but a special thanks to Rhonda Valverde, who has helped me get my start by taking a chance on an unknown author.

Thank you.

I also have to mention all of my forum friends at www.vampireromancebooks.com who keep me entertained with their antics.

And of course to my children who will always be my inspiration and my little buddies.

I love you, Kayley and Shane....

even if you do frighten me from time to time.

Perfection: A Neighbor From Hell Novel

Chapter 1

"You stupid bitch, you ruined my life!"

"Mrs. Sands, wait!" Zoe cried, holding her hands in front of her face as she desperately tried to back up in her small cubicle only to bang into the cheap off-white colored plastic wall, leaving her with nowhere to go and a seriously pissed off woman holding the extra large iced coffee Zoe bought ten minutes earlier, coming her way. "Please don't-"

Her words were cut off by a stunned gasp as twenty-four freezing ounces of her much needed caffeine fix hit her in the face, neck, and chest, instantly drenching her.

"You'll pay for what you did!" Mrs. Sands screamed, pulling her hand back to slap Zoe. Thankfully someone, probably Mr. Sands, already called security and the two large burly guys that she passed every morning in the downstairs lobby grabbed Mrs. Sands and yanked her back before she could make good on the murderous glare she was sending Zoe's way.

"Bitch!" Mrs. Sands screamed, kicked, and screeched as she was carried off the tenth floor.

With a shaky hand, Zoe reached out and grabbed her wobbly office chair and carefully sat down, making sure to keep most of her weight off the front left side wheel. When the chair didn't collapse and deposit her ass on the floor, again, she counted herself lucky.

"I told you to keep your mouth shut," John, the office asshole, said in a bored tone as he walked past Zoe's cubicle.

Yeah, he really had and she was kicking herself for not listening to him when she had the chance. With a groan she dropped her face into her hands and wondered if anyone would notice if she left work a little early today. Of course they would, she thought miserably. The penny pinching management watched their employees like hawks, never missing a thing and ready to swoop in and attack at the slightest blunder.

She'd lost count of how many times she'd been written up for "excessive office supply waste" for not reusing paper clips, leaving her computer running for two minutes while she used the bathroom, throwing away paper that could be used again no matter what was printed on it, and her absolute favorite, using more than one staple on a packet. If she tried to leave even one minute early they'd know and for the next week they'd double her workload to get back the time they believed she owed them.

After three long years she was too tired to argue or care. At this point she was resigned to come in at eight-thirty on the dot and put in eight and half hours and work through her unpaid lunch break as was required and then go home to the new hell that she was beginning to hate.

Two months ago when her landlord unceremoniously evicted her so that his eighteen year old daughter and her thirty-two year old boyfriend could have her apartment, she'd been desperate to find a decent apartment that she could afford on her meager salary.

When she found a beautiful two level townhouse located in a decent neighborhood for two hundred dollars less than her old apartment she'd been ecstatic and snatched it up quickly, hoping that it was a sign that maybe things were going to start looking up for her. Of course she really should have known better since nothing in life ever seemed to go her way.

The first clue should have been when she found out the other tenant in the two family townhouse was the landlord's nephew. Over the years she'd dealt with that situation enough that she really should have known better. In her experience landlord's relatives were ruder, louder, and had a huge sense of entitlement, making the rest of the tenants' lives a living hell. She learned early on not to complain to the landlord when his or her kid had all night parties, had shouting matches until three in the morning, or when their grandkids detonated water balloons in her mailbox. The result just wasn't worth it.

So when her new neighbor, Trevor Bradford, parked his pickup truck halfway into her parking spot, leaving her with no choice but to park on the street and risk a parking ticket, she shut her mouth and sucked it up, knowing complaining would do little good. Whenever he did something to piss her off like steal her paper, blast his television, or track mud into their small hallway and all over her cute welcome mat with puppies, she bit her lip and kept her mouth shut, reminding herself that even with the jerk next door the townhouse was still the best place she'd ever lived in.

"What are you still doing here?" a harsh voice demanded.

Zoe looked up, half-afraid that she'd find Mrs. Sands standing there ready for round two. Instead she found the woman's husband, Mr. Sands standing in her cubicle opening, glaring at her with open disgust. That was a little unexpected considering she was the one who realized that five million dollars had been embezzled over the past six years and found the proof that linked Mrs. Sands to the theft. Then again she could certainly understand why he was in such a pissy mood since his wife had just screwed him over.

"I asked why you're still here, Miss. O'Shea. Your employment was terminated an hour ago. I expected you to leave immediately," he said coldly.

"W-what?" Zoe asked, jumping to her feet quickly, too quickly. Her chair fell back with a loud groan and two of the wheels popped off and rolled off somewhere beneath her desk. "Why am I fired?"

It didn't make any sense. Most bosses would appreciate finding out that someone had stolen from them, right? She didn't expect them to be happy, but grateful wouldn't exactly hurt, especially right now.

With a drawn out sigh, Mr. Sands gestured for one of the security guards who'd dragged Mrs. Sands away to step forward. Zoe automatically took a nervous step back.

"Please remove her before she destroys any more company property," Mr. Sands ordered, stepping away.

Destroying company property? With a frown she looked down at the chair that had given her nothing but problems over the past three years and by this point consisted mostly of duct tape. Before she could tell him that the chair was given to her already broken the large security guard had her by the arm and her worn black purse in the other hand and was dragging her towards the elevator.

"Hey!" she said, desperately trying to dig her feet into the cheap paper-thin carpet. "Why am I being fired?" she asked, reaching out to grab the wall of one of the cubicles only to have the security guard yank her away. She grabbed another wall. Damn cheap plastic walls, she thought as her hand slipped off the cubicle wall. "I don't understand why you're firing me. I'm not the one that stole!" she cried as she was dragged into the elevator. She reached out and slapped her hands against the edge of the elevator door to stop the doors from closing so she could get her answer.

Mr. Sands shrugged. "Because you should have found it sooner," he said, leaving her absolutely stunned.

Her hands dropped away, allowing the elevator doors to close and her world to crumble.

What the hell was she going to do now?

"I would have kept my mouth shut," the security guard mumbled.

Zoe sighed unhappily. "I really am an idiot."

"Yup."

************

"Please, please, don't be in my spot," Zoe chanted softly as she slowly turned the corner, wishing she knew how to change or at least temporarily fix her windshield wipers as she did her best to squint through the heavy downpour.

A moment later she slowly stopped in front of her house....at least she thought it was her house. With a small groan, she pressed the button to roll down the driver's side window and tried not to cringe when the window emitted its usual grinding noise. Once it was down, Zoe leaned out the window and tried to make out the color of the townhouse, pale blue, not hers, but at least she now knew that she only had two more houses to go.

Just as she was pulling back, a car sped past her, crashing through a large puddle and further soaking Zoe. This day could not get any worse, she thought, wiping mud out of her eyes and jumping when somebody behind her blasted the horn. With a resigned sigh she started driving once again, but apparently not fast enough for the people behind her, who accompanied her twenty yard drive with continuous horn blasting.

After the day she had she wasn't too surprised to find Trevor's pickup truck parked in the middle of their short double wide driveway. With a groan she did her best to park across the street, trying to ignore the cars that sped past her, telling her off, and adding a special blast of the horn just in case she didn't quite get the message the first time.

When she tried to close the window she received another little surprise when the window slid up noiselessly. Well, that's a relief, she thought, grabbing her purse and climbing out of the car. She was really afraid she'd have to pay three hundred dollars to have her windows fixed, again. She closed the door and turned to walk across the street when an odd swooshing sound caught her attention.

Praying that is was just her imagination, Zoe turned around and frowned. Why did her window look weird? She pushed her wet hair out of her face and leaned forward to get a better look. It didn't take long before she realized that her window had come off its tracks.

She wiped her wet hands on her soaked skirt and gripped the edge of the window and tried to pull it up only to have the window slip through her hands and slide further down.

"Oh no you don't," she muttered, dropping her purse and grabbing the window and doing her best to yank it back up. The last thing she needed was for the window to slide down into the door where it would have to stay until she could scrounge up the money to have it fixed. With no job and no prospects that wasn't happening any time soon and since there was a very good chance that she'd be living out of her car soon she wanted to keep it dry and mold free.

It took several minutes, but she managed to pull the window up several inches. One last pull should do it, she decided, gripping the window tightly and pulling as hard as she could. When the window slid up easily she couldn't help but chuckle. Finally things were-

Her hands slipped and before she could grab the window it slid down quickly into the door and if the noise that followed was any indication, cracked. She stared numbly at the empty window for a long moment before she picked up her purse, not at all surprised when the strap broke off, or when the heel on her left shoe snapped off a minute later.

Clutching her ruined purse to her chest, she wobbled towards the front door, only getting stuck in the mud twice and losing one shoe, the right one, before she found herself on the front stoop, searching her purse for her keys. By the time she found them she was shivering violently from the cold and close to crying for the first time in five years.

She opened the door, spotted her now mud caked puppy welcoming mat and let herself into her apartment, praying that her next door neighbor took it easy on her tonight since she really wasn't sure that she could handle much more.

Doing her best not to ruin her landlord's carpeting, she made her way over to the phone, deciding that she needed the ultimate pickup after the day she had. She knew she shouldn't, especially since she would have to live off what little savings she had, but she just couldn't help herself. She called up Black Jack's Pizzeria and ordered the special, a two liter bottle of Coke, a large order of chicken fingers with extra honey mustard sauce, and an extra large, extra thick Chicago style pizza called, The Monster.

For once the customary one hour wait for delivery didn't bother her. She pulled off her mud soaked shoe and stockings and made her way upstairs to her bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes as she headed for the bathroom, praying that her surprisingly quiet neighbor remained that way.

She quickly pulled off her soaked, coffee stained, and mud splattered skirt suit and looked it over. As long as she pretreated it and got it into the wash tonight it should be fine, at least she hoped it would. She didn't exactly have the funds needed to go out and buy a new suit for job interviews. This one, with the aid of many interchangeable blouses, had lasted for three years and she'd been counting on it to last another two.

After a five minute search she found her bottle of generic stain pretreatment behind the box of condoms she bought, what was it now? Three years ago? Or was it five? The realization that she hadn't had sex in over five years was rather depressing, she thought, tossing the condoms back under the bathroom sink so she wouldn't have to look at the depressing reminder that her love life, social life, and professional life just plain sucked.

She liberally sprayed her suit, only wondering if the pretreatment chemical would harm her suit after she sprayed it. Knowing her luck, the chemical would probably chew through the imitation silk shirt and stain the suit jacket with large weird shaped polka dots.

With a resigned sigh, she left the suit on the sink counter and climbed into her bathtub and turned on the shower. For the first time all day she felt herself relax. She stood beneath the hot spray for several minutes just enjoying the hot water before she applied shampoo to her hair.

A loud squeal escaped her as the water pressure suddenly dropped and the water went from comfortably hot to excruciatingly hot in seconds. Startled, she jumped back, slipped, landed on her butt, and cringed as shampoo seeped into her eyes.

"Ow, ow, owie!" she mumbled frantically as her eyes began to burn and her butt throbbed. She wasn't entirely sure which one bothered her more at the moment, but she knew which one she could fix.

Taking a deep breath, she shoved her head under the hot water, silently cursing the low water pressure that was actually pushing more soap into her closed eyes. At least the water began to cool, she thought on a sigh before she squealed again seconds later when the water went ice cold and she was forced to stand up, hoping that would help the still low water pressure rinse her hair out faster.

It didn't.

Gasping, she ran her fingers through her long thick hair and tried to hurry the process. Minutes later she was jumping out of the shower and cursing the bastard next door for not only flushing the toilet, but for taking a shower at the same time as her. The least the jerk could have done when he realized that she was also taking a shower was wait for her to finish.

Still grumbling five minutes later and thankfully dressed in warm clothes, Zoe grabbed her basket of dirty laundry, a roll of quarters and her damn near empty bottle of laundry detergent and headed downstairs. Unfortunately she didn't have a private entrance to the basement so she was forced to balance her basket of laundry while she did her best not to step in one of the dozen or so mud splotches that decorated the hallway floor.

She walked to the door at the end of the small hallway and flicked on the light switch for the stairs all while hoping that the jerk hadn't tracked mud down the stairs, because she really didn't need to fall on her ass again tonight. Zoe sighed in relief when she spotted the clean pine stairs and headed down them to the small laundry room.

It wasn't until she placed her basket on the washing machine that she realized that she'd forgotten her suit. She half-debated leaving it for another day, but she didn't want to take the chance of landing an interview tomorrow and having nothing to wear but jeans.

With a tired sigh, she left her basket and headed upstairs. At least she had Black Jack's pizza to comfort her later, she reminded herself.

Chapter 2

How in the hell had he run out of food? Trevor wondered as he looked in the freezer again, hoping there was something hiding behind the ice cube trays to eat.

There wasn't.

Well, there was a box of baking soda that his Aunt Megan had shoved in there a few months ago when he bought the place, but he wasn't willing to risk having his stomach pumped, again. With a frustrated groan he closed the freezer door and looked out the kitchen window.

He really didn't feel like going out in this shit, but he was starving and he didn't have any choice. Of course he could order food, except for the fact that he was still on the banned list for most of the delivery places.

Bastards.

As tired as he was he knew he had to move his ass if he was going to make it to the grocery store before it closed. He headed upstairs, stripping off his sweat soaked tee shirt, work boots, and jeans as he went, noting that it looked like every piece of clothing he owned was scattered around his apartment.

Time to do the laundry, he mused as he walked into the bathroom. After he relieved himself and flushed the toilet he could have sworn he heard a squeal. Shrugging it off, he turned the shower on and cursed up a storm at the low water pressure. He'd have to fix that, but right now he was just glad that the water was nice and hot, helping to relieve the ache in his sore muscles.

Another loud squeak had his eyebrows arching. It wasn't like his normally quiet tenant to blast the television, but as long it didn't interrupt his sleep he'd let it go. After a quick shower he pulled on a semi clean pair of jeans and grabbed his mesh laundry bag and started collecting clothes off doors, counters, the back of the toilet and headed downstairs.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled when he saw the mud all over his newly tiled hallway floor. Had he done that? His eyes darted to the ugly ass welcome mat his tenant had placed near the front door and felt his lips pull up into a shit eating grin. A few more weeks and he'd have the damn thing completely covered.

He made his way towards the basement door, wondering why the hell she'd bought the damn thing. The inbred looking dogs with buggy eyes gave him the fucking creeps. A few weeks ago he threw the damn thing in the trash and replaced it with a Yankees floor mat only to have his aunt toss his floor mat away and return that hideous fucking thing. It didn't matter that he owned the house. His aunt thought the mat was "cute" and it was staying or she would never cook for him again.

He was really starting to get sick of women trying to control him through food. Not that he was going to bitch and risk losing out on his aunt's chicken pot pie, he wasn't a fucking moron after all, but it would be nice if women would stop using his weakness against him. The Bradford appetite was a disability, damn it and should be treated as such.

It seemed that every girlfriend he'd ever had from Jenny in the fifth grade to whatever the hell her name was last year all tried to control him with food once they discovered that it was his weakness. Although, he could forgive Jenny for bribing him with candy bars to beat the shit out of her brothers, they were assholes after all, but the rest of them truly pissed him off.

Not that he could fault them for wanting to marry him, he couldn't. He was a Bradford after all, but he didn't appreciate their fucking games. How many times had a woman hinted at marriage while she held a casserole under his nose or woke him up with breakfast in bed, musing how nice it would be to do that for him every day? Then when he didn't drop down on one knee and propose they'd withhold all those tasty treats they'd promised him. When a woman started the marriage bullshit he sat them down and explained that they didn't quite live up to his standards, which for some reason always earned him a slap and a denial for more delicious tasty treats.

When he got married, and he would one day, it would be to his perfect woman, the woman who met each and every one of his requirements. So far no woman had come close.

His perfect woman would be the best cook. She'd be able to whip him up a cake at a moment's notice and would never deny him any of her delicious treats no matter how badly he pissed her off, and he probably would, every day. She'd also be tall, hot, and have a body that left him panting for more.

She'd also have to be financially well off. Not that he minded supporting his wife, he wouldn't. He just didn't want a woman too dependent or needy. He wasn't interested in being anyone's sugar daddy. He wanted a wife that could function completely without him and wouldn't give a damn when he made last minute plans to go to New Hampshire for some fishing or decided to stay out late with the guys. She'd have to come from a big family so she wouldn't rely on him too much and so she'd have someone to bitch to at the end of the day and leave him the hell alone.

His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he needed to move his ass. He made his way to the laundry room and dropped his bag by the machine and ran his fingers through his damp hair to push it out of his eyes. That reminded him that he needed a haircut. If he didn't get held over tomorrow night, which wasn't looking very likely since they were trying to bust their asses to complete the Madison project, he'd swing by Henry's and get his customary cut.

After dropping his quarters in the machine he removed the basket left on top of the washer, not really giving it much thought, and went to pick up his bag of clothes only to realize that he was out of laundry soap and would have to pick some up tonight. He really didn't feel like staying up half the night doing laundry since he had to be up by six in the morning and have his ass at work by seven.

With a shrug he grabbed the laundry soap out of the basket, figuring that she'd never miss it and quickly poured the soap into the washing machine.

"Oops," he sighed when he realized that was the last of it. With a careless shrug he tossed the now empty container back on the basket, making a mental note to pick up another bottle for her at the grocery store.

He quickly dumped his clothes into the washing machine, not bothering to let it suds up since he was so damn hungry and made his way back upstairs just as his neighbor was stepping out of her apartment with a handful of clothes.

"How's it going?" he said, heading for his door and not really in the mood to speak with her. Not that he was a snob, he wasn't. He just didn't like to deal with tenants. That's why he had his aunt deal with all their bullshit. He owned four apartment houses and only made an appearance when something needed to be fixed or he found out one of them was giving his aunt shit.

When he bought this place he'd planned on leaving the second unit empty until he found some time to remodel it, but after his aunt suggested that one of his pain in the ass cousins should move in, he'd decided damn quickly to rent it out. He'd given his aunt a list of strict rules and this woman was the only one who'd been willing to agree to them.

From what he heard a lot of the people that looked at the place bitched and whined over his list, but he didn't give a fuck. This was his house and he wasn't about to put up with any bullshit. If they wanted to have their friends over at all hours of the night, have parties, or blast their music then they could keep fucking walking, because he wasn't having it. After working a twelve hour day all he wanted to do was come home to a nice quiet house and relax.

Thankfully this woman followed his rules so he never had to bother her or kick her ass out. He had to admit that the extra income was nice. Granted it only covered half his grocery bill, but hey, every little penny counted.

"Hi," she mumbled quickly as she walked past him. He paused to look over his shoulder and frowned. She was short, chubby, pale, and plain, but she was without a doubt the best tenant he'd ever had. Maybe he should make that the requirement for all his tenants, he thought with a chuckle.

He was just about to open his apartment door when a knock at the front door caught his attention. Grumbling, he walked over to the door, hoping his tenant wouldn't be making a habit of having people over after eight, and opened the door. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he spotted the familiar pizza logo on the guy's shirt.

"Is this 23 Bedford Street?" the kid asked.

Trevor nodded dumbly as his eyes took in the oversized pizza box Black Jack's was famous for and the small cardboard box on top of it. He sniffed, allowing his Bradford senses to do its thing and in seconds knew that he had a "Monster" and a large chicken tenders inches from his grasp.

His fingers twitched with the need to yank the food out of the guy's hands and make a run for it.

"That'll be $26.50. I'm sorry it took so.....wait a minute," the guy said, frowning. "You're not a Bradford, are you?" he asked, quickly taking in Trevor's dark hair, good looks, and large muscular build.

"No, no of course I'm not," Trevor said quickly, fully prepared to tackle the bastard if tried to leave with his food. Granted, that may have been one of the reasons why he was placed on the banned list at Black Jacks, but they really should have known better than to show up at his door at eleven at night with someone else's order. Besides he'd only scared the hell out of the guy, there was no real harm done, at least that's what the Judge decided.

He wasn't exactly sure what the rest of the men in his family did to earn a place on the banned list, but he could guess.

The man took a small step back and Trevor prepared to lunge. He gestured with his chin towards the mailbox. "It says Bradford on the mailbox."

"That's my neighbor," he said, forcing himself to remain calm as he pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulled out two twenties and handed them to the guy who was still looking unsure about the whole thing. "Keep the change."

That seemed to make up the man's mind. He handed Trevor the food and a two litter bottle of Coke and smiled. "Thank you, sir. You have a nice night."

"I will now," Trevor mumbled as his mouth watered. He closed the door and turned around only to find his little tenant standing in front of him, glaring at the food in his hands.

"Is that my order?" she demanded as she pushed a strand of her wet mahogany hair behind her ear, narrowing her baby blue eyes on his face.

"Um, no?" he cleared his throat, realizing that sounded more like a question. "This is my order."

"Oh." She frowned. "Sorry," she mumbled, heading back to her apartment. He wasn't too surprised that she didn't bitch about him stealing the washer from her. She never bitched, making her his favorite kind of tenant.

He walked into his apartment and shut the door, eager to dig into his food. He set the food down on the coffee table and turned on the game, which was thankfully still in the second inning, and headed to the kitchen for a glass and a handful of napkins.

Just as he was about to sit down and help himself to the first slice someone knocked on his door. Having a pretty good idea who it was, he ignored it and sat down. The knocking continued for another minute before it thankfully stopped. He picked up a thick slice of that beautiful pizza and almost wept. It had been too damn long since he'd had a slice of the most perfect pizza ever made.

He was just about to take a bite when the slice of pizza was ripped out of his hands. It took him a minute to realize what the hell had just happened and by the time he did his eyes were narrowing dangerously on his frumpy little neighbor as she tossed the slice of pizza back in the box and closed it. Then she placed the box of chicken tenders on top and picked them both up and headed for the door only to pause and return for the bottle of soda.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Getting my order. I called. Not only did you not order this, but apparently you're on some sort of banned list," she said, heading for the door.

Trevor was up and over the couch in seconds, blocking her way. "That's my food!" he snapped.

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is!"

"I ordered it!"

"So what? I paid for it. Put it back and get the hell out of my apartment!"

Her eyes narrowed on him as she squared her shoulders. "Look, I've put up with a lot of crap from you over the past two months, but stealing my Black Jack's pizza after I had the worst day of my life is the last straw. So I really don't give a damn if you go crying to your aunt and whine about this and get me evicted. I'm taking my pizza home and I'm going to enjoy it."

A lot of what she said and how she said it pissed him off, but he forced himself to focus as he reached out and snatched the pizza from her hands, earning a surprised gasp and a rather cute little growl as he moved away from her. She of course stalked after him, he would too. It was Black Jack's pizza after all.

"What the hell have I put you through? I've been a fucking perfect neighbor," he pointed out, sidestepping her as she tried to snatch away his chicken tenders.

She snorted at that. "Puhlease."

"I have!"

"Really?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her faded blue tee shirt and rather large chest.

"Yes, really!" he snapped back, forcing his eyes away from her chest. Shit. If he was checking out a woman like her it really had been too long since the last time he got laid.