The Trouble With Scarecrows (The Trouble With Men Book 2) by Dorlana Vann

the couch. “I know your secret.”
    Zadora’s head popped up, her eyes fluttered, and her mouth gaped opened.
    “Or do I?” Brenda said, walking toward the couch. “What do you think I know?”
    “I don’t know.” Zadora averted her eyes away from Brenda.
    A little too late. Brenda had already noticed her flushed cheeks.
    Brenda said, “I was going to say that I happened to see those gorgeous gowns in your closet. So what’s your deal? Do you turn into a fashionista at midnight and go out on the town?”
    “No, I’ve never even tried them on.”
    “Never tried them on!” Brenda shook her head. “Why the hell not? Wait. Why do you even have them? I’m totally confused.”
    “My friend Maximilian made them for me.”
    “Who?”
    “This used to be his apartment. He’s the designer who won that reality show, Catwalk Wars .”
    “Oh, right, right, right. He mentioned that several times in his email when he told me about you taking over his rent. I had no idea he had such talent. How can I reach him?”
    “He moved to Dallas after the show,” Zadora said.
    “Excellent. You’ll have to give me his number. So why haven’t you tried them on?”
    “I don’t have anywhere to wear them.”
    Brenda stared at Zadora for a second. True, she didn’t seem like the “night on the town” or cocktail party type. She supposed the explanation made sense even though something still didn’t add up. “Such a shame all those clothes are wasting away in your closet. Maybe one day we can change that.”

Chapter 8
    “Cheeseburger, no onions, extra mayo,” Neal said, setting the food on the counter. He didn’t mind his job. He got to cook. Nevertheless, he knew if he worked here and didn’t know he’d be going to culinary school soon, it would be unbearable. Brenda had almost made that happen this morning. He owed his soul to that woman. He wished he could have said, “Screw you,” but instead it was, “I’m screwed.” At least his future was still intact.
    A second later, Elizabeth, the waitress, picked up the food but lingered at the counter. “How you doing, Neal?”
    “Good,” he lied.
    “What are you doing later?”
    Neal had wondered how long it would take her to come around. He could’ve asked her out, but that would’ve been too easy. They’d been eyeing and smiling at each other since he’d started working there. She was young, a little rough around the edges, just his type. The type who wouldn’t expect forever. Only for the night.
    “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all . . . unless something comes up.”
    They stared at each other for a second, Elizabeth biting the opposite side of her pierced lip.
    She gave a shy shrug and said, “Would you like to come back to my house for a drink after work?”
    “Yeah, I would.”
    They smiled at one another, and he watched her walk away with the plate of food. A night of sex. This was just what he needed after the day he’d had. He placed the next order, chicken tenders, into the fryer basket and then dipped them into the hot oil.
    Neal’s phone beeped. He wiped his hands on his apron and pulled it out of his back pocket. The text from his cousin, Rocky, read, ‘Sorry, man, something’s come up. Can’t be the chick’s scarecrow.’
    Neal looked at the time. “Shit.” Rocky was supposed to meet Brenda in half an hour. If he didn’t show, Brenda might call the whole thing off.
    “Hey,” he said to the head cook, Billy. “I’ve got an emergency. I gotta go.”
    Billy frowned. “This is rush hour; you can’t go.”
    Neal took off his apron, hating that he had to make this choice. “One time. I promise. Tomorrow I’ll work a double. I’ll take the midnight shift.” He didn’t set the apron down until Billy shook his head in defeat and exhaled.
    “You’re putting us in a bind. It’s Saturday night, asshole! There are plenty of people lined up for this job, you know.”
    “Yeah, I know. You’re the man.” Neal took off toward the