by Elyse Riggs
"Nothing," I answer quickly. "I'm pretty sure I was breaking up anyway. What was your thing?" Something about good news. Hopefully, she didn't call the wrong number. "You mean good news for me, right?" Thank goodness I didn’t go with the wombat thing.
"Hey, why do you sound so surprised?" Cara objects.
Obviously, she wasn't one of the eighteen local citizens watching the Puppy-Thon disaster on public access television.
And why would she? Or anybody else for that matter in the age of Netflix and chill? "No reason, so what's the news?" I ask again while I turn into the strip mall where I work and pull up into my parking spot.
A quick glance around the rest of the parking lot confirms that there's my car, Gwen’s car, and Mia’s car.
Oh, and Sally’s here too. She’s one of our volunteers. There are no other cars. That means there are zero customers inside.
Unless they walked their sick animals here on foot through three miles of stop and go city traffic. Unlikely. The disappointment of it almost makes me forget I’m still on the phone with Cara.
"Oh yeah, great news. I found a big celebrity for the new marketing push. This could be just the boost you need to compete with Animal Universe Incorporated."
I have to admit, I did not see that coming. It’s wonderful news. "Hey, that's great, Cara! Who's the celebrity?"
Wow, I'll be working with a celebrity? This might really be fun. I take a sip of my delicious coffee. Maybe it's the coffee that brought me luck.
"You'll never guess. None other than home grown hero, super stud muffin, and sports sensation Jake Mann."
I spit the coffee out onto my khaki pants. Then I proceed to cough for approximately thirteen seconds while Cara makes noises on the phone alternately voicing her displeasure and her concern. "You okay?" she asks after I stop inhaling my coffee and get a couple gulps of real air down my lungs.
"No," I answer.
There's another pause and I can feel Cara's growing irritation. "No, you're not okay? Should I call 9-1-1 for you or something?"
"I mean no to Jake Mann, Cara. You tell him no. You frog march his ass the fuck out of your office right now and never speak with him again."
This time the pause feels like a standoff. And I feel good about it. I'm going to stand on principal and go down with the ship and everything before I'll see Jake again. It was bad enough seeing him last night looking so sexy and irritating.
It brought back too many memories and emotions. I want my best friend back. But the way he left it? Well, that bridge had burned to the ground, fallen over a cliff, and then got eaten by termites.
"Um, I already signed him, Angie. It's done."
"What do you mean it's done? I don't want him, or any part of him. I don't want to see him or talk to him or have him ever walk into my clinic again."
Her voice perks up and loses its edge. Now it's more curious and gossipy. "Again? Shit, Angie. Do you two have a history or something?"
"You could say that."
"I'm sorry, Angie. I didn't know.”
She doesn’t sound sorry. Not one bit. She sounds like a gossip columnist on a trail of drama. I eyeroll at the turn the conversation has taken.
Cara sniffs. “What kind of history are we talking about? Nothing criminal, hopefully?"
I sigh. "No, nothing like that."
"Good," she says triumphantly, "because that would have voided the contract. You have a photo shoot with him after lunch, I'll send you the details, don't be late."
I open my mouth to argue, but the phone call ends. Click. Once again, my head is swimming with thoughts about Jake Mann, and none of them are good. My final thought as I head into work is at least she didn’t bring up the payment thing again.
As soon as I get inside, I can see that Gwen and Mia and Sally are all huddled around the check-in desk looking at something on the computer. The lascivious expressions on their faces give me pause.
“Are you guys looking at porn again? Because I’m in this time, seeing as we don’t have any patients right now.”
I mean it as a joke. I thought it was funny. The group barely acknowledge my presence, though, and the joke goes right over their heads. Whoa, maybe they are looking at porn.
“Angie, come look,” Gwen gestures to me excitedly.
I cross the room so that I can join in whatever the hell it is that they’re doing. “Okay, what are we looking at?”
“The rumor is, you used to know him,” Mia says, her eyes wide with surprise.
I should have known. There on the screen is a half-naked picture of Jake with his shirt off after a football practice. Showoff. He might as well be using that water bottle to hose himself off while shaking his ass while he’s at it.
And the photo is working as intended because Mia and Gwen and Sally are all practically drooling on the screen. I stare at the photo. Fine, he’s sexy as sin. I hate him, but I still have eyes.
“How do you know I used to know him?” I ask defensively.
Gwen raises an eyebrow at me. “Kaylee and Fi swarming in like a SWAT team? You going all Angie sassy-pants on him when he brought that puppy in? And something about telling him to go to hell? Any of that ringing a bell?”
“Pretty sure I didn’t say that last part.”
“What’s that?” Sally points on the screen at a small tattoo on the left side of Jake’s abdomen.
“It’s obviously a tattoo,” Gwen replies.
Sally shakes her head. “Yeah, but it’s off center. And too low for his uniform pants level. I mean people normally plan these things out in advance to work with their wardrobe. And what is it, anyway?” she squints at the screen. “Butterfly? Flower?”
“Dragonfly,” I answer without thinking.
Their heads all spin to me for an explanation as to why I know about the tattoo. I don’t, actually. He didn’t have that particular tattoo when he left for college. I know it for a fact. A fact I’m not going to share.
“No shit,” Mia says.
“Blow up the image,” Gwen squeals excitedly.
There’s a flurry of furious tapping and then the three of them scream in unison.
“It is a dragonfly,” Mia says accusingly, “how did you know?”
“It was a guess.” I’m being honest, but then I decide to show off. Just a little. “It’s off center because he has a birthmark there that he hates.”
Without another word, I turn to head back to my office so I can catch up on some paperwork. And also, to try to think about something other than Jake Mann.
Chapter 6
Angie
A few hours later, I park the car and begin making the trek across the sand to one of my favorite places in the world.
The Beaky Tiki stands in the distance, a beacon of hope and friends and best of all chips and salsa.
Even with the fresh hell that has been my life for the past twenty-four hours, it brings a smile to my face.
The adorable, outdoor beach bar and grill has an authentic thatch roof with a tiny picket fence boundary. It’s lined by tiki torches standing dramatically like sentinels around the perimeter.
I squint into the sun toward the general area of our usual table and spot Kaylee an Fi. They’re already there. Thank goodness.
After my conversation with Cara Carrera this morning I texted them. This is, after all, the truest definition of an emergency.
DEFCON Jake. They may have saved me from him last night, but Puppy-thon was a disaster. And now, Project Marketing Blitz is a disaster too. It’s like he’s purposefully trying to ruin my life.
When I get to the table, Fi and Kaylee stand and attack me with a group hug. It helps.
Then we all sit. There's tension in the air because of my emergency text. I only have fifty-two minutes left in my lunch hour, so I'm not about to keep them waiting.
Kaylee smiles reassuringly and wipes a stray hair out of her face. "What's up? We got your emergency text, so we ordered you lunch and a large soda. Whatever this thing is I'm s
ure you're going to need more caffeine."
"Thank you. That's a reasonable assumption." I have their attention now. "Um, so the emergency is this. Cara called and said she had somebody big on the hook for the last-ditch effort to save my vet practice from going under."
"Hey, that's great," Fi says, exhaling. "I was sure it was going to be bad news. And I don’t think we can take any more bad news for you after last night."
I smile through gritted teeth. "Not finished with the news yet. It's Jake."
Kaylee blinks at me. "What's Jake?"
"He's the celebrity."
Fi gasps. "Oh hell no."
"That's what I said. I told her to tell him no. There has to be another way."
"And?"
"And that’s when she told me the contract was already signed."
"Alright," Kaylee says, "what's the plan? Maybe there's still a way to get out of it?"
I take a long sip of soda. "Nope. And I have a photo shoot with him. Today."
Fi coughs out her soda and then starts pounding on her chest. "Warn a girl, would you?"
Kaylee puts down her chip. "Seriously? The photo shoot you just found out about is today?"
"Today."
"I can sneak in before it starts," Kaylee volunteers, "to pull the fire alarm or something."
"We can kidnap you," Fi blurts out.
I consider these options. But I know deep down I'll put up with anything, literally, for a shot at not letting my clinic go under. Even put up with Jake. How long can a photo shoot take, anyway?
"I don't know, I guess I should go."
"That's a bad idea," Kaylee says. "He literally killed Puppy-Thon, what the hell is he going to do next?"
I ruminate on the question while nibbling on one of the delicious veggie spring rolls that Kaylee ordered for the table. They're amazing. And the nachos are good too. Maybe Jake’s already done his worst. “Maybe I can do this.”
Fi frowns. "Wait, Angie, what part of this do you have a handle on, exactly? No offense, but you seem even more distracted than usual."
"None taken," I answer in between bites. "I'm just saying," chew, swallow, "and it could be the caffeine talking here. But how hard is it to take a few pictures?"
Fi shrugs. "I have no idea. I've never done an official photo shoot before. You?"
Kaylee shakes her head.
"I guess it's settled then." My phone chimes a text. Speak of the publicity devil. "It's Cara. Gotta go."
"Good luck," Kaylee says. "We're only a text away if you need us. Especially me, I'll be lurking nearby. If it gets weird, just say the word and I'll do the fire alarm thing. Where did you say the photo shoot is going to be?"
I get up and look around for a waitress. A pointless gesture since I'm broke.
"I've got this," Kaylee says, "just tell me where the photo shoot is going to be."
"Thanks! Oh, yeah. The text says it's in the studio off of Main and Field."
And with that, I'm off again, crossing the sand to my car. Soon I’ll be in some kind of weird alternate universe where my ex best friend slash ex-boyfriend for like ten minutes has breezed into town to alternately ruin and then help my life. Only now there will be a billboard to show for it.
Chapter 7
Angie
The inside of the photography studio looks pretty normal to me. There’s a front desk, posture killing chairs to sit in, and of course, little wooden tables either too tall or too short to be of any use.
I take a seat and smile awkwardly at the woman sitting behind the front desk and try to fade into the background since I’m in no hurry whatsoever to go in. But it’s hard to hide when you’re the only customer.
“Are you Angie?” She asks disapprovingly as she looks at me through thick spectacles from across the room.
“Yes, that’s me.” I cross my legs and squirm in the chair.
“Then you can go in. They’re ready for you.”
“Okay,” I say and continue to sit.
She lets almost another minute go by.
“They’re ready for you now,” she reiterates.
“Got it,” I reply and grab a magazine.
She stands and gives me a severe look. “Your presence is requested. Formally. Right now. In the room just behind the purple door there. Shall I open it for you?”
“Fine,” I say, throwing the magazine back on the stack and standing. I resign myself to my fate and enter the purple door.
Once I get inside, the photographer turns to me, an annoyed look on her face. I check my watch. I’m still five minutes early. What’s with these people?
A quick glance behind the photographer reveals Jake, sitting straight up on a couch, yet managing to look relaxed at the same time.
Of course, he’s used to this sort of thing. On the stage is a comfy looking couch that Jake is sitting on along with a few scattered chairs.
“Okay, we can get started now. Angie, why don’t you just pop up there on the couch with Jake?”
Jake smirks at me. Like he didn’t ruin Puppy-Thon. Like he’s a freaking hero. Like I’m going to go sit next to him.
I walk up onto the stage and then veer away from the couch and sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair because it’s the farthest one from where Jake is sitting.
Am I being petty and immature? Yes. I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible and with as little Jake interaction as I can manage.
The photographer watches me cross the room and sit. She clears her throat. “Um, can you please sit over there? Next to him?” Her gaze follows her finger that points at me and then sweeps in the opposite direction to Jake, and then back to me again.
In response, I pull the old wooden chair across the floor in the opposite direction of Jake. In order to do so, I have to avoid eye contact very specifically with the photographer. And she’s not making it easy.
The old wooden chair emits a skreeeeeeeeeonch noise the entire time that it scrapes across the floor. It makes my teeth chatter in revulsion. The noise is more than just annoying, it’s enough to unnerve something in my soul.
In any other situation, I would have ceased the moment I heard it, but not today. Not right now. Oh no, right now I am sliding this chair just as far to my left as I can get without physically falling off the stage. To stay as far away from Jake as possible.
And believe me, throwing myself off the stage has crossed my mind.
Opposite me now is the photographer lady, who's face has just reached a level of annoyed that I have seldom seen on a human being in public. I risk another quick glance up at her to confirm my suspicion. Yup, she’s mad.
The photographer is a take-no-shit older woman with short brown hair in a tight ponytail, jeans, boots, and a designer looking top. Taken together, her fashion ensemble reads like she's trying to tell the world to look at her or not. She really doesn't care.
And I fully support that attitude. I have nothing against her, it's just that I'm busy scooting away from the guy on the other end of the stage.
When the noise stops, I realize that I may have gone too far. One leg of my chair is poised perilously over the edge of the stage. I wobble precariously. Yep, this'll do. I scoot my body weight all the way over to the right to offset the weight to keep myself from falling.
"Now, hang on a moment," the photographer says. Her face and dour expression are aimed squarely at me. "I'm confused, because I specifically remember asking you to scoot to your left."
"Yes?" I ask innocently.
"And you scooted all the way as far as you possibly could and then some to the right."
"Uh-huh." I play dumb. Because I'm out of ideas and I can't argue with reality. Also because I'm a little bit alarmed at how perilously I'm teetering over the edge of the stage.
The danger makes it difficult to concentrate. "Me?" I ask, pointing at myself for second before I think better of it and return my hand to the edge of the chair in order to steady it.
"Yes, you. I specifically asked you to scoot
closer to him." She points at Jake, who I’m refusing to look at. In fact, I’m trying really hard to not even think about him.
And despite my understanding fully what the photographer wants me to do, I have no intention of scooting toward, looking at, or associating in any way with the guy on the other end of the stage. So now I have to find a way to tell her that my answer to her request is a hard pass. "Oh, I'm sorry," I say while holding onto the chair and staring straight ahead.
A few torturous seconds pass. Her face, surprisingly, has a few more levels left of annoyance beyond what was there before. "Okay, can you scoot closer to him now?"
"No."
Her shoulders sag dramatically. “Dear, are you okay?”
Finally, an easy question. “No, ma’am. Not even remotely.” The question answered, I turn my attention back to balancing.
She turns her face the other way, toward him. "Okay, well how about you? Can you scoot a little to your left, closer to her? And by a little I mean at least four feet?"
"Nope," I hear the stupid, deep, sexy, masculine voice say.
"Seriously?" She asks. Then she waits for a reply, her face ping ponging between me and Jake. "Oh my God. I took pictures for a Terrific Terrible Twos calendar last week. Those kids were more professional. And more cooperative."
Ha, nice try. Not falling for it. Insults will get you nowhere, lady. Even if it's true. And it probably is. I'd rather fall off the stage, break my leg, and have to crawl out of here than go sit next to him.
"Tell her that I'll cooperate if she'll cooperate," the deep, baritone, sexy voice rattles around in my ears and through the rest of my body. I hear him, but I purposefully stare at something on the other end of the room.
Despite my anger, there's also a familiar thrill. It’s irritating. His voice used to mean more to me than anything.
Even now, my body is reacting to it in an annoying way, causing want to rise in areas that have been want-free for an awfully long time.
At least want-free from Jake. I thought I was done with this stupid, age-old crush. My mind is over it, but I guess my body didn't get the memo. "Well, you can tell him that there's not a snowball's chance in hell or on the hot sands of St. Tropic beach…"
