by Marr, Maggie
I press my hand to my jaw. I’m a laid-back kind of American transplanted to Australia, but even I draw the line somewhere. A busted suitcase with knickers spilling out lies beside the back right SUV tire. I scratch my jaw. How irritating.
“Can’t get in, eh?” I ask my driver.
“It’ll be just a moment, sir,” he says.
No, it won’t. I lean back against the seat and sigh. I glance out the window. I loathe disorganization. Wasting time feels like wasting life.
A bunch of gold balloons jetties into space from the back of the SUV. The woman with jet-black hair, light brown skin, and curves for days lunges for the balloons. She’s too short and too late. She stomps her foot and her breasts jiggle with her anger.
My cock tugs. She’s angry, but she’s cute. No, she’s not cute…she’s sexy. Her mouth pouts with anger at her loss. Her eyes turn to slits.
“Fuck,” she says.
I stifle a laugh.
Her eyes dart toward my car and I press against the cool seat leather. Don’t want her to catch me gawking.
“Sir, I’m going to pull up in front of that…uh…SUV.”
“Mess, you can say it. That’s one hot mess.”
We stop. I open my door and wait for my bag. Behind me, an army of bellhops scrambles to clean up the clothing that exploded from the back of the SUV.
My driver rolls my carry-on bag to me. I don’t even need to give him a gratuity because all of it’s been taken care of prior to now. Excellent. Simple. Smooth. Organized. Unlike the mess behind me. She’s cute though.
I roll my bag past the mess on the pavement and turn to her. “Maybe next time be a bit more organized,” I say. It’s a toss-off statement. Just a bit of a joke—maybe even a hint of a flirt.
“Excuse me?” She whips her head around and steps in front of me. Her hand presses to her hip. “Did you just have an opinion about me and my level of organization?”
Three bellhops scramble with three carts behind her SUV in an attempt to bring order to the chaos. Another case of pink-whatevers hits the pavement beside her.
She flinches.
“Well, that isn’t organized now is it?”
“Mmmhmm”—she lifts an eyebrow—“and you know this because?”
“Well look at it.” I wave toward the back of her SUV. “That’s a complete mess! You’ve got bags falling out the back. An overnight case that’s busted and landed your”—I lean forward—“women’s undergarments in the center of the valet. I wouldn’t call this organized, and really, I’d be surprised if you did.”
She squints her eyes, “British?”
“Australian,” I say. I puff up. What’s my nationality have anything to do with my opinion or the value of it? “But I was born in America.”
“Listen here, Aussie-Boy, my car, my business.” She presses her hand to her chest. “I don’t need you telling me how to keep my things.”
“Fair enough,” I say, “But I don’t need your things keeping me from getting where I need to be. Sat in my car a good fifteen minutes waiting for you to commandeer the entire bellhop staff to clean up your mess.”
I sound like my father, who might be the most uptight man on the planet. Why is this woman irritating me so much? How do I sound like a fifty-five your old transplanted Brit? Is it the quirk of her mouth or the smug look in her eye or maybe it’s the fact that she’s irritating the piss out of me and yet, I can’t seem to stop myself from wanting to kiss that surly mouth of hers.
Kiss? As if I would.
I stare into those big brown eyes.
I totally would. Or might, if I wasn’t certain that this foul-mouthed, bad-mannered, beautiful beast of an American girl might bop me in the nose. Man-hater is written all over her face. She might as well be wearing a T-shirt with the word splayed across those perky tits.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you, my Lord,” she says and bows.
“I’m Australian and American,” I say. “And I’m not an aristocrat.” I pull my bag past her and her hot mess and into the hotel where hopefully I can get away from this woman and not have to see her for the rest of the weekend or ever again.
Chapter 3
Torrey
Who knew that my asshole ex, Todd, the one I caught doing the booby-bounce with our shared assistant (although I never got the memo that she could be “shared” in quite that way) would decide to toss all the stuff I still had at his house onto the street in front of his place today. TODAY. As in, a half hour before I needed to leave to get to Shutters on time for the bridal party dinner tonight.
All my stuff, in trash bags in front of his house. A year’s worth of belongings that migrated from my place to his over the last 365 days. Asshole. None of my things would’ve still been there when I got back to El Segundo on Monday, because trash pick-up at Todd’s is on Fridays.
Asshole.
So I did the only thing I could do. I shoved five full trash bags of personal items into the back of my SUV and drove to Shutters in Santa Monica.
Of course, when I opened the back of the SUV to get out my bag for this weekend, three trash bags and my overnight bag hit the pavement. One trash bag burst and my overnight bag split open.
Fuck!
Yeah. That’s my day.
And then, some stuffed-shirt with a perfect body, and skin too sun-kissed, and teeth too perfectly white and straight, and golden-blond hair that was just curly enough and light enough to make him look like maybe, maybe he was a God of some sort or at the very least a lost Hemsworth brother, saunters up, opens his mouth, and lets loose with his sexy-as-fuck accent, but not with any nice words.
Like that won’t make a girl want to fall into a hole in the pavement.
What an asshole. A complete and utter asshole. Sexy, but an asshole.
I’m sweaty. I’m tired. I’m irritated. And all I want is a bath, my suite, and a drink. Deep breath. Big sigh. I slide my keycard into the lock and fling open the door.
Oh, Yes! Big room. Ocean view. Stocked bar. Deck. Hot tub. This will do nicely. I dig into my purse and give the bellhop a huge tip.
“I’m so, so, so sorry,” I say.
“No problem. We’ll valet the car and take care of…of your things.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I bite my bottom lip. “Thank you.”
They set up my busted bag in my room and leave. I flop onto the couch and close my eyes. I need to get my shit together. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. No. No. No. No. No crying now. Deep breath. I stand and pull my phone from my purse and start to scroll.
Oh. Fuck. No. Client after client is bailing on…me. Not Todd and not Aubrey, because those two are still banging away and stealing all my clients.
“Hey! We’re here!” Tippy, Becca’s sorority sister from college (and her friend that I least like) pops into our suite. Tippy is the ultimate California girl. Or maybe just what everyone thinks as the ultimate California girl. Ginormous fake boobs (nothing but softballs are that round), bright blond hair same shade as a golden retriever, and a trust fund. “Let’s get this party started!” She waves a bottle of Veuve over her head and does some shimmy-shake that might be white-girl sexy, but unfortunately is just not cute. “Ready to pop some corks!”
Becca follows Tippy into the suite. I love Becca so I zip my lip. Not one snarky word as to Tippy. Carmen enters behind Becca. Becca gives me a hug. Carmen lifts an eyebrow and looks toward Tippy.
“Same,” I mouth.
She nods and smiles.
“So listen, I’ve got this little work thing I need to handle,” I say. Pop! A champagne cork explodes from a bottle of Veuve. “Why don’t you two and Tippy get this party started.” I back away toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom. I walk into my room and before I can shut the door, “All the Single Ladies” blasts from the front room. Tippy’s playlist? I guess yes.
I walk into my bathroom and turn on the shower and the sink. No way Becca is over-hearing any of what I am about to say. I’ve gone three weeks w
ithout spilling the tea, I can make it one more. I’ve got my phone pressed to my ear before I even get the door closed.
Two rings.
“Listen you douchebag,” I say, “stop contacting my clients. Now! You can keep yours but you can’t take mine—”
“Torrey? Is that you?”
Heat burns in my chest. A lump chokes my throat. Todd isn’t answering his cell phone. Uh. No. That voice is—
“Aubrey?!”
“Torrey, is that you?”
“You tell your boss, or whatever he is to you now, to stop contacting my clients or he’s going to hear from my attorney. Are we clear?”
“Torrey, I uh…I wanted to talk to you.”
“There is nothing to say, okay? I’m out. I’m done. I’m feeling good about it. But Todd is going to get his ass served with a lawsuit if you two don’t leave my clients alone. Make sure he understands that.”
“Okay, Torrey, I…uh…I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got some nerve.” I shake my head. “He’s all yours now.” I press the red button on my phone and close my eyes.
My heart races in my chest. Deep breath, deep breath, I got this. I open my eyes and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I press my lips tight. I can do this. This is Becca’s fun weekend with her girlfriends! Her last big hurrah before she becomes an old married woman.
Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” blares through the shower noise.
I stare into the bathroom mirror. I’m an old single lady.
And while normally the idea of being single for a lifetime doesn’t bother me, tonight sitting on the toilet, in a bathroom having just spoken to my former twenty-year-old assistant who now has my ex-man—even though I don’t want him—I feel tired and old. Maybe it’s because Todd and I just kept acting like we were good together—all of it bothers me.
I scrub my fingertips through my hair and pinch my cheeks. No, not feeling sorry for myself. Not wrecking Becca’s weekend either. Our little foursome is here and we’re ready to go. Three bridesmaids. A bride. Best restaurant in LA. Hot hotel. Karaoke after. Yes, the memories we’re about to make will be worth pushing through. Who knows? Maybe I’ll score a break-up hook-up?
Ha. I stand and walk toward the mirror. I turn to the side and look at my profile. I press my hand to my belly and look at my boobs. I mean, I still got it, right? Hmmm…I’ve only been off the market, what? A year? I can get back out there…can’t I? I face the mirror and roll my shoulders back. Yes, I can. You got this girl. Totally.
I march out of the bathroom ready to take on the world, or at the very least dinner. “Everything’s good! You guys hungry?”
“Finishing up the pre-party,” Tippy says and takes a deep suck on a vape.
“What you got going there, blondie?” I ask.
“Little purple kush, want some?” She points it my way.
It’s been a while…actually a long while. I glance over at Carm. She nods. Giving me the signal that she’s got this and to go ahead. Hmmm… Well, maybe just a little. I press the vape to my lips and suck.
Mmmhmm. I close my eyes and exhale. Nothing.
Tippy takes the vape and opens her purse.
“Hey Tip, I got nothing off that,” I say.
“You should wait a beat,” Tippy says.
“Nope.” I reach for it and take another inhale. I hold the vapor until I cough.
“I warned you,” she says with her sorority-girl cheer.
Oh, yeah. My muscles loosen. I smile. A warm soft haze infiltrates my mind. Mmmhmm, this magic is going to take me through the entire weekend.
Chapter 4
Brett
“Dude, you made it!” Jake slaps my back and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “How was the flight?” he asks.
“Never-ending,” I say. My body doesn’t know what day it is or the time. “You ready for tonight and next weekend? You’re about to go down for the count. Married? Can’t believe it mate! Never thought you’d do it.” I walk behind the bar in Jake’s suite and pour whiskey into six glasses. I hand one over the counter to Jake and the rest of the groomsmen take a glass. “If you have to get married, I can’t think of a better girl than Becca to get married to,” I say. I lift my glass as does Jake, Dave, Charlie, Andrew, and Devon “To Becca,” we all say and throw back our drinks.
“That one went down a bit too easy,” I say. I start to pour six more. Dave holds his hand over his glass.
“None for me,” he says.
I nod. I’ve heard rumbles of the wicked-divorce that Dave is enduring. Carmen, his soon to be ex-wife, is one of Becca’s bridesmaids. Personally, if my soon-to-be-ex was that close, I’d probably be chugging the bottle. Dave is taking a much more mature approach.
“This is an awesome room.” Jake stands on the deck next to the hot tub.
“Tomorrow we have a boat,” I say. “With a captain to take us out for the day. Sound good?”
“Aw man, that’s awesome!” Jake says. “I love being out on the water. Sounds amazing.”
“Ready for tonight?” I ask.
“So ready. Where’re we going?” Jake asks.
“That’s a bit of a surprise,” I say. “But I hear it’s expensive and impossible to get into so it’s the perfect place for all of us. Ready?”
We file out of the suite and stop in the hallway in front of the elevator. “All the Single Ladies” blasts from behind the door on the other side of the hall.
“Sounds like they’re having fun,” Dave says.
“How’d we all end up at the same hotel?” I ask.
“Becca’s maid of honor, Torrey, has a marketing firm and this hotel is one of her clients,” Dave says. “Good deal. Great location.”
“Awesome view,” Jake says. “We rode Torrey’s coattails all the way to my swanky suite. Yours is one floor down, right?”
I nod. “Suppose I’ll meet her at some point. Derek mentioned it was very easy to book. The hotel was helpful, I’ll have to thank her.”
“Derek?” Charlie asks.
“My assistant,” I say. The elevator doors slide open. “He manages to get everything right.”
“How many stores do you have now?” Charlie asks.
“Fifteen, but it’s our online business that’s really taking off.”
“I remember when you just had that tiny closet of a shop in Venice,” Jake says. “It’s amazing how big the company’s gotten.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Everything you ever wanted, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say. The floor numbers light up as we descend to the lobby. The conversation of who will win and lose at our post-dinner poker game surrounds me. Jake’s words echo in my head: is my life everything I ever wanted? I’ve traveled and surfed all around the globe. Worked hard. Played hard. Built a business. I glance toward Jake. There’s one thing missing and my best college buddy seems to have found what in all my travels I’ve yet to discover.
The person to share my success with. Love. How much money does one person need?
How happy is Jake? I can’t remember ever seeing him happier. His isn’t the face of a man who feels like he’s getting tied down, or losing his freedom, or giving up his life.
The elevator stops and we all file off. Thirty minutes later, we’re at Teatro del Sol. Maserati and MacLarens line the parking lot next to valet. Celebs file in and out of the front door.
“We’re here for the Warner-Ryan groomsman dinner,” I say. The guy at the host desk looks at the six of us and then back at the reservation on his iPad.
“Just one moment please.” He walks across the restaurant and speaks to a man in a suit. They both glance at us. There are whispers and head shakes and nods until the host returns. “Please follow me, Mr. Bliss. We have your table ready for you.”
“Bliss is the name of my company, not my name, but no problem.”
He squints at me but shakes it off. We follow him into this swanky private room with a view of the ocean.
“Your assistant Derek did
good,” Charlie says and walks out the sliders and onto the deck with our private view of the Pacific. I pull out my phone, take a pic of the table and the view and text Derek.
You rock! You’re getting a big fat bonus for this when I get back to Sydney.
“You scored big time,” Dave says. “This room is amazing.”
“Derek never fails.” I walk to the deck that overlooks the ocean. My assistant is awesome, but I’m amazed that he managed to set up this room at this restaurant on such short notice.
“Nice one, bruh,” Jake says and taps his glass to mine in a toast.
“How you doing, big guy? Forever is a very long time.” We head to the table and sit.
“Well, I was doing good, until you brought that up.”
We all laugh.
“No man, I mean I’ve loved Becca since we were what? I was twelve and she was nine? So I’m pretty happy we finally got our shit together and our timing figured it out.”
“So are we,” Dave says and elbows Charlie, Jake’s brother.
“Well congratulations, man. Seems like you’ve got it all,” I say.
“Yeah,” Jake says, “It feels like I really do.”
“What about you, Brett?” Charlie asks and cracks a lobster claw. “Any Australian weddings on the horizon?”
“Me? The perpetual bachelor?” I shake my head. “Who’d put up with me and my schedule? Constantly chasing waves around the world? Nearly getting killed a half dozen times a year? I can’t imagine a woman signing on for that.”
“Not unless she really disliked you and wanted you to die,” Charlie says and elbows Dave in the ribs. They share a laugh over that possibility.
“Probably true,” I say. “I date a bit, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting my kind of life permanently. Just not enough stability to it. I don’t really want to stop big-wave riding. It’s kind of my brand, or at least it’s part of the Bliss Boards brand.”
“I see Bliss Boards all over the place,” Charlie says. “You’re killing it.”
“I love it,” I say. And I do. “Bliss Boards combines the two things I love most—graphic design and surfing. It’s my dream come true, but the market is crowded and it’s tough to make a name. Seems we’re managing to do it, but I’d love to find a marketing person who could help with that component.”
