Bridesmaid for Hire

by Chance Carter

  “Well it looks like fate has brought you two together on this fine evening.” He nodded his head in the opposite direction, and I turned to follow his gaze.

  I saw her right away. It was like she was a beacon amongst a sea of shadows, her red hair catching in the light and flashing like blood. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress that stopped mid-thigh, and her legs were long and lean beyond it. I swiped my tongue across my dry lips and turned back to Jeremy.

  “I’ll be right back.” I put my beer down and went to get up, but Jeremy shot out a hand to stop me.

  “What are you doing?”

  I shook off his hand. “I’m going to invite her over for a drink.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  I ground my teeth. I didn’t like having my ideas questioned.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I would have gone drinking with Haddie. This is no different.”

  I wasn’t being fair to Jeremy. I knew this was different, that she was different. Emma wasn’t Haddie. She was like a song I couldn’t get out of my head. They say that the way to get a song out of your head is to listen to it in its entirety. Maybe all I needed to do was remove the novelty factor of my beautiful assistant. Maybe if we spent time together outside of work, she would seem less tempting.

  Or maybe it would get worse.

  I strode through the crowd, following Emma as she trailed behind a blonde in a flowy, multicolored skirt. The girl she was with definitely didn’t belong here, but it didn’t seem to bother her at all. I caught up with Emma just as her friend was pointing at an empty table near the back. She jumped when I laid a hand on her arm. When she turned, however, she went perfectly still.

  “Max.” She blinked, like she thought I was a mirage that would disappear soon. “What are you doing here?”

  I smiled, “I came here to relax. Same as you, I imagine.”

  Emma glanced back at her friend, who was standing there watching the exchange with interest. The look on her face reminded me a little too much of Jeremy for comfort.

  “Why don’t you two come join us at our table?” I asked. “I’d love to buy you a drink.”

  “Sure!” the other girl said, sailing up next to me. “We would love a drink.”

  I laughed. Emma shot her friend a glare.

  “Come on,” I said, gesturing toward Jeremy and the table.

  Jeremy forgot all about his worrying the second he set eyes on Emma’s friend. Though a bit of an odd dresser, she was undoubtedly beautiful. Her hair was long and wavy. Tied back in a ponytail, it still skimmed her back, like a golden rope. She clearly noticed Jeremy too, and sat down next to him without any further prompting.

  I pulled out a chair for Emma and she sat shyly, looking up at me through dark lashes so sweetly that I pictured claiming her mouth right there. I shook away that thought and sat, and the waitress was on us again the moment I did.

  We all ordered more drinks, and I was about to introduce myself to Emma’s friend but stopped when I saw how engaged she and Jeremy were. They were talking in low voices, leaning in close to each other like they were exchanging secrets.

  “That’s Willow,” Emma filled in. “She’s my roommate and best friend.”

  “Ah.” I relaxed in my seat, draining the rest of my beer. “You’ve already met Jeremy, dog that he is.”

  Emma laughed, a pretty tinkling sound. “He’s not so bad.”

  “You clearly haven’t spent enough time with him.”

  “That’s true. I’m sure I’ll get to know you both pretty well. Haddie seemed to.”

  I noticed she was slurring her words the tiniest bit, and it was kind of cute. It was like she had a little bit of a lisp.

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll get there.”

  The waitress came back with our drinks, and Emma all but snatched hers, downing a mouthful like she was dying of thirst. I quickly realized it was a maneuver meant to stop me from noticing the blush on her cheeks. I liked that I could make her blush. It made the animal inside of me stir, pacing inside my ribs until the day I let it loose. Which would be never, of course. I couldn’t.

  But fuck if I didn’t want to.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” Emma cocked her head to the side, the lights giving her hair an auburn tint as it spilled over her shoulder.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why’s your mom trying to marry you off so hard? Are you like secretly a prince or something? Do you have a dynasty to protect?”

  I sensed this was the kind of question she would never ask me sober, but I didn’t mind it. In fact, I liked that she was curious about me. I was curious about her too.

  “You’re close, actually,” I said, chuckling. “She doesn’t want our family’s assets to go to my cousins when I die, but unless I have an heir, I don’t have anyone else to give it to. Mostly though, I just think she thinks that’s what I’m supposed to do at my age. She can’t fathom the thought that I might have other priorities.”

  “And what would those be?” I had her full, rapt attention at this point. I didn’t care if she was getting a little personal.

  I scoffed. “Not getting married, for one thing.”

  Her expression changed. She sat back and stared at me in disbelief, her nose wrinkling just a little. “You don’t want to get married? Like... ever?”

  “Like ever,” I confirmed.

  “Why not?” I’d never seen Emma look quite so distressed. Then again, I’d never seen her drunk. “What have you got against marriage?”

  “I don’t have anything against it, per se.” I shrugged. “I just don’t believe in it.”

  I leaned in closer to her, so that our shoulders nearly brushed. Our bodies were angled toward each other, and she had to tilt her chin to look up at me. She had a light dusting of freckles across her nose and I had the strangest urge to lean in and kiss each one.

  “I think you’re jaded,” she said. “Marriage is great.”

  “You ever been married?” I cocked a brow.

  Emma scowled, “Well, no actually. But I’ve got a Pinterest board with all the ingredients for my dream wedding.”

  “Ah, so it’s a wedding you want, not a marriage,” I said wryly. “I would reconsider if I were you. A wedding lasts a day—a marriage lasts a lifetime. Is having a dream wedding worth enduring a terrible marriage?”

  Emma’s mouth pinched. “I want a wedding, yes, but that’s because it’s something I can plan without actually having to have a groom. I can’t start dreaming about my marriage until I’ve found the right guy, but when I’m sad I can sit and eat pretzels and plan my dream wedding on Pinterest.”

  “What exactly is it about marriage that entices you?”

  Emma thought carefully about the question, and I could see her rolling it around in her mind. “It’s about the commitment. I don’t think there’s anything more romantic than committing yourself to another person for the rest of your life. It’s a big deal.” She took a sip of her drink, smiling. “So what exactly is it about marriage that disgusts you so much?”

  I supposed two could play at that game.

  “It’s not necessarily the idea of marriage itself,” I said. “I don’t believe in the kind of love you’re talking about.”

  “First you don’t believe in marriage, and now you don’t believe in love?” Emma sighed dramatically. “What next? Please don’t tell me you think the spirit of the holidays is a sham too. I couldn’t take it.”

  My lips curved into a smile, “I won’t tell you then.”

  Emma surprised me by reaching across and batting me on the arm. “You’re just a cynic. But even cynics can fall in love.”

  We locked eyes for just a little too long. Long enough for me to see the flecks of gold in her irises. Long enough for me to start leaning in toward her without even meaning to.

  Then Emma jerked back, her hand reaching into her shirt and pulling out her cellphone. I was about to make a comment about her unusual hiding place, but the drawn look on her face told
me it wouldn’t be a good idea.

  She frowned and shoved the phone back in her bra, then looked across the table toward Willow. I glanced back, happy to see that Willow and Jeremy were now closer to each other than ever. They were practically rubbing noses at this point.

  I didn’t realize until a second later that Emma hadn’t just been checking on her friend. The look she’d tossed them was mournful. I didn’t know what she’d just seen on her phone, but I knew it wasn’t good. Whatever it was, it had changed Emma, and the mood, entirely.

  Chapter 8

  Emma

  From the second Max first came over and grabbed me, I’d been on cloud nine. At first I was a little nervous, sure, but the alcohol soon took care of that. I knew I was saying things I’d probably regret in the morning, but I didn’t care a lick. All I wanted to do was keep talking to him, flirting with him. I loved that women around us were captivated by his dark good looks, but I was the only one capturing his attention. It made me feel special. Even if I only had his attention out of some sort of supervisory courtesy.

  And then Lance had to go and ruin everything.

  It was one text message, one stupid measly text message. It probably meant nothing to him, but to me it was like a bomb going off.

  I miss u.

  My heart thumped pathetically, and part of me wanted to run out of this bar right now and go find him. The logical part of me forbade it, and knew it wasn’t right. That side of me knew Lance had callously broken my heart and that he didn’t deserve even a moment of my time. But the other side of me still yearned for him, especially given that the only other guy I had any inkling of a crush on was my completely unattainable boss.

  I looked at the text for a couple seconds more than I probably should have, then shoved my phone back into my bra. Max was looking at me, likely wondering what was going on. Across the table, Jeremy and Willow started making out.

  My night went from 100 to 0 in the blink of an eye. Now I just wanted to go home.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Max asked.

  I looked at Willow again, wondering if I should say something to her about the text. Would she be okay with me dragging her away from Jeremy to do so? Would I be okay with dragging her away from Jeremy? She hadn’t been with a guy in a while, and Jeremy was a pretty prime choice as far as I was concerned. He was smart, handsome, successful, and probably not all that bad a guy if he was close to Max. I was jealous, but I wouldn’t stop her just because I’d received a text message from my jerk of an ex-boyfriend.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  I wasn’t. My happy drunk had taken a nose dive into sad drunk, which was only a step away from angry drunk.

  “It’s just an ex-boyfriend thing.” I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Max clearly didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either. I knew that getting into my ex-boyfriend drama with my boss, who I had a crush on, was a bad idea. Willow certainly wouldn’t allow it, but she was a little too preoccupied to notice at the moment. When Max ran a comforting hand down my arm, I broke. I blabbed the whole thing.

  “Until about a month ago I was dating this guy Lance. We lived together. One day he kicked me out, said he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore and that I was no longer welcome in our apartment. Since then I’ve been living with Willow. I haven’t talked to Lance since, except when he drunk dialed me a couple weeks ago and now this…” I pulled my phone out of my bra and showed Max the text.

  His mouth drew down into a frown. “The guy sounds like a dick.”

  “Tell me about it.” I put the phone back and took a sip of my drink, trying not to stare too mournfully at Jeremy and Willow. It was getting creepy. “We spent two years of our lives together and he just dropped me like a sack of potatoes the first chance he got.”

  I watched Max’s jaw tighten and wondered if he was upset on my behalf. The thought that he might be sent a current of pleasure down my spine.

  Finally, Max’s jaw relaxed and he smiled. “Fuck that guy.”

  “Thanks.” I dropped my chin to look down at my drink, but Max reached out and tipped my head back up. Our eyes locked, and I felt as though I couldn’t breathe.

  “No, Emma, really. Fuck that guy. He’s missing out.” Max dropped my chin, but snatched up my hand instead. I was confused for a second, until he stood up and inclined his head to communicate that I should do the same.

  “Are you... asking me to dance?” I inquired.

  He tugged on my hand. “Come on.”

  I stood up and Max practically dragged me out into the mass of swaying, shaking bodies. I had no idea what was going on, but I was willing to put aside my awkwardness and let myself enjoy the moment. How many opportunities would I have to dance with my hot boss? Maybe he was just doing it because he pitied me, sure, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun with it anyway, right?

  Max pulled me close and, quite unexpectedly, put a hand on my waist. His other held mine aloft. I looked at him quizzically.

  “You do realize this isn’t how people dance in a club like this, right?” I asked.

  Max spun me, and I nearly slammed into a girl wearing all leather. When I was back in his arms, his eyes glinted mischievously.

  “I realize that,” he replied, dipping low to speak into my ear. “But this is how we’re going to dance. Problem?”

  I shook my head, mouth suddenly dry. If he wanted, I’d do the cha-cha up and down this dance floor. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be close to him.

  Max rocked me back and forth, side to side, spun me around and round. People seemed to keep clear of us, which was probably for the best. By the second song we were both laughing and being ridiculous. I was having so much fun that I forgot all about Lance, my broken heart, and the laundry list of things I would need to do to feel some control of self once more. I was wrapped in a comforting blanket of Max’s scent, my alcohol buzz, and the possibility of what if. In those precious few moments on the dance floor, everything was right in the world and it seemed like it always would be. The kind of peace I found in Max’s embrace was just as addicting as it was sweet—and it was very sweet.

  The song changed again, this time to something with a noticeably darker vibe. The bass came heavy and slow, and people around us swayed with their hands toward the ceiling like barren trees waving in the wind. Max pulled me closer, dropping my hand and placing his on my waist instead. I slung mine around his neck, or at least as close to around his neck as I could get with the height difference.

  He didn’t speak, but the fire in his eyes roared at me. My mouth was dry. The room was hot, sweaty. I could feel my shirt sticking to my skin, my hair sticking to the nape of my neck. My body sticking to Max’s.

  We were close.

  So close.

  I swallowed hard and looked away, afraid of the sudden intensity between us. The rest of the crowd fell away, and I looked back to him because I was already missing the heat of his gaze.

  His shoulders were hard and muscular, and from this distance I could tell that the rest of him was just as sculpted. My hands longed to slide down his chest, to take his measure right here on the dance floor. It felt like I could, like he wouldn’t even stop me.

  I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted him with every fiber of my being, every cell of my composition. And was I crazy to think that the look in his eyes meant he wanted me too?

  A hand on my arm dragged me out of the moment. Literally. I looked to see who’d grabbed me and locked gazes with Willow.

  “I’m ready to go home. Do you mind if we leave?”

  I wasn’t ready to go. Not even close. My knee jerk reaction was to tell her to go sit down and I’d come find her when I was good and ready, but I knew that wasn’t fair. That was just the lust speaking.

  “Sure.” I turned back to Max, who was glaring at Willow. “We’re gonna leave. Thank you so much for the drink.”

  “Anyti
me.”

  He still hadn’t dropped my waist, and didn’t until I took a step back. How badly I just wanted to stay there! Why did Willow have to come interrupt us like this?

  Willow was already holding our stuff, so we headed for the exit. I waited to question her until we were outside, knowing it was pointless with all the noise.

  The night air was as refreshing as a cold glass of water on a hot and sweaty day. If I’d had a glass of water to go with it, I would’ve been set. As it was, I’d have to wait until we got home. We started trekking in the direction of the subway, skirting around the crowd of people waiting to get inside.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  Willow handed me my jacket, but I didn’t put it on. I was too warm to need it. After my encounter with Max, I thought I’d never be cold again.

  “You were about to kiss Max,” Willow said. “I figured I should step in.”

  A bolt of white hot indignation cut through me and I dropped my mouth open. “What? I was not about to kiss him.”

  “Or he was about to kiss you. I don’t know.” She shrugged, tugging on her jacket. “I just know things looked pretty intense.”

  My face was impossibly hot. “You think so?”

  Willow rounded on me, looking very serious. “Dude! You’re drunk. I know he’s Mr. Hottiepants but he’s also your boss. Remember that. Think about how awful you’d feel in the morning if you made out with your boss tonight.”

  She was right. I sighed.

  Willow slung her arm over my shoulders and pulled me in tight against her side. “Did you have fun though?”

  I nodded. “Lots.”

  Probably too much, now that I was thinking about it. Max was probably just trying to be nice, and here was I reading way too much into it and thinking we were having some kind of moment.

  As if.

  I appreciated him trying to make me feel better, and it had worked, but next time I shouldn’t allow myself to get so sucked into him like that. If we’d appeared to outsiders like we might’ve been about to kiss, that was probably my fault for staring at him all doe-eyed.