by Jana Aston
“Huh.” I slump in the chair because I can’t believe how crazy I am. “I’m such an idiot.”
“I think you’re actually quite clever.”
I groan and drop my head back to stare at the ceiling in Canon’s office. This is fine, I don’t need Carol. I was just having a crisis of confidence, which is ridiculous because I’ve totally got this.
“You’re Vince’s best friend, right?”
“We haven’t made it Facebook official yet”—Canon shrugs—“but it’s looking good.”
“The thing is, Canon, is that I legiterally love him.”
“As one does, loveable bastard that Vince is. Oh, that reminds me, I’ve got something for you.” He slides open a desk drawer and pulls something out, smiling as he glances at it before he sliding it across the desktop to me. It’s an employee ID. My employee ID, but with my new last name, Rossi. Payton Rossi.
“I don’t need this.” I sigh as I’m hit with a wave of emotions. This is the first time I’ve seen my married name on anything. Minus the eighty-seven times that I practice-wrote it during meetings this week, but that wasn’t printed on something official like an employment ID card. I exhale into a big slump in the chair. “Vince is dumping me.”
“I doubt that’s true.” Canon seems really unmoved about my impending break-up. I’d have thought he’d care more since he was the maid of honor at our wedding, but no. He’s swiveling in his chair, acting as if we’re discussing the cafeteria meatloaf.
“It’s true! Well, partially true. I think he likes me.” I pause as I say that because it needs a rephrase. “I know he likes me. He’s done nothing but show me how much he likes me, until today. Today has been iffy but he sounded stressed and maybe he’s not a phone person. Is he? Do you guys talk on the phone?”
“Every night at ten. We discuss the day and how it made us feel before planning our outfits for the next day.”
“He’s kinda moody on the phone,” I continue, ignoring Canon. “I think the husband thing might be too much for him. I’m hoping to convince him to boyfriend me, I just need a second chance.”
“How much do you know about Vince?”
“God, don’t nag me, Canon. I’ve known him for less than two weeks. I’ll admit we’re on the lower end of the getting-to-know you scale, but sometimes you just know. I mean other people, not you. You’re still single so obviously you haven’t experienced what just knowing feels like.”
“Sometimes I meet a woman I just know I’m meant to have sex with once, then never see again. Does that count?”
“Sorta?” I scrunch my nose up while I think about it. “I’m not the just knowing police, but it sounds like you at least understand the concept. Don’t worry though, I didn’t believe in forever until I met Vince so there’s still hope for you. I used to believe that love only lasted for spans of one to ten years, but Vince changed that for me. He made me believe that shooting for forever is worth the risk.”
Canon stares at me from across the desk, his expression thoughtful.
“Let me tell you a few things about Vince Rossi.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the end I decide that a hundred boxes of Cheez-Its is extreme. That’s a lie. I would have gotten a hundred boxes but there were only sixty-seven boxes of Cheez-Its on the store shelf and I decided sixty-seven wasn’t enough to fill the tub and it would be rude to wipe out the entire stock of Cheez-Its when some other girl may be having a crisis and need one of those boxes. So in order not to contribute to a cheese-flavored cracker shortage, I limited my purchase to three.
They’re lined up now on the edge of my tub. One box each of original cheese, extra-toasty cheese and white cheddar cheese. As for me, I’m in the tub, fully dressed. The tub is devoid of water but it’s still quite comforting, like a hug. The pillow helps, as does the blanket. The couch would admittedly have been more comfortable but it doesn’t have the same self-soothing appeal as the tub. The tub is like a nest where I can hole up while I reflect on my life choices.
I know it’s weird, but filling the entire tub with crackers would have been weirder, so I’m calling this a win because I really need a win. Fuck Carol and her essential oils.
It turns out that Vince is a bit of a do-gooder. It turns out that strippers aren’t his hobby, helping people is his hobby. I thought he was a bit of a bad boy—a strip-club-owning lawyer. A sexy rogue.
But he’s not. He’s perfect is what he is. My do-gooder husband. I know, I know. How much do-gooding could a strip club owner-slash-lawyer do?
A lot.
He’s on the board of directors at three local charities.
His law firm has done more pro bono work than any other law firm in Nevada for four years running.
He funnels every dollar of profit from the club into scholarships for the employees. All of them: the dancers, the bartenders, the servers. Anyone who wants an education gets one. In fact, every employee is hired with the understanding that they will take advantage of it and move on. That it’s a stepping stone, not a career.
So yeah, I guess attempting to learn how to pole-dance wasn’t that impressive, and was possibly offensive.
And we already know that the sum total of my volunteering is returning the grocery cart to the cart corral.
My husband is so far out of my league.
The real problem? He didn’t tell me any of this himself, I heard it all from Canon.
Why wouldn’t he tell me all those good things about himself? Why wouldn’t he share that? That’s what stings. We talked all week. Talked and ate and talked and played games and talked and fucked.
But how much did he really share? How much did he open up? I thought it was a lot. We talked about his mom and growing up in Vegas and so many things. We talked about where he went to school and his hobbies. We specifically talked about the strip club and he never corrected me when I called it a hobby.
He sent me annulment paperwork without talking to me about it.
He didn’t say he loved me back.
But then I remind myself of the way he acted, the way he made me feel. His actions tell me that he cares about me. That he’s interested in me, that he likes me. He spent every single day with me until his business trip—and that wasn’t just sex. It was so far from just sex. Maybe he’s not ready to admit that he loves me yet, but he’s well on his way. I’m sure of it. Mostly sure. Sure enough?
I never once saw where he lived. I asked him when I was going to see his place and he said it was a shithole. I asked him what he did with his seven-hundred-dollar-an-hour income if he lived in a shithole and he laughed. Said he had a condo downtown near his office. An expensive condo that was lifeless and cold compared to my apartment, but that I was welcome to see it anytime.
But then he sent me annulment paperwork, so maybe he didn’t mean anytime. Maybe he meant he didn’t want me to know where he lived.
They say that love conquers all, but that’s a lie. Love fucks up all the time. I’ve seen firsthand how much love cannot conquer.
Love is an asshole.
Chapter Thirty
On Saturday I decide enough is enough. Winners never quit and quitters never win. Fine, I don’t decide that at all, but I have to go to work. Because today is the hotel’s grand opening gala and since I work in event planning, it’s imperative that I’m there. Everyone in my department has a shift they need to cover today. I’m in charge of overseeing valet services from four till eight this evening.
I know, lame.
I don’t even know anything about valet services, not really. But one member of the event planning staff will be stationed throughout the hotel for the entire day. Just on standby, really. I don’t have to do anything but be on hand in case there’s a car parking emergency.
Like I said, lame.
Someday I’ll get the good assignments, like being the point person for the pop star who was hired to perform tonight. Until then, I’ll rock the hell out of making sure everyone in valet services is hustl
ing this afternoon and if an emergency arrives I’ll be there to take care of it. By take care of it I mean I’ll call my boss and relay what’s happening. That’s really the entirety of my assignment today.
Maybe I’ll use the time to matchmake via Instagram. I’m sure at least one of the valet guys could use my help, so the afternoon won’t be a total waste. And afterwards I can attend the gala myself. Not that I’m really in the mood, not at all, but I’ll go to see Lydia. She’ll be there with Rhys and I’m sure he’ll be busy and I’ll get a few minutes to catch up with her and see how things are going between them.
So onwards and upwards and all that.
Vince texted and said he’d be home today. I’ll be home on Saturday, the text read. I took it to mean he’d be flying home from Reno sometime on Saturday and would probably go to his place. Of course he’d go to his place, it’s not as if he has things at my place. I’m sure we’ll get together sometime this weekend and talk. God, I’m not in the mood for talking. The only talking I want to do is getting-to-know-you talking, not breaking-up-with-you talking. I’m not interested in that kind of talking, not at all.
But for today, work. Then the gala. Then I’ll figure out what Vince and I are doing. I shower and do my hair, sweeping my hair up into a high bun. I spend extra time on my makeup and then select a fairly demure blush-colored dress that will work for both my afternoon responsibilities and as much of the gala that I want to stay at. It’s got three-quarter sleeves and the skirt hits me mid-thigh. I slip my feet in a pair of nude heels and examine my reflection in the mirror.
I look very wife-y if I say so myself. It’s a waste because Vince won’t be seeing me tonight. Not unless he calls to apologize for having his ex-girlfriend submit our annulment paperwork, tells me he loves me and invites me over to sit on his face. I’m a bit of a dreamer so I primped and put on good underwear just in case.
On the way to work I swing through the Del Taco drive-thru to get an iced java and the first sip reminds me of Vince. It’s stupid—I’ve had Del Taco with him once and without him forty or more times. Yet the second I take the first sip I remember that he brought me tacos. Tacos and my favorite iced coffee even though I drive him nuts when I rattle the ice around the cup.
When I get to work I park in the employee section of the garage and stop by my department to check in before I head down to valet. Honestly, I lucked out with this early coverage of the opening. The event isn’t really kicking off until eight so I’ve got a while until things start hopping. I find the administrative offices closest to the valet area and introduce myself to the team lead, letting her know to holler if she needs anything. Then I find a place to observe while staying out of the way, sip my iced coffee and catch up on a few games of Words with Friends on my cell.
My game is interrupted by a text from Canon.
Canon: Nice dress. Very wifely.
I glance around, expecting to see him lounging against a wall somewhere, but I can’t see him. That’s when I realize he’s watching me on a security camera.
Payton: Are you watching me on camera? Seriously, you need help.
* * *
Canon: ikr? I think I have a surveillance fetish.
* * *
Payton: you’re fucking weird. Tell me where the camera is so I can flip you off.
* * *
Canon: Pfft. Where isn’t the camera is more like it.
* * *
Payton: Weirdo.
* * *
Canon: I’m not the one who just played a two-letter word for five points. Have some pride.
* * *
Payton: you can see that?!?!?!
* * *
Canon: I can see everrrrrything from my surveillance kingdom.
* * *
Payton: …
* * *
Canon: I’ve got a pop star and a former president due to arrive in the next hour. They were told to use the private entrance under the west parking garage, but if they miss the turn they may head for valet. Heads up.
* * *
Payton: thanks.
I spend the next few hours doing nothing because valet services really doesn’t need any help. The parking garage for self-park and valet is nowhere near capacity and valet is on top of things, grabbing keys and handing out tickets within thirty seconds of each car that pulls in. It turns out that there is slightly more to my responsibilities than keeping an eye on any car parking emergencies. I’m also standing by in case a VIP guest needs something between their car and the lobby, where they’re being greeted by a VIP liaison. As you’d expect, no one has needed anything during their twenty-foot walk to the door, so I’m mostly people-watching. The only celebrities arriving this early have been newspeople. I spotted an anchor from CNN and a reality TV star-turned-red carpet host for the E! Network, but otherwise, nada. Mark is overseeing valet from eight till midnight so I’m hovering near the valet desk people, watching and waiting on Mark to show up so I can hand over the reins.
Which is how I nearly run smack into Vince.
He’s here. In a black suit and God help me he looks good. I catch him just as he slides out of his car and scans the area with a slow sweep of his eyes. I duck behind the valet desk before he can see me, and I don’t even know why I’m hiding. I’m so surprised to see him that I’m thrown off guard and my heart is racing like I just ran half a mile in heels. My phone dings an incoming text.
Canon: Hey, FYI, your husband is on his way here.
* * *
Payton: Why are you such a dick at giving me a heads-up? He’s already here, but you know that, don’t you!?!?!?
* * *
Canon: Yeah, but it’s more fun for me this way.
* * *
Payton: dick!
* * *
Canon: He’s inside now if you want to stop crouching behind the valet stand.
I hold my middle finger up over my head, then stand and exhale loudly. Okay, so Vince is here. That’s good? That’s good. I straighten my dress and contemplate what I want to say to Vince. I don’t get very far in my contemplations when Mark arrives, so I bring him up to date on the whole lot of nothing that’s been going on, then I head inside. I detour to my desk on the third floor to grab my handbag, but my boss is in a chatty mood so by the time I head down to the party it’s nearly nine. And I’m jumpy.
The thing is, when you’re sort of looking for someone and sort of avoiding them at the same time, it tends to make a person a little tense. Like when you go to a haunted house and you know none of it’s real and you’re not actually in danger of dying, but you still jump when a teenager dressed as a werewolf yells, “Boo!” Kinda like that.
We’re expecting up to five thousand people tonight and there’s at least half that many crowding the ballroom space, so when I walk into the room and see Vince it’s perfectly normal to pretend I don’t see him and dash in the other direction.
Perfectly normal.
I can feel your judge-y eyes, but unless you married a man the day you met him, yet somehow, some way, fell in actual real love with him even though love is terrifying and unpredictable and doesn’t come with a guarantee, you don’t know how you’d react the first time you saw him after he sent you annulment papers.
So I run. Not far, just to the other side of the ballroom. Then to the ballroom across the hall where they’ve got an opening act playing for the pop star. And then back to the main ballroom, where I run smack into Lydia.
“Hey!” She grabs me into a quick hug and then asks who I’m avoiding.
“Vince.”
“He’s here?”
“He’s freaking everywhere.”
“I think he’s friends with Canon,” she says with a small frown, probably wondering why the guy who helped her set up her fake virginity auction to Rhys, but whom she still may think is an actual pimp, is here.
“Yeah, that’s probably why he’s here,” I lie because I haven’t brought Lydia up to speed on anything and now doesn’t really seem like the ti
me, does it? Hey, Vince doesn’t actually broker hookers, and by the way I married him. Seems awkward, right? When a tray of d’oeuvres passes by I grab one and shove it into my mouth to buy some time.
“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Lydia asks, eyes narrowing on me in concern. Damn, I forgot that she can be really observant when she’s not completely oblivious. It’s sorta all-or-nothing with her.
“Of course not.” I shake my head. “I’m taking care of it.”
“Taking care of what?” She’s definitely suspicious now. And nosey. Somebody named Lydia is getting a nosey badge on Monday, I can promise you that.
“The thing,” I respond as I snag a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “I’m going to fix it. It’s just turning out to be a bit more complicated than one would think.” God, if that isn’t the truth I don’t know what is. Marriage is super complicated.
“What thing, Payton? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” I insist. Then I spot Vince headed in my direction and he looks annoyed. Real annoyed. The thing is, I don’t think we need to talk about our future when he’s in a bad mood. That doesn’t make sense, so maybe I’ll just slip out of here, go home and I’ll talk to Vince tomorrow. We’ll have a civilized Sunday brunch, discuss our future and then have sex. “Listen, we’ll talk later,” I tell Lydia as I attempt to edge past her. “Dying to hear all the details about you and Rhys,” I add as I frantically look for an escape route.
