by Kacey Shea
“You are impossible, you know that.” I bite out.
“Whatever, can we go back inside now? I’m starving.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” We stomp our way back inside the apartment. I’m pissed. How’s this happening to me? I’m glad Kate’s confident in her ability to keep things casual between us but I’m not so sure I can promise the same. I’m bound to regret this new living arrangement but there’s nothing I can do now without coming off as a total ass.
We walk in the dining area to find all the food on the table. Evie flashes a tentative smile, her hand wrapped tightly around Tate’s larger one. “Everything okay with you two?”
“Fine!” Kate and I shout.
“Just overflowing with joy for this ray of sunshine that I get to see every damn day for the next three weeks.” I amend with a fake ass smile. The words drip with sarcasm. Evie and Tate share a look that I deduct as concern. They’re probably right to be.
“FOR THE LOVE OF ALL things holy, put some damn clothes on!”
Closing my eyes, I focus on my breath. Ignoring the barking request from my new roomie, I move from child’s pose to downward facing dog.
“Oh, fuck me.”
“Been there, done that.” I murmur under my breath. I start every morning on my mat. I always practice yoga in skimpy underwear. It’s what I sleep in and I’m used to living alone. Had I moved in with anyone else I’d be more considerate, either wearing more clothes or moving my daily yoga routine into my temporary bedroom. I know it bothers Jon, so here I am. Probably not the best idea to poke the bear but I can’t resist.
“Whatever. I’m taking a shower.” Jon stomps down the hall, shirtless and sweaty, returned from his morning run. We’re establishing some semblance of a routine since moving my stuff to Evie’s bedroom three days ago. He works out in the mornings and I practice yoga. He usually catches the tail end of my sacred mat time and gives me shit about what I’m wearing. Or more accurately, not wearing.
I roll the sponge foam mat and carry it back to my room. Trying to concentrate on yoga with a naked Jon just one door over is impossible. Even with my years of training there’s no way I can steer my lewd thoughts from the racy images. Man, muscle, steam, water. I’ve never wanted to be a soap bubble so badly.
Dressing for work, I pull my hair into a twist at the base of my neck and apply makeup with care. I match my lip color to the same bright fuchsia that swirls through my bohemian skirt. I grab a cardigan to throw inside my large hand bag. Doesn’t matter that the high will be well over one hundred degrees today, my office will still be cold as Elsa’s castle from Frozen.
The front door opens and shuts with a bang. Evie comes over every morning to work with Jon on their case load. She primarily works the behind the scenes, a point of contact for clients as well as controlling the administration for the company. Their living room is now converted to an office workspace, couch pushed to one corner, allowing for two giant filing cabinets and a desk. They’re still running the business from this apartment, but I have to wonder how long that’ll last.
I grab my bag and open the bedroom door. A smile tugs at my lips as I watch my best friend, vigorously poking away at the keyboard between deep frustrated huffs.
“Morning, Evie!” I call out, walking the short hallway.
“Hey, Kate. How’s it going?” She glances over her shoulder to grin.
“Oh, just dandy. How are things with the boyfriend now that you are living together in sin?” A blush travels up her neck and stains her cheeks. I giggle.
“Never mind, I don’t need details now. From your face I can guess things are going well.” She nods shyly before turning her attention back to the screen.
“Well, I’ve gotta run. Maybe we can meet for breakfast on Sunday? I know I’ve seen you every day, but I feel like we haven’t had our girl time.” I fill a travel mug with coffee, sugar and creamer in the adjacent kitchen.
Evie spins her chair away from the screen and nods.
“I know what you mean. Let’s do breakfast. I want to hear all about how things are going living here with Jon.” She raises one brow and I act as though she hasn’t.
“Make sure she fills you in on the no pants party she’s been throwing every damn morning.” Jon grumbles, stomping from the hallway and plopping down in the chair next to Evie. Her eyes widen as she glances back toward me. I roll mine.
“Yes, and I’ll be sure to mention my roommate’s a real prude. Later gators!”
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I prance out the front door before they can ask any more questions. The truth is I hate living with Jon. Not because I don’t like him, but because he’s a constant reminder of everything I can’t have.
I hop inside my sporty Acura and sing along at the top of my lungs for the short commute. I work downtown for a well-known photography and videography studio. I love my job because every day is different, depending on the current projects and clients. It’s never boring and I like that a good chunk of my day involves talking with people. It also keeps my creative juices flowing being surrounded by artists.
Pulling around the older restored office front to the near empty gravel lot in the back I find my usual space. I grab my bag and use my keys to enter the employee entrance.
“Hello!” I call into the quiet space. Two of the owners, Marc and Steph are in here somewhere because I saw their cars parked outside. Jason, the third owner, will likely roll in sometime after lunch.
I rest my bag inside my office and pull out my laptop, plugging it into the charging station on the desk. My office is not a large space, and it’s in the back of the building between one of the two portrait studios and a supply closet. It’s modern and clean, with whitewashed exposed brick walls and large photography prints. A white office desk with bright orange chair in the center of the room makes up my workspace. A small faux white leather sofa sits across for the times when I meet with clients. Three token square skylights fill the room with natural light.
Wandering down the hallway to the reception desk I ponder where everyone is. Teagan, our receptionist won’t be in for another hour, so I click on the phones and slide my finger across a tablet, pausing to select a music mix to stream throughout the office.
A movement near the front door catches my attention. Marc and Steph take one last pull from their cigarettes before squashing them into the dirt and ceremoniously picking up the butts to throw in the can just outside the doorway.
Marc is wearing jean skimmers and a buttoned down short sleeve shirt, a plaid design in hues of blue. His combed, styled brown hair is perfectly in place and matches the length of his trim beard. His outfit screams summers in the Hamptons but his tattooed neck and gages provide a glimpse of the alternative, artistic genius that lives inside. He’s attractive and looks younger than his age of forty-two. In fact, I’m probably the only one in the office that knows his actual age because I hold the company HR documents. I also know that Marc’s given name is actually spelled with a k instead of c, but in his younger years he thought Marc spelled with a c had more of an edge so he changed it.
Steph is the youngest of our studio’s owners; at only thirty she runs the videography side of the business. Her bobbed jet black hair, with thick blunt bangs border her sharp features. Today a pair of thick, black framed glasses draw attention to her ice blue eyes. Steph is short and a little heavy set and wears her typical black on black ensemble. I’m forever attempting to get the woman to add some color into her wardrobe but she insists the only color she will wear goes on her lips. Today it’s in the form of a deep red.
Marc pulls open the door and steps inside behind Steph.
“Speak of the devil,” Steph winks, a smile tugs at her painted lips. “We were just talking about you.”
“Yeah? Were you recounting how fabulous I am and then decided to give me a ten percent raise as an early birthday gift?” Marc snorts a laugh at my reply.
“Oh you’re fabulous, girl. We need our best emp
loyee to work her charm on a prospective client.” He bats his thick lashes my way and steeples his fingers over his chest.
I’m not falling for it though, last time they asked for my help I was stuck entertaining a seventy year old man for three days. He was quite the handsy fucker. I raise my eyebrows in suspicion.
“Who’s the client, Marc?” Steph cackles.
“I told you she wouldn’t forgive you for sticking her with Angus.”
“Oh, baby girl, I’m sorry. I’ll never do that to you again. Scouts honor.” He moves to salute, but uses his entire hand.
“You were never a Boy Scout, Marc.” I deadpan.
“Okay, okay. Here’s the skinny. We have a meeting set up this afternoon with Three Ugly Guys for the possibility of shooting their next cover and music video. I need you Kate. This client would be a huge break for us.” He’s practically begging.
“Just say you’ll bring the flirt. Tell the man you’ll bring the flirt.” Steph rolls her eyes and a smile pulls at my lips.
“Fine. I’ll bring my A game.” I shake my head as a laugh escapes my mouth. Marc raises his hands in the air, offering a dramatic “Hallelujah!” to the ceiling above.
“Why does that band sound familiar?”
Marc and Steph gasp, wide-eyes studying my face.
“Girl, we really need to expand your music tastes. They’re only the biggest band to come out of the Valley since Jimmy Eat World. The album they are about to drop is going to blow shit up! Not literal shit, you get what I’m saying right?” Marc’s hands fail wildly as he talks. He’s notably excited about this opportunity.
“That’s awesome. I’ll do everything I can to secure the deal. But honestly, you guys are so frickin’ talented, they would be fools to not go with us.” I speak in earnest. I’m grateful to work with these artists. Steph nods before adding her two cents.
“The cool thing is they want to go with someone local, that’s why we’re even being considered. Their agent already screened us as a top choice so as long as they like what they see today, the job is ours. It would mean national exposure.”
“What time will they be in?”
“We are taking them to lunch at one and will finish up with a meeting here in the conference room. Make sure Teagan has everything cleaned up in there and that the beverage fridge is fully stocked. Oh, and have her clear our schedule for the day, I think we only had a few studio shoots on the books. Steph and I are going to pick up the new promotional materials we had printed last week. We’ll have a quick strategizing meeting whenever Jason rolls in.”
Marc looks down at his watch and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. So I will be on Jason duty. Getting him in here before lunch is always a chore. It starts with finding out where he partied last night and with whom. I’m pretty good at tracking him, but definitely not one of the most enthralling aspects to my career.
“So do you want me to start with researching the band or with tracking down Jason?”
“Jason.”
“Band.” Marc disagrees with Steph.
“I’ll do both. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“That’s why you’re the best!” Marc pops into his office and Steph mouths, “Jason,” once more before he returns, keys in hand. They both turn and exit the door, leaving me alone. I blow out a sigh. Time for the next episode of Where in the World is Jason Moreno.
The stars align in my favor. Tracking Jason down proves easier than past productions. One call to his housekeeper results in the information he’s passed out in his own bed, and thankfully alone. I have no shame though. I’ve pulled him from the beds of men, women, and sometimes both for the sake of an important meeting and I’ll do it again.
His estate is a modern custom build in the Arcadia district. Here it doesn’t matter if the home is a piece of shit, the property values are all about location. I pull into the circular drive and use my key to open the front door.
“Hi Maria!” I wave and greet Jason’s housekeeper. “He still asleep?”
“Yes, I tried to wake him, but you know how that goes.” She shrugs and I nod.
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I better go get him up.”
I march down the porcelain tile hallway with purpose, swinging open the double doors to the master suite. The room is cool and pitch black inside, the darkening shades are rolled down to conceal even an inch of daylight. I fumble around in the darkness, careful not to trip as I make my way to the bedside table. Groping around with my fingers until I recover the magical remote, I press buttons and the shades began to rise, illuminating the large bedroom. Jason remains unconscious, his mouth ajar, drool spilling out onto the pillow.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” I sing out as loud as I can. Jason moans and rolls to his back. The sheet that was covering him opens to reveal his fully naked and semi-erect form. Sadly this does nothing for me. Jason is beautiful. With mixed heritage he’s blessed in the genetics department, in all regards. But Jason’s long been a friend and I’ll never view him as more than that. Besides, he’s a bit of a manwhore for my taste.
“Jase! Come on, man, put some damn pants on. We’ve got places to go, people to see!”
I scrounge around in the dresser and select an outfit. I come across several bottles of prescription drugs. Crap. So we’re back to this again. Jason’s been in and out of rehab several times in the period I’ve worked for him. He’s a tortured artist. Truly, in every sense of the term. His suffering is what makes his photography so beautiful. Irony at its fullest.
The emotion this man captures with a lens has brought me to tears on several occasions. I’m honored to work in his presence. I only wish said presence was clothed at the moment.
I walk back to the bed and throw the clean clothes on the bedside table.
“Last chance, big guy. Wake up, please!” I grab his arm and shake back and forth. Nothing but another slight groan. Why can’t things ever be easy? I waltz to the connecting master bathroom. Finding a glass bouquet of fake flowers on the counter, I dump the contents and fill it with water from the faucet before I traipse back to the bed.
There’s no quicker way. I inwardly cringe before I dump the contents directly over Jason’s face and jump back.
“What the fuck?” Jason jerks off the bed, sputtering and wiping at his face until his gaze meets my own. “Fuck. Kate, what the hell?”
I grab the clothes from the table and push them into Jason’s chest before I turn to give him privacy.
“I tried waking you up, honest to goodness, but you were out cold. We have a big client meeting in less than an hour.” Releasing a frustrated breath, I have to ask, “Did you take something last night?”
He dresses quietly, but ignores my question. I only hope we’ll get back in time for me to research the band.
“Ah, damn.” I turn to find Jason dressed but looking hung over as hell, sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling head in hands.
“We need to get going, Jason. How about I have Maria make you something to eat and you go freshen up?”
“Yeah. Yeah, go do that. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I stroll back out to the kitchen and chat with Maria while she preps a breakfast burrito and cup of coffee to go. Jason wanders into the kitchen twenty minutes later looking alive and much more responsive. A pair of dark shades over his eyes is the only proof of his hangover.
I nervously glance at my phone to check the time. If we leave now we’ll be lucky to be there before the band shows up. We aren’t late, but I won’t have any time to prep myself. I slide my finger over iTunes and download their EP so we can at least listen to it on the ride over.
“Thank you, Maria,” Jason takes the offered food and drink from her hands and trudges behind me on the way outside to the car.
“Best chauffeur ever.” Jason flashes his charming smile before shoveling the burrito inside his wide mouth. I start the car.
“Ha! I’m glad you approve. Have you heard of this band we are meet
ing with today?” I press play and the music streams through my car. A loud blend of rocking guitars fills the song before a strong male voice joins in with harsh lyrics.
“Wait! This is the band we are meeting with? Holy fuck! How did we get a meeting with 3UG?” Jason winces as the drums crash. He reaches over the middle console to adjust the volume.
“Am I the only person who doesn’t know this band?”
“Well, you are either stuck in the ’90s or listening to top forty, so I’m not surprised. But these guys are great. I can’t believe we’re up for their account.”
As we come to a stop light I grab my phone in an attempt to Google the band.
“Ah, ah, ah! No texting and driving, sister. Hand over the phone.” Jason plucks it from my grip and I narrow my eyes, both astonished and irritated at his audacity.
“You’re really going to give me shit right now? Tell me, Mr. Jason Moreno, law abiding citizen, what pills did you take last night and did you by chance mix them with alcohol?”
He smirks and shakes his head.
“I don’t know what you are referring to, Kate. I have prescriptions for any and all medications in my possession.” I roll my eyes. Yeah, Mr. Innocent here.
“Whatever. Let’s just get to this meeting and score these ugly guys as clients.” Jason chuckles and focuses on finishing his coffee as I weave my way through traffic.
“No shit.” I swear under my breath and glance about, drinking in the delicious tattooed rockers that fill our humble conference room. There are four of them and not one is ugly. “You’re like the bad boy, wet dream version of Backstreet Boys!”
One band member sitting near the back corner laughs loudly and winks at me before coughing into his arm. I catch a flash of silver from his pierced tongue before he covers his mouth. The three other guys sit glaring, a look of pure disgust on their gorgeous faces.
