Love Like the Movies

by Victoria Van Tiem

  “Really?”

  I can still feel his eyes on me.

  “Huh, I don’t see it.”

  I snap my hand in front of his face.

  “No, that I see. I meant I don’t see you two—”

  My eyes pop. “Don’t,” I say and point a warning finger in his direction. My heart is thumping erratically around in my chest. Hopefully I don’t appear as discombobulated as I feel. I hate that he unnerves me. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on, and I don’t want to fight with you, so if you want to talk about work, fine. But . . .”

  Shane’s eyes narrow. “Are we fighting?”

  “Are you switching agencies?” I just put it on the line.

  He stifles a laugh. “Huh, you didn’t used to be that direct.”

  “A lot of things have changed,” I say, with a sideways glare.

  His gaze skims my outfit. “I can see that. Hardly recognize you in your corporate . . .” His hand waves toward my skirt.

  Squaring my shoulders, I huff. “Are you staying or not, Shane?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that and . . .” Shane leans back on the stool. “I have a business proposition for you.” A small smile hints at the corners of his mouth.

  I lean an elbow on the bar and palm my chin, pretending I don’t recognize the similarity to the Pretty Woman movie line. I mean, really, does he expect me to answer with “Yes, I’d love to be your beck-and-call girl. But you’re a rich, good-looking guy. You could get a million girls.”

  Crap. Bradley’s right, I do know all the lines. I refocus. “What’s this proposition?”

  “I’d like you to live the ten movie moments with me. Do that and I’ll sign.”

  Heat rises up my neck and lands on my cheeks. Is he messing with me? “Movie moments?” I stare at him, perplexed. “Live the movie moments? Like act them out?” I titter with a half-smile. He’s pulling my leg. “Okay, so Confessions of a Shopaholic, I’m going to run around speaking fake Finnish and you’ll buy me a green scarf?”

  “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, but that one’s not on the list. I just e-mailed you the final ten I selected.”

  My chin lowers. “You’re serious? You’re blackmailing me with movies? I’m not gonna do that. I’m not even sure I understand it. And Bradley’s not going to go for that, so—”

  “Wait, wait . . . hear me out.” His hand lifts and hangs in midair. “The whole restaurant and movie thing, well, the movie part, was inspired by you . . . us, actually.” He turns and meets my eyes. “The truth is—”

  “Ha, the truth. What do you know about truth?” I mutter under my breath and take a drink.

  “I was saying . . . who else would get this concept better than you, right?”

  I shrug. I don’t know what else to say. I try and relax the scowl that’s set across my face, and round up the long-ago hurts that have been set free in order to shove them back down.

  “Right.” Shane scrubs his jaw. “And if you’re happy with this Bradley guy—”

  “Yes, very happy.” I can’t believe him. What the hell? I straighten, brows furrowed, feeling all prickly and vexed. “Bradley should have nothing to do with this. It’s about the work. My work.”

  “You’re right. And the work I saw today was good, but it was generic.” Shane leans back, softening his tone. “I want something like you used to do. Like what’s in your album. And if that’s not something you can deliver, then, yeah, maybe a different agency can.”

  Wait . . . Album? What album? I blink, looking away. My Facebook album. All my abstracts and designs from my art classes. “My work from college,” I say, glancing at him in acknowledgment.

  “Yes. Back when you watched romantic movies excessively. Knew every line and story, and wore paint in your hai—”

  “Shane, that was years ago. I’m not the same girl. I’ve grown up.”

  “Pity. Because the concept I want needs that girl. So maybe if you do the movie list, you’ll rediscover her. And since you’re so obviously happy in your relationship, it shouldn’t be a problem.” He opens his mouth as if he is about to say something else, but changes his mind. “Anyway, that’s my deal.”

  “You’re really serious?”

  “Yes, Kensington, I’m really serious.”

  The air between us grows even heavier. I scoot my drink closer, and take a long sip through the straw, debating his offer, bouncing his words around in my head. I should be able to spend time with him, because I am happy.

  “Okay, then here’s my proposition.” I sit up tall and stare him down. “I’ll agree to your movie list, if you agree to my clause.”

  “Your clause?” His eyebrows rise.

  “Yes, I’ve added my own little personal movie rider,” I say, feeling in control finally.

  “Am I going to need to buy large bags of M&M’s and sort out all the brown ones?” Shane gives a crinkly smile.

  I don’t return it. I also pretend not to catch his reference to The Wedding Planner. “It’s a truth clause.”

  “A truth clause?”

  “Yup. I want the whole ugly truth.” I just need to say it, put it out there. My heart’s going to burst. “In college . . . tell me why you cheated.”

  His smile drops. “I didn’t.”

  “Nope.” I shake my head with frustration. “That isn’t gonna cut it. You want participation, then I want the truth.”

  “You want to do this now? Here?” His jaw clenches. “I’m not getting into all of that here.”

  Standing, he throws the bartender a twenty, not realizing it’s been taken care of, glances at me, and waits.

  For what? I turn and look away. He shakes his head and walks toward the restroom. He doesn’t want to get into it here? Then I don’t need to be here when he gets back. Grabbing my bag, I sneak out.

  I may have given up on the fairy tale, but this time, I’m not giving up without an answer. Just like Vivian in Pretty Woman, I want more.

  LYING IN BED, I CHECK Facebook on my phone. Ren now has fifty-three likes and numerous comments of congratulations under her “Baby on board” status. I huff. I want to comment: Baby is bored. Requests new topic. Like your sister-in-law’s engagement.

  My phone rings in my hand—Mom’s special ring. She never calls me late. What if something’s wrong? I sit up and answer, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Mom? Everything okay?”

  “Kensington? It’s Mom.”

  “Yes, I know. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

  I wave a hand up in the air. “It’s almost eleven. You don’t usually call past six.”

  “Oh, well, of course not, dear. But I wanted to make sure you and Bradley were aware of the family plans for the Saturday after next.”

  This is what she called about so late? “Er . . . what family plans?”

  “Yes, well, with such big news, your father and I thought it would only be right to get everyone together to celebrate, and of course, you have to be there. Oh, hold on, I have another call. Hello?”

  “Still me, Mom.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Hello?”

  “Mom, it’s still me. You have to click the button that says answer.”

  “Oh, right,” she says, then the phone goes dead.

  She’ll call back when she realizes she hung up on me. I bet she hung up on the other person, too. I lie back down, concentrating on her words. A family get-together to celebrate. I have to be there? It’s too early for a baby shower.

  I gasp. An engagement party?

  Of course they’re going to throw us a party, it’s only natural. I mean, I’m their only daughter and they adore Bradley. I will get my special moment. I do get a do-over. I’m suddenly elated, floating on a happiness bubble. After the day I’ve had, I really needed this.

  See, Shane? I am happy . . . about grown-up things like engagement parties. His voice keeps playing in my head. This concept needs that girl. What does he know? Nothing.
I’m exactly the same girl I was in college, only better.

  Just because I haven’t picked up a brush in a while doesn’t mean I’m not an artist. I still . . . well, okay, I haven’t been to the art museum recently either. It used to be my weekly ritual. I do miss that. And I miss working on the pottery wheel. I loved turning sludgy brown clay into something beautiful.

  And I do still watch romantic comedies. I have no problem incorporating these into the concept; I just didn’t know there was a movie theme. I don’t need to live the moments with him in order to do that. Who does he think he is?

  I lift my phone, click on the e-mail app, and glance again at the one Shane sent. He’s titled it the Love Like the Movies list.

  1. Sleepless in Seattle

  2. Pretty Woman

  3. Bridget Jones’s Diary

  4. 27 Dresses

  5. Dirty Dancing

  6. Sixteen Candles

  7. Love Actually

  8. Say Anything

  9. You’ve Got Mail

  10. My Best Friend’s Wedding

  He hasn’t specified any particular scenes. Is he going to just randomly choose one from each movie? I’m not even sure I understand what he’s proposing. I roll over, hugging my pillow to my side, while my mind scrambles recalling each movie.

  Pretty Woman has a multitude of great scenes. There’s the shopping one. The polo match with the polka-dot dress. I love that dress. She looks so pretty, and the hat? The hat makes the whole look. Why don’t people wear hats like that anymore? Oh, the opera, and the fancy dinner with the “slippery little suckers.” Does Shane remember that I hate seafood?

  Once when his grandparents came for a visit, they took us out for lobster. Shane tried not to laugh at my expression as I forced a few bites down. A tiny, secret excitement flitters around with the memory. Guilt quickly yanks it down with a heavy thud.

  Shit. Everything’s getting all mixed up between movies and memories.

  I flip on the TV to force everything from my mind, then my phone rings, startling me. Bradley. Finally. I thought he’d call hours ago.

  “Hey,” I say, and immediately yawn. I can tell he’s in his car. I’m on speaker and can hear myself in an echo.

  “Hi, hon. I wanted to make sure you got home okay. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “No, I’m still up. Got home safe and sound.” I turn down the volume. “You just leaving Champps?”

  “Um, yeah, Clive and that Rand Peterson kept knocking ’em back. I wanted to make sure Rand got a cab, and I just dropped off Clive.”

  He always looks out for everyone, always has their back. He’s going to make a great dad. Mental images of Bradley coaching Little League pops to mind. All Shane knows is boxing.

  “What about that Bennett guy?” I ask without thinking.

  “You mean your ex?”

  Oh. Shit.

  “The one you didn’t bother to tell me about? Now I get why you seemed off in the meeting.” His voice is controlled, but sharp. “Here’s the thing . . .”

  I’m sitting in my bed, both hands clutching the phone, eyes wide.

  “You could have told me, and I have to wonder why you didn’t.”

  “Okay.” I stand and flip on a light. “I didn’t know until he was there today. I was completely blindsided. It was a shock. And then tonight—”

  “Tonight, I sat right next to you.” I’m pretty sure his hand is off the wheel and gesturing as he talks. He always does that when he’s irritated. “It was just us, and you didn’t say—”

  “Bradley. He was in the bar. You guys were entertaining his team.” I’m pacing, my stomach knotted up tight. “You told me my job depends on this account. That we might have to delay our wedding! What the hell was I supposed to do? Tell you right there . . . and then what? What if you got angry?”

  Silence.

  I plop back on the bed, and fall back so my head bounces on the pillow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, okay? But I was going to talk to you about it when you called.” I wasn’t even thinking about it, to be honest. There’s a twinge of guilt.

  “Guy’s kind of a tool, if you ask me,” he says quietly.

  “Yes! He is, right? I mean, your research was dead on. And the way he just took over the meeting? What was that?” My shoulders drop with relief. I think he can see my dilemma in not saying anything. I think everything’s okay.

  “He’s an ass, but we need his account.” There’s a slight lull. “Tonya seemed to like him.”

  I sit straight up again. “What?”

  “Yeah, she left right after he did. You know what that usually means.”

  I know exactly what that means. The knot inside pulls tighter. Tonya doesn’t leave early. Ever. Not when she’s the only girl, the center of attention, and there are potential deals to be made.

  She wouldn’t. There are rules about exes, clearly stated girl-world rules. “Um, I don’t think Tonya and him hooked up. We all went—”

  “You all went to school together. He’s your ex from college. I know. It was fun hearing all about it from them. And I’m still pretty sure they hooked up tonight.”

  His words jab. I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, okay?” And I am. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? I have on that silky boxer set you like,” I lie, but I could change quickly enough. I’m actually in terry-cloth Hello Kitty pajamas that Ellie bought me for my birthday last year.

  A slight pause, then he sighs with a frustrated growl. “I’m already pulling into my drive, Kenz. And since he’s not committing to the contract, I ah, need to figure out another way—”

  “Wait. He said that?” I can’t believe he’s taking his movie deal this far.

  “He said a lot of things, but yeah. He’s going to think on it. Listen, I’m beat, just get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Obviously it’s not all right or he’d be on his way over. I click off the phone, then the TV, and settle in under the comforter. I should have said something to him. Tonya’s not hooking up with Shane, he’s just saying that. His ego’s bruised. Can’t say I blame him. He said he heard all about it from Shane and Tonya. He also said Shane’s thinking on it.

  What’s to think about? If he can’t face the truth, he shouldn’t have showed up. Ugh. I grab my pillow and cover my face. We need his stupid account. That’s the ugly truth.

  What happened after Vivian refused Edward’s offer in Pretty Woman? I blow out a breath. He came back in a limo with flowers and climbed the fire escape, conceding to her demands. Curling on my side, I hug the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut.

  Looks like I’m the one who needs to yield. Forget Pretty Woman, tomorrow’s feature is Pleading Woman. And I’m not looking forward to its premier.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sleepless in Indy

  SHANE’S WORDS BOMBARDED ME all night. They continue their attack as I walk into the agency this morning. I want something like you used to do. The concept I want needs that girl. They’re buzzing ’round my head like a swarm of angry hornets. I need repellent.

  Great. Clive’s waiting for me. He looks worked up. That makes two of us. He motions for me to follow, and in no time, I’m sitting across from him in his office with the door closed.

  A growing panic swells inside my chest. Did Shane really pull the account? I swallow hard as I pull off my jacket. There may be nothing to figure out. He might just fire me on the spot. This spot. Right now.

  Folding my jacket neatly across my lap, I wait, mentally preparing my case. How long I’ve worked here. The quality of my work. The national clients I’ve worked with. I knew today was about groveling, I just didn’t know it was the central theme.

  Clive sits on the edge of his desk facing me, and slowly exhales. “Kensington, I wanted to talk to you about the agency’s financial situation and how important the Carriage House account is to us.”

  I straighten, the lump still wedged in my throat, and dive in. “Bradley bro
ught me up to speed.”

  “We need this account, do you understand?” He’s scowling, his voice sharp and getting louder. “We’re lucky we got them at all, and now—”

  “But we did get them,” I blurt. My heart belongs inside a jackrabbit. I lean forward to make my point. “And it was specifically because of me. My work.” My old college art in my Facebook album, but still my work.

  “Yes. Exactly. You’re right, Kensington.” Clive stands and gestures my way. “And now he might be leaving because of your work.”

  Ouch. My stomach churns. This isn’t fair. Sitting back, I’m at a loss for words. Shane was serious . . . How do I explain why we’re losing the account? What did Shane tell him last night? Clive’s going to fire me. He really is. I’ve never been fired.

  Another sigh escapes from Clive as he walks around his desk, finding his chair. “Look, you need to play nice. Convince him to stay. Do you understand?” His eyebrows are so high they almost touch his hairline.

  I can’t believe it’s really coming to this.

  “Yes, and I can fix this. I’ll get him to reconsider.” I stand, determined. I already planned to agree to the movie thing. It’s fine.

  “I want you to make sure he does.” Clive lowers his chin. “By whatever means, understand? Whatever means,” he repeats. “It’s that important.”

  My mind is whirling. Clive nods again, and just when I don’t think his eyebrows can’t go any higher, they do. I think I know what he’s implying, but he didn’t actually say it.

  I narrow my eyes. “I’ll get him to reconsider because of the design initiatives I can offer, Clive. That’s why he’ll stay. That’s the only offer on the table.”

  That and the movie list, but no need to mention that.

  “Of course, exactly.” Clive whips his hands in the air, chortles, and pops his eyes at me.

  And now he’s totally playing it off.

  He stands and walks to open the door. “I don’t care how you do it. But do it. Bradley has his contact info; get it, call him, and convince him. Just make things right.” His voice is lowered, but cutting. “Do we understand each other?”