That Guy

by Kim Jones

  I break Jake’s hold while he’s mid-sentence. He pauses and turns to me. I smile at him and then to the couple he’s talking to. “I’m just going to visit the ladies room.”

  Jake doesn’t look pleased, but he nods. “Of course.”

  The moment my back turns, I roll my eyes. When they settle in my head, I see a familiar set of blues watching me from across the room.

  Grandfather.

  I look away and move quickly toward the bathroom Thankfully, it’s empty. I consider hiding out in here, but Ed Sheeran is out there. And I have some pretty awesome dance moves I’m ready to show off. I also saw a buffet on my way in. I’ve never been one to turn down a free meal and I would kill for a chicken wing.

  I bet they have the good chicken wings, too.

  Loud chatter fills the bathroom and I cringe a little at the hoard of beautiful females who walk in. They’re all so…tall. Like, super model tall.

  I wonder if they had their knees done….

  “Penelope!” The blonde standing center of the group beams at me. I guess she’s the leader. I suddenly feel like I’m on an episode of The Secret Life.

  “Hello.” I give a little wave to the woman who I have never seen before in my life. I’m guessing she only knows me because the name of Jake Swagger’s mysterious date has spread.

  “I love that dress. Valentino?”

  What? Is that Spanish for something? She did say it with an accent….

  She blinks at me a few times when I don’t say anything. “The design, sweetie. Is it Valentino?”

  “Oh!” I snort a laugh—a very, snorty one. “Valentino. Yeah. I have no clue. Could be Jalapeno for all I know.”

  The synchronized head movement they all perform as they study me like I’m some alien is a little strange. Did they rehearse that shit before they got in here? Are they robots? One of them mumbles something I can’t understand and they all nod—again in synchrony.

  “Are y’all gonna like, turn into a Camaro or something?”

  “Excuse me?” Bimbo Barbie Blonde One asks.

  “Nothing. Enjoy the party.” I give them a tight smile and move to leave. They seem to panic, realizing they missed their opportunity to drill me.

  As I pass, one of them asks, “So you and Jake are old friends?”

  “Yep,” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around as I push open the door.

  In the hall, I’m met with three other women. All tall. All beautiful. All almost identical to each other.

  There’s some weird shit happening around here….

  “Well hello there, mystery girl.” This plastic actually sounds like she could be a nice person. “You are the topic of every conversation in this building.”

  “No shit?” My surprise is genuine. I mean, fucking Ed Sheeran is here. I feel like I need to tell them that. So I do. “Did y’all know Ed Sheeran is here?”

  Tinkly little laughs ring out. “Yes, Penelope. Ed’s a good friend of my husband’s.”

  “Are you married to Taylor Swift or something?” I point to where I last saw him. “Because that’s not some washed up singer from the nineties. That’s Ed Sheeran.”

  Her eyes are amused but warm. “I’m Caroline. My husband, Carver, is Mr. Swagger’s CFO.”

  “Which Swagger?”

  “The mean one.”

  “Which one is that?”

  She grins. “Jessie. But from what I hear, Jake can be a pain in the ass too.”

  I’m still not sure about this Caroline. She seems nice, but she looks too much like all the others for me to fully trust her. So as bad as I want to tell her that what she heard was true, I refrain. Jake might be an asshole, but I’m not going to admit that to her.

  “It was nice talking with you, Caroline. I hate to run, but…”

  “Ed Sheeran.” She nods. “I know. But you do realize he’s not here to perform. He’s here as a guest.”

  “What?”

  She lifts a dainty finger in the air. “That’s not his voice you hear, is it?”

  I listen harder.

  She’s right.

  It’s not Ed’s voice.

  Hell, it’s not anyone’s voice. It’s some classical shit.

  “So you and Jake? How did that happen?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  She winks like she knows some big secret. “Try me.”

  “Some other time. See you around?” I walk away before she can respond and disappear into the crowded room. A waiter walks toward me with an empty tray of champagne glasses. I lift my chin to get his attention.

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “This is gonna sound strange, but do y’all have any beer?”

  He fights a smile. “I’m sure I can find something. Any special preference?”

  “Anything domestic. Bud. Coors. Miller. I’m not picky.”

  “Two minutes?”

  “Hell, take a smoke break and make it ten. I’m in no hurry.”

  He chuckles at that. “I’ll be right back.”

  From where I’m standing in the back corner of the room, I can see everything. There are little clusters of people scattered throughout the area. Some sit. Some stand. Some even dance to the elevator music.

  They could’ve at least hired a band.

  Bought a flower arrangement.

  Rented a fog machine.

  The waiter is back sooner than expected and hands me a Budweiser. “Here you are, Miss.” He offers me a wine glass, but I’ve already turned up the bottle. The beer is delicious. So cold it has ice shivers. Just the way I like it.

  “Good?”

  “Perfect. Can you keep ‘em coming?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, and I better get that glass,” I say, knowing Jake will have something to say if he sees me chugging a bottle of beer in the back of the room.

  “Allow me.” The waiter pours it without spilling a drop and hands it to me. From a distance, my Bud could pass for Moscato.

  I want to ask if they have chicken wings, but my phone vibrates in my clutch that’s tucked beneath my arm. The message is from Emily.

  How’s the party?

  Sucks balls.

  I hit send, thank the waiter again and start making my way through the throng of people in search of Ed. I find Jake first. And I can’t say I’m disappointed. He’s so relaxed. Carefree. Happy. Laughing—like I’ve never seen him before.

  He stands with four men. They remind me of the cast from Magic Mike. Except they wear suits. And smirks. And have matching 2011 Justin Bieber hairdos. But even as hot as they are, they don’t compare to my That Guy.

  Jake spots me and his smile falters. He just looks…hungry.

  His eyes flit to my beer, my chest then to my face. He crooks his finger at me—his lips curling at the corners to reveal a sexy half smile. I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped walking. With tentative steps, I go to him.

  “Penelope,” he says in a deep drawl that causes my knees to tremble. His fingers graze my elbow and he leans in to kiss my hair.

  Except he doesn’t.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he growls before pulling away—his smile back in place. If his fingertips on my elbow didn’t feel so good, I might pull away and punch him. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my date, Penelope.”

  Jake may take my breath away, but I’m the kind of girl who can appreciate a good looking man when I see one. In this case, four men. I bat my lashes and give them my full mega-watt smile. “Hello.”

  I shake hands with three of them. Jake tells me their names, but they’re forgotten the moment he says them. Only one name sticks. Briggs. The name of the man who takes my hand, brings it to his lips, kisses it and then says in the hottest English accent ever, “Pleasure to meet you, Penelope. You are fucking stunning.”

  Someone in the group snickers. I think Jake sighs. But all I can focus on are his words. And that there’s something…off…about this guy.

  “Jake,” he
says, his beautiful hazel eyes never leaving mine. “May I steal your lovely date? For a dance?”

  “Careful, Briggs.” Jake’s voice is tight. A little annoyed.

  I can’t find it in me to care. At least this guy is showing me a little attention. Jake has barely spoken to me since we’ve been here, much less asked me to dance.

  I thrust my glass in his hand and let Briggs lead me out on the dance floor. Apparently, there is a band. They’re not playing yet, but they’re setting up. Doesn’t matter. I’d dance with Briggs to the Oscar Mayer bologna theme song. This classical elevator music will do just fine.

  With one hand still clasped in his, he pulls me close and wraps the other around my waist. He holds me like a lover as we spin in a slow circle. A little too tight. Somewhat uncomfortable. I can feel every hard plane beneath his suit. Feel his heat. But we just don’t really…fit.

  “You are a vision, Penelope.”

  I smile. But I really want to frown. It was supposed to be Jake who told me that….

  “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.” Over his shoulder, I find Jake talking to a woman. He’s laughing. His head dipped so he can hear her.

  Briggs’ gaze follows mine and he smiles. “Jealous?”

  “Nope.” Liar.

  He says nothing. Just…stares down at me with those sparkling eyes. His lips curved into a permanent amused smirk.

  “So, how do you know Jake?” I ask, wishing he’d hurry up and spin me back around so I could see what else Jake was up too. And maybe get a better view of the woman he’s speaking with.

  Maybe she’s old.

  Pregnant.

  His sister….

  “We went to college together. I was new to the states. Jake took me under his wing. When we graduated, he convinced me to stay. The rest is history.”

  “Oh. Well that’s nice.”

  “Mmm…”

  I’m distracted. Jake is walking away with that woman. Who is prettier than me. Am I jealous? If so, why? Jake isn’t mine. I’m not his. I’m not anyone’s. I’m free to fuck Briggs in the bathroom if I want. And I just might. Call me a slut. I don’t care.

  We twirl two more times. Jake’s still gone. My mood has turned sour. This twirling is getting old. Briggs is too quiet. I miss my beer. I still want chicken wings.

  “Do you offer freelance services?” Briggs’ question pulls me back. But I’m not sure I heard him right.

  “Excuse me?”

  “A couple of hours is all I really need. I don’t see the point in contacting the agency and having a contract drawn up for such a small amount of time.”

  Confused, I stare at him. First, because his accent slipped. Which explains why I felt something was off about him from the beginning. Second, because I have no clue what he’s talking about. Then I remember I’m supposed to be Miss Sims. Who is a whore. And though I should be offended, I’m only curious.

  “How much are you willing to pay?”

  “Name your price.”

  Well that was stupid of him to say….

  “One hundred thousand dollars.”

  He laughs. “No piece of ass is worth a hundred grand.”

  “In my opinion, it is.”

  “Funny. I didn’t think whores were allowed to have an opinion.”

  This cocky sack of shit….

  “Well, we are. We also give out advice when it’s needed. And I’m going to offer you some free of charge.” I stop spinning and drop my hands at my sides. His still lingers on my waist. “Keep the accent. It’s the only shot you have at getting laid.”

  With his pride hurt, his arrogance comes full frontal. “I doubt that, considering I could have any woman in here.”

  “And I doubt that, considering you just offered to pay me to have sex with you. Thanks for the dance.” When I move to step away, his hand that was warm and soft in mine only moments ago, wraps around my arm. He squeezes tight and I can feel his fingertips bruising the sensitive skin on the back of my arm.

  I channel my inner Denzel Washington. My eyes zone in on his grip and everything else becomes a blur. I’m about to reenact a scene from The Equalizer when someone snaps his name.

  “Briggs!”

  His grip immediately loosens on my arm when someone snaps his name. It’s then I notice that the three men from earlier have crowded around us. But Jake isn’t here. And for some reason, that stings.

  I jerk free of him and this time Briggs releases me. The men are talking to him in low voices. Telling him it’s time to go. I’m still in Denzel mode, so I’m all cool, calm and collected when I turn to walk away.

  I’ve taken two steps when I hear him call out to me. Because I refuse to cower to this asshole, I spin on my heel to face him. His eyes are dark. His glare angry. He points a finger at me. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl, but clear enough for it to carry over the noisy room.

  “If it weren’t for men like me, tramps like you wouldn’t even have a place in this life.”

  “Yeah? Well you know what?” I pause for dramatic effect and then give him a sweet smile. “If the rabbit hadn’t stopped to shit, the dog wouldn’t have got him.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They don’t have chicken wings.

  They don’t have cocktail weenies.

  No cheeseball.

  No chips and dip.

  Not a single fucking thing wrapped in bacon.

  What kind of party is this?

  A waiter sets a tray of some fancy finger food down on the table. I snatch it and make a beeline to the kitchen where Jake and I came in. The nodding guy isn’t here. But I remember the door he went through and I follow it and come to a small employee lounge.

  I take a seat on a bench and set the tray of hors’ d’oeuvres in my lap. My nose scrunches at the sight of the cucumber slices, slathered in white shit, topped off with some sort of raw meat shavings and a little sprig of grass.

  Gross.

  “Good evening, Miss Hart.”

  My head snaps up and I find Grandfather looking back at me. Great. Just another person I didn’t want to see. Well, I’m not in the mood for his shit either.

  “Pee Paw Swagger. What brings you here?”

  “This is my party, Penelope. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “Okay…allow me to rephrase. Why are you slumming it back here with the hired help?”

  “I thought Jake wasn’t paying you.”

  “He’s not. I meant the hired help as in the kitchen staff. Not that it matters. You don’t believe me anyway.”

  He studies me a minute. I don’t look away. Even though I really want to because his look is super intimidating.

  “You’re not anything like the other women here.”

  I give him a big, cheesy, fake smile. “Well, thank God for that.”

  “You don’t approve of them?”

  “Have you met them? Besides, I thought you were expecting someone different. Which is why you were convinced that Jake must’ve paid a pretty penny for me.”

  His eyes crinkle a little like he wants to smile, but can’t bring himself to do it. He looks down at the untouched platter in my hands. “You don’t like the food?”

  This time, it’s me who studies him. “I’m not sure if you just want to hear what I have to say, or if you’re really asking all these questions because you don’t know the answer.”

  “I like hearing what you have to say.”

  “You sure? Because you may not like this.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. Please. Don’t hold back.”

  No problem, old timer.

  I take a breath and lean back against the wall. “I spent last night in jail. I’ve had no sleep. What was supposed to be a relaxing day at the spa turned into an afternoon in hell. I’ve been poked and primped and plucked and waxed in places I didn’t know I had hair. My feet hurt. This dress is uncomfortable. Everyone here looks at me like I’m a whore. Jake is an asshole. As are his friends. I’m hungry as a hostage. And this shit looks like som
ething a vegan barfed.”

  “Interesting. But I only asked about the food.”

  “And I only wanted a fucking chicken wing. Instead, I got this crap and a conversation with you. So I guess we both got more than we bargained for.”

  He gives me a healthy dose of that Swagger silence then says, “Come with me,” before he turns and walks out.

  I was not expecting this….

  I don’t know what to do.

  Follow?

  Run?

  Scream?

  I stand and poke my head out of the door. He’s walking toward the kitchen. At least there are witnesses there. There are also knives.

  You are not a punk, Penelope Hart!

  I look down at the platter, unsure if I should bring it with me to my doom.

  “Leave the tray, Penelope.”

  Pee Paw Swagger is a witch!

  I set the tray down. Smooth my hands over my dress. Take a deep breath. Lift my chin. One foot in front of the other…that’s all I have to do. By the time I join him in the kitchen, the sinking feeling in my stomach is at its worst.

  “Of course, Mr. Swagger,” the chef says with a bow. Then he barks a command in a language I don’t understand and the entire kitchen staff disappears.

  Pee Paw stands with his back to the massive industrial sized stove. His eyes are on me as he takes off his jacket, folds it over a chair then starts removing his cufflinks. He nods his head toward a stool next to the prep counter. “Sit.”

  I sit because I’m scared to fucking death.

  He rolls his sleeves up and grabs an apron from a hook on the wall.

  What the hell?

  “Would you like something to drink? Perhaps a beer?”

  Of course he would know I had a beer.

  He opens the refrigerator and grabs two bottles of Budweiser from the case sitting on the top shelf. “Phillip, the waiter you asked to bring you a beer, had this in the trunk of his car.” He twists off the caps before handing me one then keeping one for himself. “He was told to personally make sure you were accommodated with whatever you wanted. Lucky for you, he shared your taste in beer.”

  “Really? Who told him to do that?”

  “My grandson.”

  My heart warms. And I want to kick myself because I could’ve had chicken wings after all.