“I’ll be right back,” he says before walking away.
My God this is getting worse. If it weren’t like a hundred degrees outside then maybe Alex could have been wearing a coat. Then I realize. “You,” I slap his shoulder as much as possible in my given position. “Why didn’t you just take off your shirt and give it to me?” The officer is back by now and I know I’m not getting an answer to my question. He has a blanket for me to cover myself with, so I do. “Thank you.”
He laughs at me when I ask him to pick the lock. He assures me he can’t do that. I wonder if it’s a legal issue because I am almost sure he must know how. Then I finally start to think. I smile prompting the two gentlemen to look at me strangely. It’s not like I’m offering sex for a free pass into my house.
“Bedroom.” I feel the need to continue, “The bedroom window slides open easy even when I think it’s locked.” I meant to have it fixed months ago. It’s been on my list of things to do since I moved in.
“That’s not safe Miss.” He uses his cop tone on me, and I feel as if I’m back in grade school getting a lecture from my teacher.
“That’s why I have a little alarm on it until I can get it fixed.”
I try to avoid impending argument by walking around to the side. I notice the rocks and the hot ground as I’m stepping around, but my pride is too important to step back and let one of the men do it. I already feel like an idiot. I don’t want to look like a bigger idiot just because I forgot rocks would hurt my bare feet.
I push open the window. As luck would have it, it sticks just as I get it halfway open. It is a good thing I came back because I can fit, but they won’t. I switch off the alarm, thus proving the point that the officer was trying to make.
I get one leg in, and I try to graciously get the rest of me in while keeping the blanket wrapped around me. I feel the tug at the blanket before I fall forward, dragging my left leg and the rest of my body in through the window. I gasp and try to cover the pertinent parts. I also try moving to crawl away, which if I were thinking I would realize this is not a good idea. I now have my butt tooted up in the air with one officer and one lover staring at my rear end.
“I’ll get the door.” This has to be the most humiliating experience of my life.
“Put some clothes on first honey.”
There are so many things I can think of to do to him; all of them involve pain. I close the window and grab a wrap dress from the closet putting it on as quickly as I can. I quickly make my way to the front door.
“Thank you officer.” Once again I am probably turning red all over.
“Officer Yates.” He smiles and slips his sunglasses back on. “It’s not a problem, just try to go out with clothes on next time.”
I could see him laughing once he got in the car but there was nothing I could do about that one. Alex on the other hand, I am sure I can find a way to punish him.
“Now you’re definitely on the couch,” I say as I walk away. I suddenly remember I left the shower going and I run in to shut it off. I don’t quite make it to the shower.
“Like hell I am.”
I turn to see Alex behind me. “Oh yes you are buddy.” I try to muster some sense of finality, but even I know he’s really turning me on right now. He kicks the door closed. This is a side of him I haven’t seen before. “I’m serious Alex.” I move back. He walks closer, and I can tell he’s intent on taking what he wants. It’s okay because I’m intent on giving it to him too, but I really do want to make him wait.
He pulls me in so swiftly that I’m trying to remember when I let my guard down. Two seconds later he’s got my wrap dress pooled around my feet and I’m naked again.
“You shouldn’t have been enticing me with all that activity.”
“Activity!” I know what he means. My jiggling and flashing, falling and crawling with my butt up in the air is the activity he’s referring too. “I…you should have given me your shirt.” I finally manage a glare. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hadn’t crossed my mind. If you weren’t so damn sexy it would have, so it’s your fault.” He growls this. I realize he is entirely turned on.
I’m still not ready to give in. “My fault! My fault! How is it my fault?” He presses his hand to my breast. I forget why I’m yelling.
“Your fault because you’ve got me so hard with just one look at you that I could come while trying to get out of my pants.” My knees go weak. “What gives you the idea that a man can think when you’ve got him in that position?”
“You were thinking earlier.”
“You were being evasive earlier.”
“I wasn’t.” I should keep up my end of the conversation, but I can’t think with him touching me. It’s not as if we haven’t had sex before, but I feel almost dazed with anticipation. For a man that’s nearly about to shatter he surely isn’t helping me get him naked.
“Uh no,” he says. “I think you should have to pay for trying to keep a certain point from me earlier.”
Pay! I think not. I remember what he said about being close…very close. I reach my hand down and he instantly knows what I’m going for. He pins me to the wall with my hands forming a frame for my head. He dips his head to plant a soft series of kisses on my lips. I try for more but he pulls away.
“I have great restraint.” He has a devilish grin on his face. I’m squirming trying to get free. I want to get him naked right now. I seem to be the one suffering even though he was so close just a few seconds ago.
His lips trail down my neck, lingering and kissing in all the right places. His teeth nip at my skin, and his tongue dances over my flesh leaving cool, wet patches on my breast.
He makes love to me and there is nothing slow or gentle about his method. I’m anchored to the wall only by the weight of his limp body. As my brain starts to come out of its hypnotic haze, I realize that I am going to have one huge water bill because the shower is still going. I am probably out of hot water too.
I’m not sure I can stand on my own, but I try to untangle my legs from around his waist anyway. He doesn’t let me. Instead he straightens up and clumsily climbs into the shower. Oh, the water is still hot.
After a long, hot shower we pull ourselves together long enough for me to put some clothes on and for Alex to stand by enjoying the view. He doesn’t take long to redress, but while he’s doing it I remember that he’s cooked dinner for me. I smile at him and he smiles back at me. “So can we have dinner now?” I say this with a grin on my face that might just be turning him on again.
“Sure,” he says as he takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. I’m hungry at this point. I would probably eat it without him reheating it, but he insists on sticking it in the oven. I try to pick a little slither of chicken out the pan, but he pushes my hand away.
“I’m hungry.” I moan. “You made me work up an appetite.”
“I made you?” He looks at me with a funny grin on his face as if he’s contemplating the accuracy of my statement. He holds a small slice of seasoned potato to my mouth.
I do realize that with Alex sleeping over so often I’m going to have to set more rules as to when and how often we explore each other. Right now I would usually be plotting for my brides. With Alex staying over so often I seem to be doing less work at home and leaving more work for the office. Maybe that’s a good thing.
Missing: One Sane Bride…
Another night quickly fades into daylight. Alex paid attention to my ground rules for sleeping over, and I was able to get out the door on time this morning. I called Tay and scheduled lunch. I need to discuss the Brendon situation with her, and I’m feeling a little guilty about not giving her a key. I’m planning to eat my words and have a copy made for her.
We’re meeting in Scottsdale. I hate going up to Scottsdale. The traffic is awful, the prices are ridiculous, and the speed traps are enormous. I’ll be sitting in traffic for an extra hour, which is a complete waste of time.
I’m also stuck lis
tening to wedding music. My new Scottsdalian bride is too busy to pick her own music, so the groom and I are doing the honors. We’re even picking the music for the first dance. Since I’m doing the decision making for the bride, I’m hoping I won’t have to stand in for dance instruction as well.
Mitch is into rock music. So far, every song he has picked has been heavy on the drums. Mitch and Stacey are polar opposites. He’s more eighties grunge, and though I haven’t actually met Stacey, she seems more upscale. Her mother assures me that she is doing this to spite them. They want her out of their house so they’re going along. I have a feeling this isn’t a good sign for Tiffany Weddings’ record. One lost nuptial might just turn into two, and maybe even three, if Brendon doesn’t get his head on straight.
Mitch is a nice guy and he works hard. He’s an artist of sorts. He sculpts. Apparently that’s how he met Stacey. She was at an art show in Tempe, and he had one piece in the show. He is thirty-five, not really a new artist either, which I guess is why Stacey’s parents weren’t too happy about her choice.
Mitch and Stacey is high profile, but my primary concern right now is Evelyn. She’s walking this weekend. Evelyn’s going to be fine. I have only heard from her twice a day every day since we set the venue. This is down from the usual six times a day, so I guess she’s feeling ready now. She has her dress. She has the catering set. The reception is going to be great, and the groom still wants to go through with the wedding. Every time she calls I have to reassure her that the wedding is going to be fine, the guest are going to show and the food will be great. I hope all of those things will happen, but as I have learned, in the world of bridal consultants and Tiffany Weddings, anything can happen.
I arrive at my Scottsdale location to find Stacey deeply involved in a photo shoot. She is not a model. Stacey just likes to have new pictures of herself taken once a month.
“I’ll be right with you sweetie.”
I’m not a person to cringe when being called sweetie, but that just made me cringe. I hope she remembers my name soon or I’m going to have to find a way to remind her.
“We can take a break.”
“We still have more to do.”
“I need to give the memory card a break.”
I almost laugh. I guess this is one photographer that has figured out how to manipulate the situation to get what he wants.
“Andrew.”
“Anise.” I say this loud enough for Stacey to hear me because I would rather not be called sweetie the entire morning.
“So Anya.”
“Anise.” I say this with a bit more vigor. I find it extremely disrespectful for somebody to consistently call me by the wrong name.
“Right sweetie. Anyway, Mick tells me you’re doing a good job.”
For a moment I start to wonder if I’ve met the wrong groom. “You mean Mitch?”
“Yeah, him.”
Oh God. We’re going to be two weddings down this season, I am almost sure of that.
“He says you’ve got great taste in music. I hope you’re picking the right stuff.”
I’m feeling just a little annoyed at this point, but I smile anyway when I say, “It would be better if you were actually in on this stage of the planning.”
“Oh no, I don’t care really. I figure we’ll be divorced in a year, and I’ll do it all over again.” I don’t know what to say to that.
“Hey, you can be like my personal consultant.”
“I think you’ll want somebody different. You know, give you a different flavor to your wedding.” I see the smirk on Andrew’s face, and I know he too understands my desire to get rid of this bride.
I am starting to think Shelly is testing me. I seem to keep getting the difficult brides and that is certainly not a coincidence. I’m thinking of taking out an ad. It’ll read, Missing: One Sane Bride. I figure there has to be some sane women getting married in this state. Or maybe they all turn into crazed psycho women the moment the ring goes on their fingers.
“True. Anyway, I like a little bit of jazz and rock and that new classical stuff. But we need some hip hop for the kids and maybe a bit of afro-centric in case daddy invites some black people.”
I’m biting my tongue—hard.
“I’m sure you’ll know what works there.”
Why, because I’m mixed and the color of my skin is leaning more toward a smooth mix of caramel and cocoa?
“Oh I’m sorry sweetie.”
I realize that I must have my obvious fake smile plastered on my face. I try to stay pleasant.
“African-American.”
“I’m not African.” I am sure my tone is out of the business-professional arena and smack dab in the middle of the pissed off arena. “In fact I have never even been there.”
“Oh, that’s too sad. You should go back and see your people.”
“Stacey go touch up your makeup, it’s smearing in this desert heat.” Andrew gives me a look that tells me he understands.
I watch her skirt swoosh from side to side as she pops over to the car and pulls out a mirror.
“I’m sorry about that. She still has a lot of growing to do.”
“It’s not your fault.” The way I see it I’m being punished for lying. It’s the only explanation for the load of crap I’m being served lately.
“She’s really annoying. When I first started as her photographer she said she couldn’t believe my parents didn’t name me after one of my ancestors. She thought that’s what Chinese people did.” He snorts and cuts me a look. “I’m Japanese.”
“So why do you stay with her?” Or more like how does he stay with her?
“It’s good money. I shoot for her once a month and it funds my true passion.”
“Which is?”
“Artistic photography. Nudes mostly.”
“Oh.” I wondered if he had any gallery showings, but I didn’t have time to ask before he pulled out his card and handed it to me. My mind quickly drifts to another pressing question. “Does she always do that?”
“Yeah she does her own hair, makeup and wardrobe. She says nobody else can make her look as good as she can.” We both laugh. Stacey would probably take her own photos if she thought she could.
I sit through the photo session, occasionally getting a response to my questions. I wonder how Mitch fell for her, but I guess there must be some redeeming qualities in there somewhere. Or maybe Mitch is looking for a free ride so he can pursue his passion too.
“Mitch wants a chocolate wedding cake.”
“Whatever he wants.”
If she has no opinion on things then why did I have to drive forty minutes in traffic to get here? Instead of asking the question floating around in my brain, I smile casually.
“So if you need nothing further from me I have a few more appointments, and I still need to call the resort owner to discuss your wedding arrangements.
“Oh sweetie, I canceled that.”
“When?”
“This morning. I decided I want something different. Something nobody has ever done before. Something like North Point.”
“North Point isn’t accepting weddings. We’ll need to find something else.” I state this as if there’s no choice.
“No. I want North Point. Donna told me you’re sleeping with the owner. I know it’s doable. Just make it happen.”
“It’s not doable and it’s not going to happen.”
“Are you saying no to me?” She holds up her hand as if she’s letting Andrew know he needs to stop shooting now.
“I am.”
“You can’t say no to me.”
“I can, and I did. It’s my job as your consultant to see that your wedding is as perfect and dreamlike as possible, but I’m not here to aid in your delusion. If you can’t handle that then I suggest you find another consultant.” Wow that felt good. Of course there’s a little matter of my job to think about here.
She looks at me for a moment. I think she’s considering getting another consulta
nt. “Okay, no North Point. So you need to call the Talbot back and rebook my room.”
Me? I need to call? I didn’t call to cancel it in the first place.
“Not a problem.” I know that I can take care of this little detail. I also know that Donna is going to catch hell when I get back to the office. Assuming I’m still angry by that point. Whenever I meet with Tay I tend to calm down. Actually I have a couple hours before lunch so I think I’m going to head back there now. I can always get Tay to meet me in Phoenix. She’ll like that better than the drive to Scottsdale anyway.
Office Confrontation 101
I arrive at Tiffany’s with my mission in mind—find Donna and set her straight. Without pausing to give a suitable greeting to Paul and my chatty assistant, of which I really do think they’re back on in their on again off again sexual relationship, I head straight for Donna’s office. Casey, Donna’s assistant, bolts out of my way when she sees I don’t intend to stop for permission to enter.
“We need to talk.” I manage to say this with some civility in my tone. Office Confrontation 101 is to try to keep things below a bellowing scream. I’m not angry enough to cause a scene, but this feud is getting out of hand.
“Later.”
“Now.”
She puts her pen down and gives me her attention as if I’m an interruption to her day. I don’t care if I am. I have something to say and she’s going to listen whether she wants to or not.
The Bride Wore Black Page 9
