Honeymoon Hideaway: An Enemies to Lovers, Laugh Out Loud Romance (Blackout Series)

by Cary Hart

  He shifts his feet shoulder width apart, stepping lightly in front of me while holding his hands clasped up to his chest like a make-believe gun.

  “Foster. Grant Foster.” He fakes an accent that would make Sean Connery cringe.

  “Seriously, Grant.” I slap him on the chest. “Can you please quit goofing around?” My voice remains pleasant, even though I’m seriously annoyed he isn’t taking this seriously. At least one of us is attempting to be professional.

  He proceeds to strike various vogue poses before he catches the look I’m giving him. The one that says WTF.

  “What?” He holds up his hands. “He said freestyle.” Grant looks between me and the photographer.

  “That, I did,” Jonathan agrees as he flips through the photos. “These are perfect candid shots. The readers will love him.”

  “Of course they will,” I mumble. He’s Grant Foster. Gorgeous, annoying, perfect, mouthwatering Grant

  Foster—melter of panties and master of wedding chapels. Ugh. And I’m just…me.

  “Hey, now.” Grant lifts my chin. “They’ll love you too.” He leans in to place a lingering kiss on the tip of my nose. “Especially when they see that.” He smiles.

  “Yes! That—right there,” Jonathan rapid fires. “Keep that up.” Flashes go off around us.

  “I hate you,” I whisper.

  The corner of his lip turns up. “You want to hate me, but you don’t.”

  “Vegas—” The photographer shouts out as he comes a little closer, “reach your hand up and run your fingers through his beard.”

  “I will not. It’s—hairy!” I argue. “Plus, it’s itchy. My skin is super sensitive.”

  “You really are something else, Vegas,” Grant huffs out as he reaches for my hand and places it against his cheek, holding it there until I give up.

  Hmm!

  It’s not exactly what I imaged. It’s not long enough to feel scraggily, but not short enough to feel rough. This is actually kind of nice. I wonder what else it would feel nice against…

  “Want to get a room and find out?” He winks.

  Wincing. “Did I just say that out loud?”

  “You did.”

  I really need this to be done. I’ve spent all day with him basically shooting our wedding. Every. Single. Detail. We covered it.

  “I didn’t mean you, smartass. I’ve just never been with a guy who…” I weave my fingers through his beard, “you know, had face fur.”

  Grant begins to shake with laughter. “Face fur? That’s a new one.” He juts out his chin and begins to stroke. “It’s a beard. It’s not like you’ll need a phalange finder when you run your fingers through it. See?”

  “Okay.” Kristen, the photog assistant, claps her hands. “It’s time for the final shots.”

  “Thank God!” I holler, and Grant swings his head back around, giving me a look.

  “Hey now.”

  “I mean, it was fun, in a long, drawn-out, exhausting kind of way.” I try to make light of the situation.

  Honestly, I’ve been so concerned about Grant taking this seriously, I forgot it’s a photo shoot. We were supposed to be having fun, or at least acting like it. Instead, I’m standing here like I have a stick up my ass while Grant is having the time of his life. Where did I go wrong? I’m the one who is supposed to be the actress.

  “So, Vegas, I need you to turn a tad to your left and take a step forward.” Jonathan walks over. “Place your hand on his chest as you lean in and give him a sweet kiss.” He waves for Kristen to come over. “Fix her cleavage.”

  “Wait! Is that a thing?” Grant chimes in. “Boob fluffer?” He snorts. “That’s every teenage boy’s dream. Hell, it’s my dream.”

  “Then I get to be oil girl,” I laugh out.

  “Sounds kinky,” Grant jokes back.

  “Vegas, lay it on him,” Jonathan interrupts. “Kiss your groom.”

  So, I do.

  “Perfect.” He examines his shot. “Okay, now, Grant, face Vegas and meet her in the middle,” Jonathan directs.

  “On the lips?” My eyes go wide.

  “Look around, Vegas. We’re in a chapel, doing a wedding shoot.”

  “Fine,” I agree. “Behave,” I warn Grant.

  “I’ll let you lead,” he says as he wets his lips.

  Leaning in, I pucker up.

  “Cut!” Jonathan interrupts before we even connect. “We’re in Vegas. Selling a Vegas wedding. So, please, Vegas, gimme whatcha got, girl!”

  I can do this. It’s just a kiss—right? Nerves are normal—I think?

  Closing my eyes, I begin to lean forward and wait for his attack, but nothing happens. I’m just standing there, lips parted, ready for him to claim them. Opening my eyes one by one, I see Grant Foster standing in front of me, eyes hooded, filled with desire.

  The moment his baby blues meet mine, we’re like two magnets pulled together. Our mouths collide, tongues

  pushing, teeth clashing. There was no need to fight this kiss. It wasn’t real. Until it was. I couldn’t hide behind the pretend any longer. This is a toe-curling, foot-popping, kiss to end all kisses.

  I moan.

  He groans.

  I’m gone.

  “Vegas?” Grant breathes my name across my lips. “We’re good.” He pulls back.

  “Huh?”

  “Jonathan called it a wrap.” A devilish grin rides low on his lips as he peeks over my shoulder. “That good, huh?”

  “Wh-What?”

  “Your foot. It’s popped.” He nods to the evidence behind me.

  Geesh. How do I explain this, and why is this even a thing?

  “Hello? I lived in New York,” I blurt out. “Aspiring actress here—that was an Oscar-worthy performance.” I pat him on the chest. “You’re welcome.”

  “If that’s what you have to tell yourself to get through the rest of the day.” He flashes me a smirky smile. “But if you want to do that again, I’ll be in my office.”

  “Not happening, Foster.” I ignore his little snide comment and check tonight’s schedule. Obviously, I’m the only one thinking about tonight. Six receptions and four themed weddings.

  “Grant—Vegas.” Jonathan strolls over as Kristen begins to pack up. “It’s been a pleasure working with you both.” He clasps Grant on the shoulder as he leans in for an air kiss.

  “Wait, I thought Aunt Dottie said we have the honeymoon shoot as well?”

  “We did, but Grant canceled,” Jonathan confirms.

  “You did what?” I swing my head around. “Grant, the Honeymoon Hideaway is a huge part of the One Stop Wedding Shop.”

  “Calm down, Vegas.” Grant stands there as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “Actually, these pictures should complement the interview nicely.” Jonathan backs away slowly. “It’s been

  great working with you both. Grant, look me up next time you’re in California. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

  “Thanks, man.” Grant swings his head around. “Did you hear that? I’m a natural.” He winks.

  I ignore his smugness and get to the point. “Why did you cancel the shoot?”

  Grant pulls a piece of paper out of his front pocket and hands it to me.

  Call about the special flower order

  Generator – annual maint.

  Suite 5 (fix bed)

  Remove Brittany Spears from playlist

  “Okay? What’s this?” I stand there reading the list I gave him.

  “It’s proof.” He reaches over and points. “Suite five is under maintenance. Therefore, ixnay on the oomray.”

  “There are other suites,” I argue, though I’m unsure why.

  “Sorry. All occupied, but I guess if you really want this

  to happen…” Grant steps closer, “we can go up to my bed.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” My voice is laced with mockery.

  I want to be angry, but his kiss, even if it was for the perfect shot, k
ind of rocked my world. He might have been putting on a show with his mouth and his seductive body language, but his eyes said something else—revealed something else. I just hope he didn’t see that I wasn’t just pretending. I was lost in his kiss, camera or not. I just have to pretend a little longer. Pretend I’m not falling for him.

  “After that kiss, I don’t think you want me to?”

  This time, I’m the one to make the first move. He may have gotten to me, but he’s not going to get me into his bed.

  Leaning in, I run my fingers through his beard, letting my lips ignite a trail. “Never—going to happen,” I whisper.

  There are times when Grant Foster gets to me, but he’ll never know this is one of them.

  For the past few weeks, Vegas and I have been doing this little song and dance of sorts. Confusing the fuck out of me. One minute, we’re laughing and getting along, and the next, she’s threatening to cut my balls off. Then, today happened. That kiss changed everything.

  I. Need. Vegas Manilow. And she’s a fucking liar if she doesn’t feel the same way. If that kiss would have happened behind closed doors, I would have stripped her naked and taken her right then and there.

  She tries to hide it and fights like hell to deny it, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want to make her scream the truth. Over and over and over again.

  I came here to find answers, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious as to who exactly Vegas Manilow is. The moment she showed up at the One Stop Wedding Shop, my grandparents called me to let me know they found the girl with the quarters.

  I was about twelve when I heard my first story. I was hanging around the wrong kids, didn’t care about my grades—I thought I was invincible since my last name was Foster. Man, I was wrong. I may have been dealt a crappy hand with my mom dying at a young age and my father losing his shit after, but my grandad, he wouldn’t let me use that as an excuse.

  “Juju—be the ring in a world full of gumballs,” he used to say. It drove me nuts. I never understood what that meant. Until I was older. If I wanted to become more than a trust-fund kid, I needed to standout, to do something different with my life. I would give anything to hear that story again—especially now that I know that girl is Vegas.

  Our paths were bound to cross. Call it destiny, fate, or grandparents meddling, but this was supposed to happen—according to grandmother.

  “Jujube, you have to come home. Quarter girl is here, and she’s ready to make change.”

  I shake my head at the memory. Even a couple years ago, they knew the effect that girl would have on me.

  “Juju!” Dottie croaks out, panting, as she barrels down the hall holding her wig down. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her move that fast. Ever.

  “What’s wrong?” I jog toward her.

  “We need you in the kitchen,” she hollers back as she spins around. “It’s Vegas.”

  “Shit!” I run past her and push through the doors. “Where is she?” I shout as I scan the room.

  “I’m here.” I hear her voice as the crowd parts. Vegas standing there, eyes wide, as she looks at the mess in front of her.

  “What in the hell?” I move closer.

  “They’re gone.” Vegas shakes her head. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do?” She raises her head and searches my face. “How do we fix this?”

  We. She said we.

  “Okay, calm down.” I reach up to touch her elbow. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know. I was just checking my list.” Vegas holds up her phone. “We have six receptions. That means six cakes.” She waves her hands around. “Now, we have no cakes. None.”

  “Grant. I’m not sure what happened,” Mindy chimes in. “I left the cakes there like I normally do and went to the cooler to grab more butter. When I came back—”

  “This,” Vegas interrupts. “This happened.”

  “Mikey, get this mess cleaned up.” I bark out as I fly by the seat of my pants and throw together a plan. “Mindy, we have our first reception in an hour. Please tell me you already started on tomorrows cakes.”

  “I did,” she confirms.

  “Good. Can you get the first one ready in less than an hour?” I ask.

  “I think so,” she agrees.

  “Perfect.” I circle my finger in the air. “Everyone who’s

  in here, you’re on cake duty. Whatever Mindy needs, you get. Got it?”

  “Yes, boss!” they all chime in.

  “You—come with me.” Reaching down, I grab Vegas’s hand and lead her out the swinging doors.

  “Baaaaaaah.”

  “Dammit!” I holler, jumping back—right into Vegas. She screams.

  “Look who I found,” Dottie rasps.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I look down at Vegas at the same time she glances up. Burt Reynolds stands in front of us, pupils bugging out, casually licking the evidence from his goat-tee.

  “Someone has the munchies,” Dottie rattles.

  “He didn’t?” Vegas huffs out.

  “He did,” I agree. “Burt’s high.”

  “Axxxeeelll!” we shout at the same time.

  Vegas

  I panic, and Grant Foster rides in on his white horse to save the day, confirming what I’ve been feeling for the past couple days—I’m not cut out for this job.

  I thought as long as I had my lists, I could prevent situations like this from occurring, but in all reality, how do you prepare for a smokin’ goat with the munchies? Let me tell you, you can’t.

  “I checked with the reception staff. Everything is a go for wedding party number one.” Grant comes waltzing in, still in his tux, typing away on his cell.

  “Okay. That’s great.” I lean against the wall, unsure of what to do, when my phone chimes with a shared link from Grant. “What’s this?”

  “It’s an updated list.” He smiles.

  “Oh—so you’re coming over to the dark side?” I open the list, seeing everything he’s checked off.

  Cake 1 – room 2

  Cake 2 – room 5

  Cake 3 – room 2

  Cake 4 – room 1

  Cupcakes – room 5

  Pastries - room 2

  “Hell no.” He taps the side of his head. “I have it all up here, but since we were thrown a little curveball, I figured you might need an update.”

  “Thanks,” I say, letting my lips curve up into a smile.

  As much as I want to be irritated with him, I can’t. He hates lists, but he made sure I had mine.

  “If you want to go change, I can cover this evening,” he offers.

  Since when did Grant become the good guy? This morning, I was bitching about helping him on my morning off, and now he’s offering to cover my shift just so I can change? Either I was totally wrong about him or something has shifted.

  “That’s okay. I have this under control.” I walk around to the side of the desk to plug in my phone. “Where’s the charger at?”

  “In my room,” he says, like it’s no big deal.

  “Why is it in your room? I need it here, right now.” I swipe my phone to life and flip it around. “See, I’m about to die. Twelve percent won’t last but a couple hours, and that’s if I stay off it.”

  “Sounds like a personal problem to me.” Grant taps the side of his head again. “Store it up here and you wouldn’t have to be glued to that thing all day.”

  Moments passed. Grant Foster is back!

  “Just get my cord please,” I demand as I walk right past him out of the office.

  “Are you being serious right now?” Grant calls out after me, but before I even have a chance to respond, he spins me around and pins me up against the wall. “It’s just a phone cord, Vegas.”

  Apparently, our little commotion has gained an audience.

  “Great, now look.” I try to turn my head and gesture toward all the walk-ins, but he leans in farther, resting his forearm against the wall, blocking my view from the outside world.
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br />   “I’m not, and neither are you.” He tilts his head to the side to get my attention. “Look at me, Vegas.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he demands, his mouth just mere inches from mine. “Tell me what I did to make you hate me so much.”

  I want to shout it’s not you, it’s me, because I’m beginning to think that really is the case. Grant Foster only came back to take what is rightfully his. I’m the imposter. I’m the one who invaded his life—not the other way around. He did nothing, and I did everything. One bad decision after another.

  “You—” I try to find the words.

  “I what?” Grant says, not giving up.

  “You make me…” I begin to say the words I know I’ll regret later, but someone turns out the lights, causing the hallway to go black. “You’re on the switch.” I push him off and light up my phone.

  “Shit, Vegas.” He pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. “I wasn’t on the switch.” He shines the phone my way, then down the hall where the commotion is coming from. “Did you pay the bill?” He turns the light on me.

  Reaching up, I push his phone out of the way. “Get that out of my face.” I stomp past him. “Of course, I paid the bill. There must be an outage.”

  “No shit,” he says from behind me.

  Reaching the corridor, I try to holler so everyone can hear me, but everyone is so concerned with whatever is going on outside, I’m basically invisible.

  Grant moves past me, brings his fingers to his lips, and lets out a high, keening whistle, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Listen up!”

  “Thank you,” I mouth loud enough for him to hear me before I continue. “Everyone, please remain calm. We’ve lost power, but the generators should kick the power on shortly.”

  As if on cue, the lights begin to flicker, and the crowd goes crazy. “It usually takes them five minutes or so,” I remind everyone as they flock toward their loved ones, waiting for everything to return to normal.

  Spinning around, I scan the area to make sure everyone is okay and come face-to-face with Grant.

  “Hey, you okay there?” he asks.

  “Yeah, luckily there’s enough glow from the cell phones and candles we can avoid any injuries…I hope.” I motion toward the door. “Can you make sure Mikey gets security at every exit?”