PEYTON
I’m browsing the calendar website and looking for next years’ calendar. It’s only the fall, and I’ve got plenty of time until I will actually use it, but I feel the need to buy something and this is something that makes me happy.
Hmmm, do I want funny, inspirations, cutesy with animals, half naked men or scenic?
I tap my chin and look at all my options.
I click on a few categories and scroll down the pages of the humor calendars, then I click on the landscapes.
Nothing is exciting me, which is odd, because calendar shopping is one of my favorite things to do. Every year, I have at least ten calendars in my cart and have to force myself to narrow it down to at least two. One for my office and one for home. Sometimes, when I’m feeling extra fun, I get myself a small desk calendar too full of quirky quotes.
I’m not instantly drawn to one calendar over the other. This is frustrating.
I open another tab, then go to my favorite planner company. Maybe a planner over a calendar will spark my joy. I’m strangely not in a calendar mood.
What am I looking for? Do I want vertical or horizontal days?
Why is this such a difficult task? This is not something that has ever been an issue. Why is it now?
I love to pre-plan my planners and calendars.
I decide to give up my search for the time being and stand up from my desk that’s cluttered with paperwork, folders, and to-do lists. My normally organized office is far from it, maybe I need to get some more coffee.
As I walk past cubicles and co-workers, I notice that a few of them quiet when I get near or they stare openly at me, then quickly look away when our eyes meet.
It’s weird.
Do I have a sign on my back?
Is there something on my forehead?
Omigod, am I wearing my skirt inside out?
I check off my rampant thoughts as I think them, and nothing seems amiss of normal.
Is it all in my head?
I pour myself a cup of coffee, the smokey cinnamon aroma steams off the lip of my cup as I inhale a satisfied breath with a smile before heading back to my desk. Walking the same path back to my office and feeling self-conscious, with my eyes set forward.
I pull out my mirror from my desk drawer and do a quick once over and again, nothing is out of place.
A knock at the entryway of my office pulls me from my thoughts.
“Hi, um, Peyton,” Dana, my boss’s assistant pauses. “Mr. Frederick would like to speak with you.”
I stand smoothing out my skirt and follow behind her with a notepad in my hand as she leads the way, looking nervously over her shoulder, then offering me a forced smile.
Mr. Frederick motions to sit in front of his desk but doesn’t speak to me right away. His fingers fly across his keyboard and then he clicks on his mouse before sitting back in his chair and looking me over.
“So, Peyton, how was your weekend?” he asks.
He’s never asked about personal time away from work, so why, after three years of working here is he starting now?
“Um, well, sir, it was fun, I guess.” I reply uneasily.
“You must know that I’m not one to dive into people’s personal lives, but when it affects business, then I really have no choice, do you understand that?” he asks.
I slowly nod, unsure of the direction that this conversation is going.
“It’s been brought to my attention that there are some interesting images of you on social media. Now, I would never fault someone for having a life outside of work and to each their own what is done on someone’s free time. But, two of our largest clients have made some inappropriate comments about you and the type of employees that we have here. Since we cater to families here at Perfect Planning, I want to make sure our employees’ image is not, well negative.”
“I’m not entirely sure what you’re saying, sir?” My mind tries to wrap around what he’s telling me. I haven’t posted any pictures, but I haven’t been on social media since being back from Vegas.
“You went to Las Vegas last weekend, right?” He folds his hands in front of him on his oak desk awaiting my answer. I can tell in this moment that he’s not mad, but more annoyed with having to have this conversation.
I slowly nod my head, unsure just what images he could be talking about. I haven’t been on any social media since returning, so anything could be up there.
He turns one of his monitors, so I can see.
There is my Facebook page, with images that I appear to be tagged in. I’m dancing on top of a table, wearing a very short dress, holding a bottle of vodka. My face is slightly flushed, and I’m smiling. Quinn is in the background of the photo and so is the guy that I woke up next to talking to one of his friends. Hanna must have taken this picture.
Instantly, I’m embarrassed as I cradle my head in my hands.
I cannot believe this.
“Sir, my friend posted this.” I say awkwardly feeling my skin blush from embarrassment.
“I can tell, since you’re the prime subject of the image.” He deadpans with a hint of comedy.
“I’ll make sure that it’s removed from my profile right away, I’m so sorry that this is interfering in any way.” I say quickly to appease him.
“I’m not asking you to change your lifestyle. I’m also sorry that we had to have this conversation. But can I please ask that you make your profile private. I don’t know why our clients were looking at your page, but then again, I also do not understand much of what people are doing or are into these days. But we do deal with children and families and I know that you speak with a lot of them at some point.”
“Yes sir. I will do that right away. I’m sorry for any lack of distrust or comfortability this situation may have caused.”
“You’re not in any trouble, so please don’t feel as such. But I just want to keep up the image of our company as a positive one, especially right now. We’re all allowed to let loose, but let’s just keep that in our private lives, shall we?”
“You got it. I’ll change that right now.” I say standing quickly. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you, and again, I’m sorry about asking you to do this,” he replies.
I head back to my office, grab my phone immediately, and open Facebook.
There I see it was in fact Hanna who tagged me in the photo.
I sit down and begin going through the motions of un-tagging myself and making sure that all my settings are private. I go through posts and change the audience, and once I feel that I’ve gone back far enough, I feel better about it all.
Three hours later, the photo is still there, but I’ve done what my boss asked of me. I’ve been productive, but not with anything having to do with work.
I’ve researched everything that I could find about Vegas weddings, and it turns out that what happens in Vegas after all, doesn’t stay there.
But maybe I can just pretend.
MAXWELL
“You don’t remember? How could you not remember? You and she were practically humping one another’s legs in the VIP section.” Conner tells me with a laugh.
“I faintly remember a woman, but I was two sheets to the wind man,” I reply.
“No kidding. I don’t think I’ve seen you let loose that much since college, I think you were even more wasted than Marcus.”
“I agree. I was hungover as fuck, one would have thought it was my bachelor party” I say quietly.
“Well, you know some people do go to Vegas to get married, you sure you didn’t do something like that with this hot chick?” Conner teases pointing his water bottle in my direction.
“I wouldn’t do something as reckless as that. You know me, I think things through a little more than that.” I shake my head.
“While that’s true for sober Max, maybe blackout Max is a little more fun and daring.”
“I’m fun. I’m daring.” I cross my arms over my chest in protes
t.
“Sure, what did you do last night?” Conner asks.
“I worked late, came home and worked out.”
“Last night, I found a speakeasy and played strip poker with Japanese twins.”
“Not all of us live the kind of life you do. Some of us work for a living,” I point out.
“I work,” Conner says irritated.
“You’re a social media influencer, you take selfies with products,” I throw back.
“And I make money off of it, anyways, this isn’t about me. Do you remember anything about her?”
“I keep getting flashbacks to the night, but nothing substantial.”
“Anything good?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“This conversation is over.” I wave him off.
“Maybe you should get a private investigator if it’s bothering you. I’ve got a guy.”
“You have a guy for everything, but no. I’m good. I think.”
“If you change your mind, I’ve got you.”
We eat the rest of our meal in silence before Conner leaves and I’m feeling confused.
It’s true. I don’t let loose like I did while in Vegas.
I work a lot, but that’s only because I’m not dating anyone.
I don’t drink to get wasted, except while in Vegas.
* * *
She’s up against the dark hallway.
The walls are vibrating from the bass in the club.
She tastes like cherries and vodka with a hint of mint.
She moans into the kiss as her chest pushes against mine while my fingertips thread into her dark hair.
My hands move down her body and I dig my hands into her sides as we press our bodies against one another in the heat of passion as our bodies are energized in this moment.
The next moment, we’re in a town car and she’s straddling me. Her warm center is pressing against my slacks and my cock is aching to get nearer to her. She’s as close to me as she can be, but I want more.
I need more.
I must have more.
I dart up in bed, sweat dripping down my face and my heart racing a mile a minute. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and take a deep breath with my palm sliding down my face.
Holy shit. That was one damn hot dream.
Who was she?
Is that her?
Is that the woman from Las Vegas?
* * *
The rest of the week, I’ve thought a lot of about what Conner said and about my dream.
I should do a little more than work and I should get out and meet new people. And I have been remembering a little more about the woman that I spent time with in Vegas. She did sleep over, and I’m only assuming that means that we slept together. If the time we spent together was anything like my dream, I can only imagine what happened that night.
I still cannot picture her face too clearly, but from what I’ve been told is that she’s beautiful.
I want to know more.
And I want to know what happened that night most of all.
I text Conner and ask him for his contact with my knee bouncing in anticipation. When I don’t receive a reply after a few minutes, I shake my head and stand up. I walk over to the floor to ceiling window adorning one side of my office and look out at the view of downtown Seattle.
My cell phone dings on my desk and I fight to immediately dive towards the object. With my hands in my pocket, I walk over to my desk, lean over and look at the screen of my phone.
Conner’s name shows up indicating there’s a message from him.
I grab the phone and slide my finger across the screen to unlock it.
In the message is everything that I would need to know in order to contact the PI. I weigh my decision of whether or not to call the guy. But I don’t waste any time and make the connection.
The guy had a last-minute cancellation and I luckily will have a meeting with him tonight, which makes me both excited and nervous.
What do I hope to gain from this?
What if I don’t like what he finds out for me?
But what if I do?
Chapter Four
“This one time in Vegas, I ended up earning $100 on a stripper pole.”
PEYTON
Speed dating is not something that I should be doing. But it just so happens that the holidays are coming up and this lady needs a date to the company holiday party.
However, as exciting as the mere thought of speed dating is, it’s also horrifying. How can one decide whether or not to date someone that they speak to for five minutes?
I’ve spoken to five guys and I’m exhausted.
Dating is tough.
“Hey there, pretty lady. Come here often?” A twenty-something man jokes as he slides into the seat in front of me.
He’s cute with dimples and a crooked smile. He leans forward and puts his head in his palm awaiting my answer.
“Hi, I’m Peyton.” I point to my name tag.
He leans back in the chair and points to his. “John. So, Peyton what brings you to speed dating? You certainly don’t look like you would need it.” His eyes look me up and down.
I feel uncomfortable with the perusal. He does it in a creepy way that makes him look like a slime ball. But this is a part of the experience, right?
“I’m busy, I don’t have time to date in the conventional sense.”
“The conventional sense? What’s that mean?”
“So, tell me a little bit about yourself?” I ask him.
“Well, what do you need to know?” He asks.
“For starters, let’s talk about what you do?” I ask him.
“I am a club promoter,” he says.
“What’s that mean?”
“I promote events at the club that I work at. I coordinate guest lists, and make sure that the events get seen. What do you do?”
“I work for a party planning company,” I smile.
“Oh, that’s cool. So, we’re kinda in the same field. Party and events are quite the same.”
“Quite.” I nod.
I think that our jobs are two different things. I know that I’m not going into detail about exactly what I do, but I don’t hand out flyers.
The bell rings and it signals that the guys are supposed to move on.
“Well, John, it was a pleasure speaking with you.”
“Indeed. I hope to see more of you.”
The next guy and the next don’t do anything for me, and while it was a fun experience, I don’t plan on making plans with any of the guys that I met tonight. Whether it was bad breath, or just a complete lack of sensitivity of topics, I’m done for the night.
I walk in the front door to the sounds of loud moaning.
I press myself up against the closed front door and cover my eyes with my hand, even though there’s a wall separating the front entry way and the living space.
“Quinn! If you are entertaining in the common area while naked, I have my eyes covered in case naked bodies need to run into the bedroom where these kinds of activities should be taking place!” I yell.
The moaning stops.
I listen for any movement, but I hear nothing for a few moments until I hear her laughing.
I pull my hand away from my eyes and see Quinn standing in front of me, fully clothed.
“What is happening here?” I ask. “You’re fully clothed. Oh geez, are you soaking your fingers?”
“That sounds completely gross, like I’m marinating my fingers.” Quinn laughs.
“Okay, how about dialing the rotary phone? Or strumming the lady parts’ guitar strings?” I offer, still not moving from my spot against the door.
“I’m watching porn,” she explains.
“Why are you watching that in the living room? Isn’t that more of a private kind of show that you watch?”
“It’s research, not for fun.”
“Research?” I question stepping further into our apartment.
“I’ve been assigned to
write up a story about the different forms of porn. Like the best of the best.”
“You were assigned?”
“I bitched and complained during a meeting recently saying that all the fun and sensational topics were going to Gary, the suck-up. So, to my pleasure, I was assigned to this.” She shrugs.
“And what are we learning?” I fight the laughter from erupting.
“That the women are clearly overacting, and the guys will do anything to stick it in all the holes. I’ve got some popcorn, care to watch some with me?”
“You’re getting paid to watch porn.” I shake my head while I drape my purse strap around the chair and walk over to the fridge.
“I am, isn’t it great?”
I rummage through the fridge and pull out a few ingredients to make dinner.
“I think I’m going to pass on the communal porn watch party. I kind of am turned off by the male population at the moment.”
“Aw, why is that?” Quinn says with a tilt of her head.
“Speed dating.”
“Does your husband know?” Quinn jokes.
“Funny.” I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, so something came in the mail today,” Quinn walks over to the coffee table.
I glance at the television screen and see an orgy taking place and laugh.
Quinn hands me an envelope with an embossed city symbol on the envelope.
“State of Nevada, what the heck?” My eyes widen and I look up at her.
“You’re asking me? Why would I know. I don’t have X-ray vision.”
I slide my finger to open the envelope and peek inside then my mouth drops open.
“Oh, oh, wow.” I whisper before handing over the envelope to Quinn. She pulls out the thick paper and unfolds it.
“Your marriage license.” She looks up at me and whispers.
“I do not remember any of this, how is any of this possible?”
MAXWELL
“Sir, I’m nearly done with my investigation and I truly want to thank you for this opportunity for a change in pace.”
“Yeah, no problem. What did you find out?” I ask him impatiently.
What Happens In Vegas Page 3
