“I wasn’t saying we have to know everything right now.” I tell her.
“Foundations. Let’s learn about foundations. Tell me, how did you grow up?”
“Wow, hitting hard. That’s easy. Parents wanted more for me than they had themselves, but they wanted my sister and I to work for it. I got scholarships for college and started at the very bottom of the company during my junior year of college. I worked my way up thinking that it would impress my father, but I never knew whether or not it did. But I must have been doing something right. Once he passed, his recommendation was to name me partner, so here I am.” I say as quickly as possible.
“And your mother?” She questions.
“My mom is still around. The crazy old bat still tells people that she’s thirty-five and she’s happily living in Florida at one of those old folks communities.”
“Are you guys close?” she asks.
“I see her a few times a year, my sister and I take turns visiting her, so she’s not too lonely and talk to her once a week, but that’s about it. What about you? Tell me about your upbringing?” I ask.
“Once upon a time, there was this girl. She had a mom who liked to drink and a dad who liked to gamble. One ended up dead, the other is in jail. That’s about the gist of my story,” she says, as cryptic as possible.
“So, who raised you?” I ask.
“I did. I’m an only child, so were both my parents. So, I don’t have much in the ways of family. I wasn’t really an orphan, my mom died when I was sixteen and my dad got beaten up a lot, left me on my own many nights. But, it wasn’t until I was actually eighteen, and still in high school, that the cops caught up with him. After he went to jail, that was that and I didn’t keep in touch. He got out and never looked me up, like I didn’t exist. Don’t worry, when we get a divorce, none of my family will come out of the woodworks looking for anything from you.” She has a sad look in her eyes when she relays the whole story, as short as it is, it’s whole and I doubt there’s much more that one would care to know. But when she mentions divorce, it makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t think that’s what I want.
Dinner is delicious and the company, was a lot more than I was expecting. I didn’t think that coming down here to Los Angeles would amount to anything other than preparing to get a divorce, but now, I’m not entirely sure that is what I want to do.
She’s a lot more than what she would seem. She’s humble and hard working. She doesn’t ask for anything and doesn’t strike me as the kind of person that would take advantage of another.
So, I told her that I would be here for a week and I was sincere in saying that I wanted to get to know her.
Except, I think I want to get to know her in a more than friendly way.
She intrigues me.
She turns me on.
And she definitely isn’t a bad choice as a life partner, from what I’ve seen in the few hours that we’ve been reacquainted with one another.
Chapter Eight
“This one time in Vegas, I spent all day drinking and never got drunk.”
PEYTON
Maxwell is charming. But I know from reading romance novels and watching rom-coms, most assholes and pricks are. So, there has to be something underlying there that would turn that button on for him.
He is way high up on the totem pole of his company and here I am, likely making a quarter of what he makes. He’s champagne and fancy appetizers that are slimy, and I’m a pigs in a blanket with Doritos type of gal. We are complete opposites.
But opposites sometimes attract.
And he’s definitely attractive.
Like I would lick his cheek and likely cream my panties in result type of attractive.
Spending the evening with him was reminiscent of a first date. We shared tidbits of our lives, our pasts, and laughed about the small things. While dinner with him, made him a little more human to me and not just something super unattainable, it’s still very clear that we are from different worlds.
We parted ways last night with him giving me a kiss on the cheek and making plans for lunch today. He was coming to pick me up from work and that’s all I knew.
So, I sit nervously in my office googling topics to talk about during a lunch date and coming up empty.
I’ve dated plenty in my life, but this whole thing feels so different.
He wants to get to know me. Why?
He hasn’t brought up the word divorce. Why?
He’s here for a week and intends to see me every day that he’s here. Why?
I wasn’t aware that I wasn’t alone until a folder is placed on top of my keyboard.
I look up and see Mr. Frederick staring at me with a concerned look on his face.
“Hi, um, sir. What can I do for you?” I say standing up, my movement pushing my office chair back to slam against the wall.
“Are you okay? You getting enough sleep? You looked almost as if you fell asleep, when I first walked in here.” he asks.
I shake my head, “no sir, I’m sorry. I was just brainstorming new concepts for a corporate event that we received a bid for this morning. Anyways, what’s this?” I pick up the folder.
“It might be for the corporate party that you were daydreaming about.” He grins.
I open the folder and nod.
“I started working on a profile for them already, I spoke with one of the owners this morning. The owners are new and wanting a relaunching party.” I tell him.
“Who do you have assigned to this project?” he asks.
“I haven’t assigned anyone yet, I was going to look at the details, but I haven’t gotten to that yet.”
“Good. I’m assigning you to this.”
Shock flows through me, I’m not the party planner point person, I’m behind the scenes. I run the orders, make sure things are where they need to be, same with the people. I order office supplies, for crying out loud. I do not throw the parties or events.
“I’m sorry sir, what?”
“I want you to take the lead, I want to have you more immersed in the business, in all facets.” He tells me confidently.
“I’m not understanding,” I shake my head.
“Just trust me on this. I see something with you, and I have plans for your future. You’re the lead, run with it. Schedule those in person meetings, make sure you tour the spaces if they have one. You know the drill, you made up the check list. Ask me any questions that you may have. But I want you in on this.”
Still standing, I’m a bundle of nerves, but I smile anyways—despite the fact that I want to jump out of my skin.
“Sir, I will not let you down.” I hold out my hand and we shake.
* * *
“I just am shocked, I don’t know what his plans are, but it’s like suddenly, I have a new position in the company and I’m not sure what to do with it.” I take a large gulp of the beer in front of me.
“Is it something that you want?” Maxwell asks me.
We’re sitting in a booth, both of us with full beers, waiting for our lunch orders.
“I don’t know. I don’t think this was something that I ever thought about. I’m not an in front of the party person, I’m someone who likes to do the other stuff, the behind the scenes crap.” I am on the verge of hyperventilating when Maxwell stands and comes to sit beside me in the booth. My breaths are moving in and out of my lungs quickly. My eyes are wide and holy shit, what is he doing? His presence right now is not helping.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him.
He smells delicious, like a fresh shower and eucalyptus. I lean my head against him and breathe him in as I calm down.
It must be the eucalyptus.
Koalas get high off of the stuff when they nosh on it, I must be getting high from the smell.
I doubt that it’s the close contact and his strong arms.
I’m not sure how long we sit here, enjoying one another’s embrace.
“Thank you. I’m good now
.” I say leaning back to look up at him.
He licks his lips and looks down at me. The nearness of him is making me dizzy and I’m definitely not expecting what happens next.
MAXWELL
My knuckles graze her cheekbone and my body has taken over control, shutting off my brain and all rational thought.
I lick my lips, lean down and our lips touch. Gently at first as my hand wraps around her neck and up into her hair.
The start of the kiss is getting used to one another. I’ve caught her by surprise with the kiss and she doesn’t fully let go into the kiss until I lightly bite her lower lip. Her hand is on my thigh and I’m silently begging for her to move it up.
Our tongues tangle and our heads tilt in opposite directions as we explore one another’s mouths, until plates are placed on the table loudly by our waiter.
We pull away from one another, her eyes immediately dart away from my gaze as she pushes away from me letting a foot of distance between us on the booth.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat.
“I’m not sorry about that,” I say preluding what she’s likely thinking. She looks at me, her lips parted, but says nothing.
“I’m sorry that I took advantage of your panic, but I’m not sorry that I kissed you.” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says quietly.
“I told you that I wanted to get to know you, and that includes in whichever way,” I say.
“I think that our situation is a little more complicated though,” she says.
“We can’t annul the wedding, we would have to get a full divorce, why rush it?” I ask.
“You can’t be serious?” her hand with a French fry freezes mid-air.
“If we get a divorce tomorrow or a month from now, it’s the same thing.” I shrug.
“A month from now? You realize that we live in two separate places.”
“Is this our first fight? Over when to get a divorce?” I grin.
“I mean why fight the inevitable?” She asks. “We can’t stay married.”
“Yes, yes we can.”
“No, Maxwell, we can’t.”
“Please, no more of this Maxwell stuff. Max, please? It sounds so formal. Considering that our tongues were just in each other’s mouths, you don’t need to be so formal.”
“You’re impossible. Listen, you’re acting hasty, I think this low elevation has gotten to your brain,” she tells me.
“I don’t make hasty decisions—well, Vegas was one thing—but I don’t make hasty decisions. I think it would be nice to get to know one another. Something drew us together that night—”
“Yeah, alcohol.” she interrupts.
“Besides that. Maybe being married to one another can benefit us. I know that, I have enjoyed your company and I like what I’ve gotten to know of you so far, what can it hurt?”
“How are you serious?”
“Listen, Peyton. I’m attracted to you. I’m not going to deny it, and if you’re attracted to me—which that kiss kind of answered that—then let’s take advantage of our situation. What fun is it to get a divorce when we’re not entirely sure that is a good idea.”
She must be a witch. I’m under her spell and I’m not sure what I’m saying anymore.
She looks to be contemplating my words.
“Okay, let me get this straight, you want to date me?”
“I think that would be a good way to put it,” I nod.
“And what about the fact that I live here in Los Angeles and you do not?”
“Easy. There’s this form of transportation that was invented that makes traveling long distances easy. I can come to you and you can come to me. During the work week, there’s video calls or whatever. I’m here for another six days, and like I said, I want to see you, a lot while I’m here.”
“There’s no long run here, I work here and you work there. I sincerely doubt that as a partner you can just up and move to Los Angeles. And I think it would be presumptuous that I would drop my work and friends here to move to where you are.”
“Let’s not make those type of statements this early on in our marriage. We take this one day at a time. Hell, there’s the small possibility that you may not like me overall.”
“What about you not liking me?” She asks.
“Not possible. I already do.” I reply confidently before taking a bite out of my burger.
Chapter Nine
“This one time in Vegas, my friend and I spent two hours getting ready and my friend stepped out of the elevator into a pool of vomit and fell down into it.”
PEYTON
He wants to date me.
He wants to stay married and date me.
Having that conversation at lunch was a little surprising and left my head spinning.
I do my best with trying to concentrate while at work, but for the life of me, I’m pretty much Googling him and trying to find as much information on him that I can.
I switch over to Facebook and there’s a friend request on there.
From him.
Why is he friending me?
I accept his friend request and note that what Quinn and I were looking at was most definitely the public version. His feed is littered with personal stuff. He has friends, some of which look vaguely familiar posting articles and tagging him in photos. Some of which are from Las Vegas, but nothing looking too debaucherous.
There was a group image though, and there I am, sitting beside him. His arm is wrapped around my waist and my hand is sitting comfortably on his thigh. We’re leaning in together, smiling. Both of our set of friends are in the photo, and there’s a few bottles of vodka on the table in front of us.
The image was posted less than twenty-four hours ago by someone named Jason with a comment saying that this was found on his cloud.
I see the last thing that was updated on his profile is that he changed the relationship status to ‘married’ from single. There is a whole slew of comments of congrats and confusion underneath.
This change was made an hour ago and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Shaking my head, I click through his photos, and notice that he does have a laid back side.
Today, he was wearing a dress shirt and dark jeans and while he wasn’t dressed in a suit—he still looked like he was working.
It’s interesting to see this other side to him. He’s commented on a few things here or there but hasn’t had a status update in a few weeks aside from his relationship change.
* * *
“So, you’re going to start dating your husband?” Quinn asks while I prep dinner for tonight.
“Apparently so. He said that there’s no difference in getting a divorce now, versus getting a divorce a month from now.” I say chopping up vegetables.
“So, you guys are going to stay married? How will that work with you guys living in two different places?”
“I don’t know. We’re winging it.” I shrug.
“And tonight, you’re making him dinner?”
“Yes, so, if you can maybe hang out at Hanna’s for a few hours?”
“Oh girl, I’ll do you better. I’ll pack an overnight bag.” Quinn stands to her full height, turns on her heel and basically skips towards her room.
I finish prepping the meal for tonight and just as Quinn is leaving, Max walks in. He surprises me walking into the kitchen with a bouquet of colorful wildflowers. He comes to my side, and gently kisses my cheek.
“Do you have a vase?” he asks.
I have my hands covered in enchilada sauce and point with my elbow to the cabinet behind me.
“Top shelf.”
He follows where I’m somewhat pointing to and manages to select the correct cabinet on the first try. I hear the water run and then he’s unwrapping the flowers. He runs the stems under the spout and uses a knife to cut them at an angle before placing in the vase silently.
Once he’s finished, he places the vase in the center of the small tab
le and then turns to me.
“Hi,” he says leaning against the fridge.
“Hi,” I reply dousing a tortilla and then grabbing some of the mixture.
“This looks like a lot, you know we could have ordered food, right?” He pushes off the fridge and looks into the bowl.
He’s very close to me and I feel an uptick in my heart rate immediately.
“You can’t come to Los Angeles and not have some authentic Mexican food.”
“Is this a family recipe? I wasn’t aware that you are Hispanic?”
“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know. But I’m only part, my father donated the Hispanic genes to me. My mother was from here. But this is a recipe that I got from the internet, I’ve never made it before, so let’s hope it comes out good.”
“How do you know that I’m not a vegetarian?” he asks.
“Because of the two meals that we’ve already shared together, you’ve eaten meat during both. So, I believe that it’s safe to assume that you will eat this meal.”
“Paying attention. That’s good. So, how was the rest of your day?” He comes to stand on the other side of the counter, so we’re facing one another.
I finish getting dinner ready and we make small talk in between. Once the buzzer goes off on the stove, Maxwell springs up first and heads towards the kitchen. He fits his hands into the oven gloves and reaches into the oven to pull out the casserole dish.
He sprinkles the last of the cheese that I had sitting out and replaces it in the oven then returns to the couch beside me. With a grin, he turns to me.
“See, I can cook. Reason number ten million to give whatever this is a chance,” he says.
“I’ll need to start writing this stuff down.”
“Now, let’s talk about something serious. Who is your favorite sports team?”
MAXWELL
Since I’ve been here in Los Angeles, I’ve definitely not acted like myself.
I’ve been aloof, insecure and spontaneous.
What Happens In Vegas Page 6
