Unexpectedly You (2 page)

There’s that damn smirk. I roll my eyes and step through the front doors onto the sidewalk.

“Actually, a couple things,” he says, making me stop in my tracks. He slides in front of my line of vision, smoothing the back of his hair as if it’ll help its unkemptness. “First, call me Nate.
Only my mother calls me Nathaniel, and she’s one of those romantic types who named her kids with names of
love
.” He rolls his eyes. “I go by Nate, because I think that’s ridiculous.”

I don’t say anything, because like, what the hell do I say to that? So I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms while I wait for more.

“And second…” He straightens his stance which I hadn’t noticed was leaned into me before. “A word of advice”—he gives me a grin—“if you want a job, don’t make an ass of yourself right before you interview.”

Chapter
Two

Nate

Yes. It was an asshole move throwing her line back out at her, but her type just makes it so damn easy. She purses her perfectly glossed lips, and I’m waiting for a pithy comeback that doesn’t happen. It’s too bad because I think we could have gone back and forth a few more times.

She pauses for a brief second longer before giving me a curt half nod and walking away.

Her heels click on the sidewalk, and her skirt pulls just right around her hips. One thing about the uptight girls is that they’re uptight enough to keep their bodies just perfectly—

A light smack on the back of my head jolts me, and I spin to face Mom’s frown.

“Yes?” I try to give her a polite smile
, but this situation sucks, and we both know it. I don’t want to be here, and after a couple months of me cramping her style with Morsten, soon-to-be husband number three, she doesn’t want me here either.

“You know not to smoke inside.
Not only do I hate it, but it’s against the law. I have brides come in and sit down in front of the five thousand dollar coffee table you think is an ashtray.” Mom’s perfect updo is shiny, even in the heat.

I step around her and hold open the door to her offices so she can come inside and finish her lecture somewhere that’s not on a Las Vegas sidewalk. The endless sea of stucco is slowly driving me insane.

“Won’t happen again,” I say as I let the door close behind her.

Mom pinches her nose as she takes a practiced breath in. Fifty bucks says she’s counting down from ten. “I don’t understand where the smoking comes from. You’ve spent too much time in New York.”

It has nothing to do with New York. It has to do with me needing to be busy every second of every day so I don’t sink again. Guys don’t take months to put their hearts back together. “I said it won’t happen again.”

Mom taps her French manicured nails on her chin. “She was kind of a mess, but adorable.”

“You’ve got three more interviews this afternoon,” I say. After the disaster of that girl, I knew I was safe from having to work with her. “I believe they all have experience of
some
kind.”

“That hasn’t worked in my favor. I’m just looking for another assistant. Maybe training someone up would be the way to do it…”

“You’re too busy to take time to train someone up.” Surely my logic will win this because adorable or not, I don’t think I could work with that girl every day.

“And you know this business better than you’d ever admit. Despite y
our knack for flustering people—like you did with that poor girl—clients love you. If you’d just put some
effort
into it, my job would be—”

I hold my hand up silencing her. The last thing I need or want is to be any kind of permanent fixture in Mom’s business. “I need to go and work some Photoshop magic to make the newly married M
rs. Jeffries look less sweaty at her reception.”

Mom frowns “Oh. I need you to drop Celeste a note about the Blixen wedding this weekend. Make sure she has the times set.”

“Will do.” I like Celeste. She’s a gorgeous girl dating an asshole, though. I’m amazed sometimes at the shit women let themselves be put through just to stay in a relationship.

Mom kisses her fingers and presses them to my forehead. Twenty-two seems old for this
kind of gesture, but Mom won’t be deterred. Her phone buzzes, her smile spreads from ear-to-ear, and that’s my cue to grab my laptop and run. I can’t stomach her conversations with Morsten. Every time they talk, even when he’s not around, all I see is his bald, egg-shaped head and goofy smile. Anyway, I only have an hour before the next interview. I need another cigarette.

***

The best part about living in Las Vegas when you suffer from insomnia is there’s always something to see, to look at, to do… Good thing I’m not a gambler because I’d be broke. Adjusting shutter speed for the lights on the Las Vegas strip keeps my brain busier than anything else, and I
have
to keep my brain busy.

One of the interviewees this afternoon, or yesterday afternoon, or whatever day this is, smacked my ass on her way out, which nixed her for both of us. Mom has two more interviews tomorrow, but my gut tells me she’s going to go with the strawberry
blond. Just because she knows it’ll make me crazy.

I lie on the
sidewalk and wait for the water show in front of the Bellagio to start. I should hate this show by now. They’ve used the same songs for ages, and they’re not even that great, but…there’s something about the way the light reflects over the water. I’m still trying to capture a good shot here. Something that shows the water, the color, the movement, but also the background. Not easy when the span between colors and the speeds I should be using are so different.

Tonight I’m shooting film. Old school. I’m on the third roll when my phone vibrates in my pocket. This is when
Viv always tries to catch me. It has nothing to do with me. It has to do with the few items I took
with
me when I left our apartment in New York—things I know she doesn’t want me to have.

I turn my phone off and decide I need a pastry
from Paris, then I’ll finish my roll of film. As I pass one group of friends after another, laughing, partying, here for a wild weekend… I’m faced again with how pathetic my life has become. My girlfriend of two years and soon-to-be fiancé was sleeping with my best friend behind my back for… I’m actually not sure how long, but I do know that more than two months after I moved out, they’re still sharing a bed. My other two guy friends from high school are also sharing a bed…in very much the same way Viv and I were. And I don’t care that they’re gay, I really don’t, but watching them fondle each other is still weird. I’ve known them both since middle school, making me wonder what else I was blind to.

I’m a photographer. I’m supposed to notice things about people.

A couple is coming down the escalator at the far end of the hall, and I take a moment to watch as he brings her hand to his mouth. There’s something about the soft sentiment in such a loud place that makes me pull out my camera. I snap a few shots of them, letting the edges blur, knowing I’m going to further blur the edges later on.

They kiss after the step off the escalator, and again it feels like someone just kicked my chest in. I don’t want to hurt over the same girl anymore. I just don’t.

“Hey… You Paparazzi or something?” A girl’s voice turns me around.

I pause for a moment to take in her over-glossed lips and too-tiny shirt, or well, since I’m enjoying the view, her perfectly-fitted shirt.

“No.” I see a few girls behind her all watching. Bachelorette party or college girls from out of town.

“Photographer?” She takes a step closer.

“Yes.”
Demoted from working under some of the greats in New York to doing weddings with my mommy
…

“So…” She glances back over her shoulder. “We thought you might be local and would know something fun we could do?”

There’s a small chorus of giggles making me wonder if the IDs that got them into this place are real or fake.

I glance at my phone and know my brother is probably prepping for his show, and when the girl closest to me touches the necklace near her collarbone as she predictably bites her lip, I wonder if I could talk myself into fooling around. Just for a night. And then a pinch of panic pushes in, and I feel pathetic for being unsure of something so simple.

“You girls into magic?” I ask.

Her entourage steps closer.

“I know
X
and was headed there next.” I shrug and take a couple steps toward the door. “You don’t have to come or anything, but I always have a table.” I actually
know
he wouldn’t mind—especially if they wanted to go backstage. My brother has one goal aside from hoping that eventually more people like him than Criss Angel, and these out of town girls play into that perfectly.

“Are you serious?” The girl grasps my arm, and I flex a little. Just, you know, to give her something to hold on to.

“He’s my brother.”

“
X
is your
brother
?” And with that we’re all walking out of the hotel together. Me and four girls whose names I don’t know.

“His name is Xavier.
”
Mom’s idea
. “Our last name is Marks, so that’s where he—”

“Gets the name for his show!” The girl behind me squeals loud enough that even the noise of the strip doesn’t keep my ears from getting damaged.
Definitely underage. Well not under
age
, but not twenty-one.

“X Marks.” The girl I’m walking with grabs my bicep. “I’m
Tish, by the way.”

“Nate.”

“I’m so glad we ran into you, Nate.” She’s a little too enthusiastic, but again, that might work in my favor.

At least I’ll get my brother off my back for not ‘taking advantage of being single and hooking up with the thousands of girls from out of town looking for a good time.’

Tonight. I’m definitely for having a good time. When you’re moping enough to annoy yourself, something needs to change. Though, as I glance at the girls surrounding me, I’m wondering if I picked the right people for anyone but my brother.

Chapter Three

Brooke

One hundred twenty-six dollars and eighty-seven cents. That’s how much I have in my checking account for rent. Which won’t cut it in the slightest, so I’ll have to cry to my parents for
another
loan. Just something else to chalk up on the unsuccessful limb in the family tree. They should’ve just named me that.
Oh, you see my daughter Elizabeth and her beautiful husband and precious babies? Then my son, Owen, well, he’s in Africa right now using that well-earned medical degree. We’re so proud.
Then people will point to my picture and say, who’s this?
Well, that right there is Miss Unsuccessful. She has no clue what to do with her life, so she takes out a million student loans and jumps from job to job. We can always count on Miss Unsuccessful Brooke to give us a call on the fifth of every month because she’s short on rent.

Yet, here I sit with my girls, Tasha and Morgan, drinking an eight dollar margarita because searching Monster.com endlessly hasn’t worked. Maybe a cute blue drink will! (Their logic, not
mine).

I sigh and tap my phone away from my sad bank account over to my calendar, marking down goal twenty-two for the week.
Find a damn job!
I can’t wait to put the cute little check mark in that one.

“Are you kidding
me?” Tasha yanks my phone from my fingers, and my hand chases after hers. Oh, rule number one, don’t take my phone or your drink will be all over your face. Too bad her glass needs a refill.

“Give it back,” I say with a light smile, leaning off my seat and grabbing her wrist.

She pushes my chest, cocking her head to the side enough her black curls hit her bare shoulder. “Only if you promise to
put it away
. We’re not thinking about anything else but booze and boys, okay?”

I roll my eyes and lunge for my Galaxy. She whips it from one hand to the other, slipping it into Morgan’s open palm.

“Say okay, or our waiter gets a shiny phone as his tip.” Morgan grins, wiggling my cell by her ear.

“Fine.” I laugh, letting go of Tasha and sitting nice and straight in my own chair. “I promise I’ll put it away.”

They watch my face for a second. I try to pull off the innocent look and after they exchange nods, it’s back in my hand. I immediately put it on vibrate and stick it snug in my pocket. I’ll look at it when I go to the bathroom.

Ladies and Gentlemen, if you’ll kindly take your seats, the show is about to begin.

The lights dim, and Tasha quickly waves to the bartender because she needs a refill stat. She also winks and casually touches the top of her left boob. He ends up over pouring the glass he was filling and quickly fumbles around to clean it. We all laugh, and Tasha’s out of her seat to go hit on the cute dorky barman, even though the announcement said to
take our seats.
Does anybody follow rules anymore?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I wonder what alert just went off. I don’t remember putting something in the agenda, other than feed the cat, which I did before I left,
so I’ve checked that off. I also bought tampons—that alarm went off an hour ago, so no. My fingers itch to look at it, but Morgan’s talking about how she needs to get laid before her panties become the Mojave desert, and I feign interest while secretly screaming at myself, “Why the hell did my phone vibrate?!”

“Um,” I interrupt, “I think I’m going to go to the bathroom before this thing starts.”

“Okay, I’ll save our seats.” Morgan kicks her legs up under the table and smacks them on Tasha’s abandoned chair. “Hurry up. The opening act is always kickass.”

I nod, curl my hand around my purse strap and force my legs to stand, even though the announcement told me to stay put.

Weaving through the crowd of people who don’t know how to listen, I make it to the bathroom in record time, my phone out before I have the chance to swing the door open.

Account activity: Withdrawal at X Marks, Nevada

All that over a stupid VISA transaction. I knew I should’ve paid in cash. But I only carry twenty bucks, and I want to use it for my share of the cab fare.

Without going into the bathroom, I spin around, checking my calendar on my phone one more time to make sure there won’t be any more vibrations, and I walk right into a set of boobs.

“Geez, watch it, bitch.”

“Sorry!” I mumble, scooting back from her barely covered bosom. My face fills with heat, and I try to laugh about falling into her cleavage.

She throws me a look like I’m insane and gives a demeaning little wave for me to move my ass. I want to tell her she shouldn’t even be walking around because the show is about to start, but hypocritical much? Oh well. She looks twelve and tipsy. I’ll chalk it up to mean drunk instead of her just being a bitch.

I take a step to the side, and right as she passes me, she gives an overly sweet smile over her shoulder and a one-minute finger. I follow her line of sight to grey high top shoes, up holey jeans, and unkempt hair. He gives Bitchy Boobs a smirk,
and then his eyes meet mine.

I’m not sure if he recognizes me. I’m not exactly in interview attire. I have dress pants on, but that’s because I’m always prepared in case something pops up unexpectedly. My jacket is back at my table,
so my green silk off-the-shoulder blouse adorns my top half, exposing more than I would if I were somewhere more professional. And my hair is down and styled for the night life—my night life—and so not interview-esk. He probably doesn’t even notice I’m the same girl.

He however seems to have only changed his shirt, and traded his cigarette for a clutch purse. He actually looks pretty darn cute.

Since I’m so obviously staring, I give a small smile as if we were just two strangers staring at each other, tuck my hair behind my ear and march forward.

“Hey, wait a second.”

I turn, eyebrows shot to the ceiling, and point at myself. “Who, me?”

“Uh, yeah.” He walks to me, instead of waving me over, and I’m kind of surprised by that. He seemed like someone who’d want me to cater to him. But what the hell do I know? I sat in a room with him for twenty minutes.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing over his arm. “It’s Brooke, right?” He looks back at me as if he genuinely doesn’t know if he got my name right or not. Well, I guess that answers if I got the job question. Not that I didn’t know I totally screwed that up.

“And it’s Nate, right?” I throw out, crossing my arms. Seriously, what does he want? He already made me feel like an
ass. Is he going to give me crap for running into his girlfriend?

He smiles, but it’s sort of twitchy and kind of cute on him. Maybe he’s only an ass at work. Or maybe I’ve had too much margarita. “I could use your help, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m not holding your purse for you while you pee.”

“Funny.” His lips curl up, and I can’t tell if he actually thinks I’m funny, or if he’s being a smartass like me. “Can you just… play along with what I’m about to do?”

“What?” Hell, no. I’m not going to nod and go, “Okay! Make me do whatever because you were
so
nice to me the other day.” He can shove it. “Um, no—”

“I’m
baaaaaack,” overly lip-glossed girl sings over Nate’s shoulder as she grabs her purse from his hand. She sort of tips her chest into Nate’s side, and a wrinkle pops above his nose. He gives this half-ass smile at her, and I’m thinking… okay, maybe she’s not a girlfriend.

The lights flicker, and with that I take a step back toward my seat. I’m already up to awkward level ten.

“Hey, uh…” His voice stops me, partly out of curiosity, and partly because I think he’s talking to me, but I can’t tell. He’s looking at me, but then his direction shifts to the girl on his arm. “This is Brooke. She works for my mom and there was sort of an emergency. I’m sorry, but I gotta run.”

“Photographers have emergencies?” she asks, laughing a bit loud in his ear. I press my lips together to keep from laughing too, because the look on his face says he’s ready to get on his knees and beg me to get him away from her. Huh, that’s actually a nice image.

I clear my throat, even though he made fun of me for it, and straighten my stance. I’m good at “business woman.”

“Mr. Alexander’s photographer dropped out at the last minute. His fiancé demanded professional photos for his bachelor party. I think she wants to use them for blackmail later. But she hired us, she pays us for it, and we deliver.” I tap my phone a few times and put it to my ear. “I’m calling a cab. You have two minutes. Please don’t make me call your mother.” I shrug around them and laugh to myself when I’m out of range. I had to add that last bit in there, just for my own satisfaction. But he’s not allowed to be embarrassed or give me crap for it, because damn it, I helped his ass out.

I get to my seat right as the lights go completely out. Tasha and Morgan are whispering about Tasha’s date she has planned for after the show, and before they catch me with it, I put my phone back in my pocket.

I wonder if he meant what he said, or if he was just using me as his “emergency call.” Guys should learn from girls and
always
have an out if they end up with a date they don’t want. But I figure if I really did work for his mom, I would’ve known it by now.

The spotlight on the stage goes up, the crowd cheers and claps, and a flash of movement to my left scares the crap out of me.

“Holy shit!” I scream in Nate’s face. He jerks back, knocking over Morgan’s vodka all over his holey jeans. “Oh dammit, I’m so sorry.” Fumbling all over the table, I reach for napkins or something, but there’s nothing but the miniscule ones they give as coasters. My hands shake as I pat all over his legs, and when I reach the hole right above his knee, I shoot upright, because what the hell am I doing?

“Uh,” he says, grabbing the napkins from my hands. “I came over to say thanks. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tasha and Morgan look at me with wide grins, and other tables are laughing at us. I give Nate an awkward blush-filled glance before grabbing my jacket and getting my ass out of there. Let’s see how many times I can wreak confidence and then completely botch it. I’m up to fifty something, I think.

But that’s not in my calendar, so I don’t have an exact number.