Party Girl (17 page)

Chapter FIFTEEN

“So this is Runyon.” I look up at the steep dirt trail snaking up the mountain in front of me, then back over at Taylor. He’s dressed for the excursion in black basketball shorts and a gray Henley that’s pushed up on his arms, showing off his tattoos. I’m doing my very best not to mock his OU ball cap because, with the level of wear and tear on that thing, it’s clearly cherished. I’ve never been hiking, so when he asked me to come with him, I had to make a guess about my own attire, which resulted in workout pants, a sweatshirt, and my running shoes.

“This is Runyon.” He starts up the hill, and I hurry to follow him. It’s Saturday afternoon, and the day is pretty chilly, but the trail is covered with people hurrying up and down the mountain like ants.

“So this is what you do . . . On your weekends or whatever?” Why do I sound like such a thirteen-year-old?

“Sometimes,” he says and smiles over at me. “I actually brought you here because it’s a popular
LA activity
and you’re still looking for those, right?”

Several members of the SSE team know how excited I still am to be in a new town, and they’re always quizzing me on what I’ve done so far. They’ve made it their mission to guide me through the experiences they say are thoroughly LA, and the ones that are just for tourists.

“I am.” I grin at him. “So this is a cool thing to—” I stop short as a guy jogs past us with his dogs. “Was that Justin Timberlake?” I hiss at Taylor.

“Brinks.” He grabs my shoulders and turns me to face the right direction again. “The only thing busier than the best Hollywood club on Saturday night is Runyon on a Saturday afternoon.”

We walk for a few minutes in silence, and the incline increases with each step, reminding me of how long it’s been since I hit the gym at my apartment.

“How did you end up at SSE?” I ask him between gulps of air.

“I came out here a few years ago after school to work in production . . . in movies, not parties. I had some different PA gigs, but the money was terrible and you’re never guaranteed hours. I got a part-time gig working events for the guy who used to have my job. He left to do his own thing, and I got bumped up.” He points out a hole in the path for me to avoid, and continues, “Working for Selah would never be my first choice, but the money’s pretty good, and that’s a priority for me right now.”

“Aah . . . driven by the almighty dollar,” I tease him.

“Nah, it’s not that. I got a kid sister in her freshman year of OU and a single mom who’d have to work two jobs if I couldn’t help her out.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

My face falls. I feel like such a jerk, I had no idea he was helping support his family back home!

“Oh gosh, Taylor, I’m so sorry I opened my big mouth! I had no idea you were—”

He gives me a self-deprecating grin.

“Come on, Brinks, I’m not a martyr. I’m twenty-seven and there isn’t really anything I want that I can’t afford, and I’m able to help my family out too. The job sucks some days, but the checks always clear, so it’s good enough for now. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why are you here?”

As if we had timed it perfectly, we come to a spot on the trail without trees or brush and the whole city is laid out below like a quilt. It’s so grand and inspiring that I’m a little breathless when I finally look back over at Taylor, who’s watching me.

“I’m here for this.” I grin and open my arms to encompass the view. “I came for this!”

I start laughing, so overwhelmed by the spectacular sight before me. He chuckles and throws his tattooed forearm around my shoulders and pulls me back towards the trail.

“Come on, Brinks, you’re too easily impressed. I haven’t even tried that hard yet.”

“Really?” I ask.

His arm falls off my shoulders, but he’s still so close that our shoulders keep brushing each other as we hike.

“Really.” He looks over and smiles at me, and even under the brim of his tattered cap he looks like a pirate or marauder on the cover of every romance novel I’ve ever read. “When I actually try, you’ll know it.”

Is he flirting with me?

Oh God, he’s flirting with me!

Of course he’s flirting with me! He probably thinks this is a date! Why am I so naive? I just thought—

“Hey, calm down.” He bumps me with his elbow playfully. “I brought you hiking, not to an orgy. I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“What are you talking about?” I’m terrible at schooling my features, and God only knows what he’s just seen flash across my face.

Taylor makes an inarticulate sound and throws me a look that says he knows I’m full of it. I want to act cool, but now I’m just uncomfortable. I’m not sure how to feel about him or what the rules are for accidentally going on a date with your coworker. His voice breaks into my internal debate.

“See, this is why I saved the orgy for date number four; girls can rarely handle group activity this early in a relationship.”

I look over at him in shock, and he’s grinning at me. All the tension leaves my shoulders, and I stop right there on the dusty trail and laugh until my sides hurt. Pirate or not, Taylor is one of the most fun people I’ve met in this town.

One week later I’m standing under a canopy of at least a hundred red umbrellas lighting up the breathtaking room before me. We’re fifteen minutes from the guests’ arrival, but I allow myself this small moment to look up at my tiny idea come to life. For the first time since starting this job, I’m really, really proud of myself.

I’m still grinning as I turn to head across the ballroom to check on the wine delivery at the bars. That smile freezes on my face when I see Selah laugh her way into the ballroom, side by side with Brody Ashton. This hotel is one of Barker-Ash’s biggest luxury properties, so I knew I might run into him, but I’d been really hoping to avoid it.

Seeing him walking with Selah, in her skintight red Prada dress, chatting in her “client” voice, only serves to remind me that I’m not supposed to know him at all. I’m a little sick with the idea that he might mention Thanksgiving and that she might use the opportunity to rip my head off and turn it into a purse.

Curl mouth at corners, raise up towards cheeks.

There. I hope whatever is on my face will pass for a smile.

I walk towards them to check in with her and see what she thinks of the space. I’d pitched the idea for the installation at an all-hands meeting, and it was met with a quick approval, which in Selah-world is apparently a huge coup. Regardless of how nervous I feel, the installation looks amazing; and ever since I’d gotten my one tiny Selah-compliment, I’ve been itching to see if I could impress her again.

“This looks incredible. I’m sure they’ll be pleased,” I hear Brody say as he peers up at the umbrella installation.

My umbrellas look incredible! And this from the guy who’s incapable of a compliment.

“Well, you wouldn’t expect anything else from me, would you?” Selah says in her gross, overly flirtatious voice, and my heart stops.

Did she just say—?

“How did you come up with the idea?” Brody looks back overhead. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She considers the umbrellas for a second, which is as long as it takes her to come up with the lie.

“The painting by Cipolla. I’ve always admired his work, and it came to mind when I was dreaming up a theme.”

Dear Lord! She’s just lied her way through that entire sentence with the poise of a senator’s wife! Worse still, I don’t even know what painter she’s talking about, so I’m not even smart enough to refute her claim! Here I am hoping she might give me some small scrap of a compliment, and she’s not even going to acknowledge my participation at all.

I wonder, not for the first time, if she even realizes she’s lying, or if she just does it so often that she believes it simply because it came out of her mouth. I’ve only just walked up to them, but I make up an excuse to leave.

“If you’ll both excuse me.” I try to keep my voice steady. “I just need to check in with the catering captain on a wine delivery.”

I make to walk away but Selah stops me.

“While you’re at it, check in with operations and bring the thermostat up a bit. It’s freezing in here.” She does a mock shudder and scoots closer to Brody in some weird pantomime of snuggling up close to get warm.

Any idiot could tell her: a large ballroom is always cool, but once it’s filled with four hundred drunk lawyers it’ll be too hot, and then it’ll take ages to cool down again. But I’m not that idiot, so I just nod.

Brody steps away from Selah and directly into my path.
This is a really bad idea for all parties concerned.
I look up at him with questioning eyes.

“I’ll walk with you, Landon. I need to check in with the captain myself.”

It is a totally casual comment, but I know Selah won’t like him leaving her side to go anywhere with me. That is what worries me, until I realize what he’s just said.
Please, Jesus, Mary, and the Saints, did he just call me
Landon
?
I glance quickly at her.
Maybe she didn’t catch him using my first name—nope, no, she definitely caught that.
I’m a goner.

“I, er—probably, yes. Mr. Ashton, if you’ll . . .” I glance nervously at Selah, then back at him. “Excuse me, I have to—” I don’t even finish the sentence because Brody looks utterly confused by my response.

When I look at Selah she’s looking back and forth between us like she’s trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle, and then I see it. It’s the moment she decides something is up. Her eyes narrow and suddenly she’s not looking at me like a worthless peon; she’s looking at me like I’m an adversary, which is far more terrifying. I have a single crazy moment when I consider screaming,
Nothing is going on, I swear!
But I bite my tongue.

There’s an intense, quiet moment in which Selah glares, I stare at my shoes, and Brody checks his phone like he’s got ninety-seven better things to do than stand here in this tableau. I wait for the blowup, but to her credit she doesn’t scream or fire me or say anything terrible. No, like only the very best villains, she attacks subtly.

“Brinkley, I need you to pick up my dry cleaning,” she says abruptly.

I guess she’s trying to embarrass me in front of him, which in the grand scheme of life isn’t as bad as I expected.

“Of course, I’ll add it to my list.” I turn to go.

“No. I need you to go right now.”

“Right now?” I look around me, confused; we’re about to open the doors for a huge party.

“Yes, I have two events to attend this weekend, and I need more wardrobe options. I need you to go pick up the dry cleaning and drop it off at my house.”

“But the event is—”

Selah smiles and it’s pure evil. “Surely you don’t think the absence of one little assistant can in some way negatively affect an event. Honestly, we’ve managed to get along just fine for the last five years without your help.”

“Of course not, but I just thought—”

“But I don’t pay you to think, do I?” Her eyes spark maliciously. “And right now, I’m
paying you
to go pick up my dry cleaning.”

Brody turns back to her and inserts himself into the conversation. “Honestly, Selah, you need her to go to the Westside during rush hour on a Friday?” All three of us can hear the annoyance in his voice, and I want to curl up and die right there on the plush ballroom carpet. Why is he picking this, of all moments, to be chivalrous? Doesn’t he know this is only going to make it worse?

“B, are you trying tell me how to run my company now?” Selah says coquettishly.

Her body language is flirtatious but her eyes glitter with a challenge.

I lower my eyes. I can’t look at her, and I definitely can’t look at Brody. I don’t have any choice, and she knows it. My job is whatever she says it is, and right now that’s running errands. I nod and turn to go grab my bag, and she throws her last pass.

“Mia’s leash is on the hook by the door. Be sure and run her around the block while you’re there. You know she hates being cooped up while I’m out.”

I don’t acknowledge the statement. But then I don’t really need to; she knows I’ll do it.

I spend the next hour and a half sitting in terrible traffic, trying, yet again, not to cry. I was so excited about this event. It was the first one I’d worked on from start to finish, and I’d helped plan every single element, from the design down to the dessert choices. I’d wanted to hear what the clients thought about everything, wanted to see people’s reaction to the umbrellas . . . umbrellas inspired by a cheesy cocktail garnish,
not
an old painting.

Ugh! I’m not gonna think about it. I’m gonna do what she’s asked of me and head back over. With any luck I’ll be back in time to hand out the gift bags we spent three hours stuffing.

I park my car in front of Selah’s twenty-four-hour, eco-friendly dry cleaners and hustle inside. An older man is sitting in front of a portable TV. When he sees me he hops up.

“Hi, Mr. Agabalian. How are you doin’?” I slip up to the counter. “I just need to grab whatever she has in-house.”