Picking my cup back up, I turn toward the staircase that leads up two flights to my office. Not looking back at her again, I say, “I probably won’t see you on Tuesday because I’ll be working, but I trust you can let yourself in and lock up when you leave. I’ll pay you in cash on Friday.”
She doesn’t say a word in response, but that’s okay. She’s forgotten, and I already have my head wrapped up in the manuscript I’m getting ready to delve back in to.
4
It’s ten o’clock on Friday night, I’m dressed in the sluttiest-looking outfit I can manage to put on without blushing, and I’m walking into Last Call… the oceanside bar that my friend, Hunter Markham, owns and that has become the hot hangout here on the islands. While the summer season is long gone, there’s still a pretty sizable crowd for late January.
I’m taking advantage of it tonight. Meeting my girlfriends, Casey, Alyssa, and Gabby for a night out on the town. It’s Gabby’s turn to be designated driver, and I intend to get drunk. Well, I really don’t do drunk well, but I intend to get buzzed enough on sweet alcohol to try to erase the last half of my day today.
I had another awful portrait session assisting Eric, the douche photographer I work with part time. We shot a local couple for their engagement photos, and my job was simple enough. Handle the lighting equipment, adjust the odd lock of hair that would fall funkily over the woman’s shoulder, or smooth out the wrinkles in the horrendous lavender colored drop cloth they chose for their background. It was lame actually, especially when I was used to doing my own work and on far more interesting subjects than happily grinning couples who would probably get divorced in a few years.
After Eric snapped the last picture and sent the duo on their way, he told me he wanted me to start editing the photos tonight. I blinked at him in surprise because he never turned the photos over that quickly, and I knew without a doubt he wanted to keep me there so he could throw some of his cheesy and slightly disgusting moves on me some more.
I easily capitulated though, because Eric pays me by the hour and I need the money.
For the first hour of editing, he pretty much left me alone and I heard him periodically moving equipment around or talking on the phone in his office. But eventually he sought me out, as he often did. I didn’t have an office but rather a little cubbyhole off the lobby that had a thin, wooden desk tucked up against the wall.
Eric walked up behind me and leaned over to watch my progress. Putting his chin just inches over my shoulder, I could smell the hot dogs with onions he ate for dinner on his breath and tried hard not to shudder in disgust. He watched me work for a few moments, and then said in a low voice, “Your work is very good, Savannah. It has a very sexy quality to it.”
Seriously? I was brushing out acne blemishes from the man’s face and he called that sexy? I cringed internally but kept a level voice when I said, “Give me a break, Eric. There’s nothing sexy about what I’m doing right now.”
He chuckled at me and stood up straight. His fingers came up and rested on my shoulders, digging in slightly in an attempt at a clumsy massage. “It’s looking pretty sexy from where I’m standing.”
I couldn’t help myself, shrugging my shoulders violently back and dislodging his hands. Standing up from the chair, I pushed back at it and it hit Eric in the knees. Spinning on him, I growled, “Enough! I’m sick of your come-ons, corny lines, and touching.”
Eric just blinked at me in surprise, acting like he had no clue what I was talking about, but I knew he wasn’t that dense. Sadly, he was actually a fairly good-looking guy, but he had no tact, no manners, and absolutely no brains when it came to what women wanted.
“I’m sorry if I did something inappropriate,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“Well, you did,” I huffed. “And you’ve been doing it a lot. I need you to stop, or I can’t work here anymore.”
I held my breath in fear he would fire me, because I really, really needed this job right now. Fortunately, all he did was make another profuse apology, and then his demeanor chilled to near subarctic temps. He told me I could go ahead and leave and that he’d finish the editing. He also told me that he’d call me when he needed me again. So, while technically I wasn’t fired, I’m not sure he’ll call me for any more work and that has me in a near-panic mode.
Sighing, I walk through the crowded bar, all the way through to the back while letting some peaceful, easy feelings from the Eagles song that is pouring out of the jukebox suffuse through me. As I hit the back bar area where all the pool tables and dartboards are set up, I’m surprised to see Brody behind the bar.
He grins at me as I step up to an empty spot, resting my forearms on the wooden top. “You filling in tonight?”
“Yup,” he says as he pours a draft beer. “One of Hunter’s bartenders apparently has a case of the crabs so severe that he can’t stop scratching at his crotch.”
I blink at him dumbly, unsure of what he just said. Just to clarify, I ask, “Are you serious?”
“Nope, completely kidding. I think he has allergies or something, but it was worth it to see that look on your face,” he says, laughing.
Who would have thought it? Brody Markham, only out of prison for just over nine months, having been completely broken and withdrawn from life, was now sitting here throwing out jokes at me. I freakin’ loved it.
It never fails to bring a smile to my face when I see how easily he’s now reintegrating to life. Much of that has to do with him falling in love with Alyssa, but it also has to do with the incredible support system he has. His identical twin, Hunter, and his fiancée, Gabby, and of course, his little sister and my roommate, Casey, as well as his parents and myself. He has a close cocoon of people around him that share his secret… that he took the fall for a drunk driving accident where his ex-girlfriend, Stacy, was actually the one driving. Tragically, a man was killed and Brody became a felon, forever losing his charmed life in one blink of an eye.