Party Girl (23 page)

He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d slapped me. I can’t believe he’s been paying attention this entire time . . . that he noticed me at all.

“But you said I was silly.” It’s a last-ditch effort to restore sanity.

“In the best possible way.” He reaches for me slowly.

Oh Lord, Baby Jesus in the manger
!

I’ve never been in this position before with someone who looks like him, so I panic. I throw my hands up between us and screech the first thing that pops into my head. “Don’t try to kiss me!”

Dear Heavenly Father, if ever there was a moment for the rapture to come and spirit me away, it would be so great if it could happen right now.

I am mortified by what has just fallen out of my mouth. I have no idea how to do any of this, and I know that probably no one has ever said something so idiotic to someone so beautiful, but I’m incredibly nervous, and I don’t even
hold hands
with guys I barely know. I definitely can’t handle a kiss.

Brody takes a step back and puts his own hands up in mock surrender. I can tell he’s trying hard not to laugh, and I would hate him for it if I didn’t already hate myself so much.

“I wasn’t going to kiss you, I swear.” He smiles. “I was going to reach for your hand. But I’ll just stay over here if that makes you more comfortable.”

At this point I’ve lost all shred of dignity so I just go for broke.

“See, you don’t want to go on a date with me. I’m absolutely clueless! I don’t know how to flirt properly, I say the wrong things; I’m not at all like the women you usually date.”

“I know,” he says, taking a small step forward. “That’s one of the things I like about you most.”

One of the things I like about you most.

OneOfTheThingsILikeAboutYouMost.

Like. About. You. Most.

The words pinball around my brain.

He likes me?

His blue eyes look right into mine, and he has this little half smile on his face like he knows a thousand things I don’t know. When I just continue to gape at him, he smirks . . . He knows he’s won.

“So, next Saturday then?”

“Sure,” I reply weakly.

He doesn’t make any move towards me. Maybe he’s worried I’ll panic again . . . Smart man. He gives me a little salute and turns towards the black town car still idling at the curb.

“Who’s that?” I call after him.

“That’s my driver.” He looks back. “I had him meet me.”

I’m stupefied. “I thought you were taking a cab.”

He shudders dramatically. “Come now, you must realize I’m far too snobby to take a cab. Now head back in the lobby so I know you got in safely.”

I wave stupidly and let myself in the building without a backwards glance.

What kind of man has a car meet him at 3:00 a.m. on New Year’s just so he can drive his sister and her drunk friends back to a crappy apartment in Hollywood? And what kind of money do you need in order to have a driver on call? Honestly, I’m not even sure I want to know the answer to that.
Oh man, I’m in so far over my head.

When I get back upstairs to the apartment I find Miko passed out on our couch in a jumble of blankets with her clothes and makeup still on. At least Max has covered her up.

I pull off my heels and pad down the hallway but stop short when I see Max sitting on my bed, waiting for me. She’s still wearing her dress and looks up as I come in the room.

“What’s going on with you guys?” There’s no preamble.

“What do you—”

“Don’t patronize me. It’s too early in the morning for that.” When I don’t respond she continues. “You blush every time you see him.”

“I do not blush!” I say indignantly.

Do I?

“You do; and when he speaks to you you’re either stuttering or having verbal diarrhea.”

“I get it,” I grumble.

“It’s embarrassing to let a guy affect you like that. He clearly makes you nervous.”

“Of course he makes me nervous!” I burst out. “Have you
seen
him?”

“Barf!! He’s my brother.” She scowls at me in the lamplight.

I blow all the air out of my lungs. She’s right, he is her brother and this is totally inappropriate and likely only going to end awkwardly. As if I need another reason not to be interested in this person.

Wait, am I interested in this person?

Crap.

This breaks some sort of roommate code for sure.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But don’t worry, nothing is going to happen.”

Max taps her fingertips on her knees in thought, then starts speaking without looking my way.

“Don’t be sorry; you didn’t do anything. You’re both adults, and you can do whatever you want.” She takes a deep breath, and I can tell having two personal conversations with me in one night is her worst nightmare come true. “Brody is a good guy, and I love him. But honestly, he dates a lot of women. And you, I’m guessing, haven’t really dated much and especially not someone like him—”

“Who said anything about dating?” I squeak.

How does she know?

Her look says she’s not buying anything I’m selling. I become suddenly very interested in my manicure.

“I’m just—I want you to be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“That’s really sweet of you—” I say quietly.

“Whatever!” She stands up abruptly. “It took me forever to find a roommate who only mildly annoyed me. I don’t want to have to look for someone again if—no,
when
this whole
whatever
,” she says the word distastefully, “goes up like Chernobyl.”

“I understand.” It’s all I can think to say.

“All right then.” She heads out of my room as quickly as possible.

I am totally baffled by the direction this night has taken. I want to replay everything in my mind and figure out the exact moment it started jumping off the rails, but my brain is too fuzzy. Finally I give up. I’m not going to figure out anything at this hour. I stare at the bed for a moment before slipping out of everything but my panties. Then in an act that goes against everything I believe in, I climb into bed and fall asleep without washing off my makeup.

Chapter NINETEEN

“I have some news,” Selah announces as she walks into the all-hands meeting.

It’s so out of character for her to walk into the room ready to actually start the meeting that everyone instantly falls silent. She sits down in her chair and looks around the table for dramatic effect.

“We’re going to Sundance again this year.”

I have to stop myself from gasping. This news is far too cool to even be believed! Clearly no one else agrees, though, because all around me groans and sighs fill the conference room. Everyone starts speaking at once.

“It’s three weeks away. There’s no way we can dress out a space on that notice.”

“How will we lodge everyone? There’s nowhere left to stay.”

“What location is even still available?”

I can’t believe anything would encourage this kind of mutiny. No one ever openly disagrees with Selah, but the entire staff is questioning her decision. Selah holds up a hand and signals for everyone to quiet down. I expect her to start screaming, but when she opens her mouth she’s . . .
cajoling
. It’s like she needs to convince them. I’m so confused.

“I know, it’s an impossible task, but we have to do it. SSE is the best, and we do the impossible every day. Riverton decided that they absolutely have to go, and they’ve asked Barker-Ash to partner. They were decided before they even contacted me, so now it’s either make this happen or allow them to bring in another firm. That’s not an option,” she adds sharply.

The room is still tense but resigned. Everyone here knows what it would mean for SSE if it allowed a client like Riverton and a partner like Barker-Ash to work with another event-planning firm. We’d run the risk of losing them both. I’m still unsure why there is even a debate. The Sundance Film Festival is one of the coolest events you could ever dream of working. It’s a week where celebrities of every letter grade congregate to do press and ski down mountains in Utah. Some of the biggest restaurants and clubs set up satellite venues, and every kind of luxury brand jumps on board in the hopes that Ashton Kutcher will get snapped holding their product while running down a snow-lined street, trying to escape the paparazzi. It sounds like the greatest thing ever!

“Now, the good news is,” Selah continues, “that I already called my contacts and found out there are still three spaces left. I decided to go with the same venue we had last year.”

Taylor and the production team start to voice very strong opinions on the issues with the space from last year, but Selah cuts them off. “We’re already familiar with the space, and yes there were issues, but we don’t have time to start from scratch. Now, production, please work with Brinkley on who’s handling what. Between pulling the permits, arranging the parking, calling in local vendors, booking travel, and finding housing, there are too many logistics and too little time. Jin, you and your team can follow me to my office and we’ll talk about the design of the space. As soon as people hear that we have a venue everyone is going to want to book a party. I think it’s best to go ahead and design ten to twelve layouts that we can easily pull off in the time allotted, and then when the parties are confirmed we’ll talk them into choosing one of our existing concepts.”

Everyone in the room looks miserable, but they don’t say anything else. When Selah finally stands to leave the room, the design team follows, but I grab Miko’s arm before she walks out. I look around quickly to make sure I won’t be overheard.

“I know it’s short notice, but isn’t this good news? All of us up in the mountains for a week . . . it’ll be just like camp, only with cool celebrity parties.” I bump her with my elbow playfully.

She looks bleak. “That’s what everyone thinks before they go the first time. As far as event planning goes, Sundance is the killing fields! It’s ten days in this tiny town in the mountains, and you have to truck everything in from LA because God forbid Selah would use a local vendor. The space is open all day and then the parties go on all night, and Selah always overbooks us for events, so sometimes we’ll have three parties in a single evening with, like, a twenty-minute changeover. Oh, and there’s always a crazy publicist screaming at you about the two hundred people who should have been let in an hour ago or the fact that they want you to turn off the smoke alarms so Bai Ling can smoke indoors!”

“Is Bai Ling even still relevant?” I try to tease her out of her mood.

“It doesn’t matter, she’ll be there.” She sighs. “I’ve gotta go. We have twelve different events to design, and she’ll probably want options by tomorrow. Oh God, I thought we’d escaped it this year.” She turns to go.

“I’ll get you a coffee!” I call after her.

“And a cookie—two cookies!” Miko calls back.

I run to grab my wallet out of my bag so I can sneak out and get some sugar for Miko. I believe her, and I’m sure the festival won’t be easy, but I can’t help but be excited. It’s such a cool thing to get to do, and I’ve seen pictures of it in magazines for years; I can’t wait to see it in person.

I pull out my wallet and snag my phone while I’m in my purse. I see a text message from Brody, and my stomach flips. I haven’t had any contact with him since New Year’s.

BRODY ASHTON:

You never followed up, so I

assume you think I’ll just forget.

I’m calling in the non-date. I’ll pick

you up on Sat @ 6AM

What the heck? Six in the morning? Is he insane?

Are you insane?? I can’t be functional

before noon!

His response is almost instantaneous.

BRODY ASHTON:

I promised you a terrible

experience. Sleep deprivation

will play into that nicely. 6AM.

I’ll bring caffeine.

OK, I can’t help it. I’m more than a little curious about what kind of outing might happen at six on a Saturday morning. I text:

Where exactly are we going?

BRODY ASHTON:

You’ll see. Bring your swimsuit . . .

What?

My swimsuit??? It’s January!

BRODY ASHTON:

See you Saturday.

He has a maddening habit of ignoring my protests, or maybe he doesn’t even hear them because he’s so used to girls just doing whatever he says. I’m trying to come up with some sort of cutting response, but Selah does the one-buzz summon. I drop both the phone and the wallet and hurry to jump into the Sundance frenzy. Soon the coffee trip and text messages are long forgotten.

Chapter TWENTY

When I open the door of my lobby on Saturday and step out into the still dark morning, the cold hits me in full force. I wrap my arms around my favorite Longhorns sweatshirt to hold in some warmth and don’t even try and cover the miserable look on my face. I’ll be honest, I don’t look cute at all in my leggings and UGGs, and my hair is in a massive bun, but it’s a miracle he got me out of bed at all. Looking good isn’t possible at this time of day. There’s a cherry-red vintage Bronco idling at the curb, and since it’s the only car with the engine on I walk over to it. I’m more than a little surprised that this is what he’s driving. Shouldn’t he be in something flashier? I open the passenger door and the overhead light comes on, revealing Brody in a faded red hoodie. With the hood on he looks normal, young even, and far too awake and perky for this time of day.

“Good morning, sunshine!” He smiles and it lights up his whole face, and for a second I’m way less annoyed about the hour. That is, until I step up on the running board and my brain processes his outfit: board shorts? Then I notice the two surfboards hanging out the back of the jeep. I stare at the offending objects without moving to take a seat. I’d thought the request for a swimsuit might be for use at a spa or even in a possibly creepy scenario involving a hot tub. But going to the beach in the middle of winter? That has never even crossed my mind.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I say miserably.

“I promised you a horrible experience,” he says and gently pulls on my elbow until I’m forced into the seat. “And this has all the makings of one.”

I snort inelegantly and buckle my seatbelt.

“First of all,” he says as he reaches into a cup holder and hands me a to-go mug, “the promised caffeine. I’ll have you know there isn’t a single coffee place open this early. I had to make you that myself,” he says with mock seriousness.

He’s so cute with his hood pulled down over his ears. I cover up my smile by taking a sip of coffee.

“Thank you.”

“So, like I was saying about the horrible experience,” he says, throwing the car into first and driving down the street. “This will be one of the worst.”

“You won’t hear an argument from me,” I grumble.

Brody ignores me. “First of all, it’s winter and it’s freezing and the water is so cold it feels a little like you’re dying. Also, I’m taking you to do something that
I
like to do, with no concern or thought about what you’d prefer. Then we add in time of day.” He looks over at me with a wink, and despite myself I’m feeling a lot more awake. “
And
the whole swimsuit thing. I mean, being half-naked on a first date—”

“Non-date,” I correct him.

“Being half-naked on our first non-date, that’s a lot of pressure for you.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Totally. But you agreed to come, so now you’re stuck with me for a while.”

I’m a little disoriented by this laid-back version of Brody that’s so at odds with the stoic, executive version. Regardless, I’m in this cool car with the prettiest guy I’ve ever met, headed out on the most creative date anyone’s ever come up with. I decide not to overthink it. I tuck one of my boots up underneath me on the seat and watch the dark buildings zip by my window.

We drive to Santa Monica because, according to Brody, the easier waves there are good for a first-timer. I have to change in the public restroom, and I have to tell you, getting on a wetsuit by yourself in the freezing, smelly beach bathroom is pretty damn terrible. I finally squeeze into everything but it’s a close call. I am starting to think that maybe he really is trying to make this day terrible and that it’s not a joke.

But then I walk out onto the sand, and he is there on his knees, rubbing wax onto one of the boards, and I forget about whether or not the date is terrible or that I am cold or how my thighs look in this unflattering neoprene. At this point I might not be able to tell you my name. He is wearing a wetsuit but doesn’t zip it up all the way, so it is hanging down from his waist, leaving his too-perfect back bare for public viewing . . . And, well, I guess this explains the whole question of why he’s so tan.

His hair has turned wavy in the sea air and keeps falling into his face as he works. When he looks up at me he flashes a grin and sits back on his haunches, and it’s the first time I get a full view of his abs. I may or may not have tripped in the sand. I try and cover it up by searching the sand for the imaginary impediment to my step.

Who has abs like that?

Who goes shirtless when it’s fifty degrees out?

By the time I walk up next to him I’ve lost the power of speech.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks.

He stands and I look beyond him to the gray water already dotted with surfers. The terror of what he’s asking me to do quickly takes over any giddiness I might have felt about the state of his six-pack. The waves aren’t really big, but I can’t even imagine forcing my cold feet into the surf, let alone throwing myself into the churning water. I watch as one of the surfers pops up on a wave and almost immediately gets dragged under.

“Absolutely not,” I say, not taking my eyes from the cold water.

He zips himself into the rest of his wetsuit and hands me one of his boards. He props the other under his arm and turns towards the water.

“Don’t be a baby—”

“I’m not a baby!” I say indignantly and follow behind him slowly.

My argument is quickly squashed, though, because as soon as my toes touch the surf I scream and run in the opposite direction. Cute boy or not, there is no freaking way I’m going in that icy water!

“I think I’ll just wait for you here.” I glare out at the ocean like it has just personally offended me.

“You didn’t even get in.” He chuckles. “Come on, once you’re in it’s not really cold anymore.”

“That’s because your body goes numb!” I whine nervously.

“Landon,” he says earnestly. It’s almost a whisper; so soft and sweet-sounding that my toes curl into the sand. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

I look down at his long elegant fingers reaching out to me and back at the hair whipping around his blue eyes, and I don’t even care what he is asking for at this point. I will say yes to anything. I stick my cold hand inside his warm one and walk with him into the water.

I stay in the ocean with him for almost an hour, and he is right, after a few minutes I don’t even feel cold anymore. I fail miserably at any attempt to get up on a wave, but I’m content to straddle the board and bob along the surface of the water. Brody finally gives up on pushing me to try and surf when it is clear to both of us I don’t have whatever innate surfing gene makes it look so easy when he does it.

While we wait for waves we talk about anything and everything: his family, my own, where we went to school, what he did at work all day (which was impressive), and what I did at work all day (which was not nearly as cool).

“So how do y’all decide who works where?” I ask, watching my feet swing back and forth on either side of my board.

“What do you mean?” Brody looks back behind me to judge the coming waves.

What is it about being in proximity to a guy that makes you suddenly fascinated with inane things: the way his jaw looks when he hasn’t shaved or that one stubborn piece of hair that keeps curling around his ear?

Wait, did he just ask me a question?

Oh, right . . .

“I mean, do you cover some and Liam does the others? Do you have managers who aren’t family members? How does it work?” I’m not sure if it is impertinent to ask, but business fascinates me, and I’m so curious about how theirs is structured.

“We have several general managers, and Liam and I oversee them. It’s geography more than anything else . . . He’s on the Westside so he takes everything west of the 405. I look out for everything else when I’m not managing Twenty-Five.”

“You manage that space by yourself?”

“I
own
that space by myself.”

I look up from the water swirling around my board.

“Really?”

“Really. It’s the first time I’ve ever gone out on my own.” He looks a little sheepish.

I’m totally impressed.

“That’s fantastic! How’s everything going? Is it doing as well as it seems?”

He smiles again. “It’s doing pretty well. It was a significant investment but it’s close to being one of our most popular venues.”

“Honestly, that’s so incredible. I can’t even imagine.” I shake my head in wonder. “What does Twenty-Five stand for?”

He chuckles a little. “It’s sort of childish.”

“Oh man, do I want to know? Is it something gross?” I laugh with him.

“Don’t be absurd, of course it’s not something gross! It was Mark McGwire’s number, and I was a huge Bash Brothers fan when I was little.”

“Didn’t he get busted for steroids?”

He puts a hand over his heart like my words physically hurt him. “Don’t bring that up. I’m still not over it!”

We both laugh, and then I bring up something I’ve wondered for a while.

“What’s with the Roman numerals?”

He shrugs. “Just seemed cool.”

I nod at that. He’s right; it is cool.

He’s
cool, and smart and incredibly successful, and I have no idea how we got here. It’s hard to reconcile the godlike man from the elevator with the surfer sitting in front of me. I smile to myself. I guess he’s just as unexpected as I am.

I’m having so much fun that I’d happily sit out in the water with him until sundown, but he says my lips are blue and so we both finally paddle for the shore.

Before I am even all the way out of the water, Brody runs up to our stuff and comes back with a big fluffy beach towel. He wraps it around my shoulders and tucks it in on itself, and then uses his hands to rub up and down my arms to warm me up. I look down at the towel bound tightly around me.

“I feel like a burrito.” I look up at him, and the giggle dies on my lips.

He is staring down into my face, and his hands are paused on my upper arms, holding me still. Water is dripping from the ends of his hair down onto the front of my towel, but I don’t move, I don’t even breathe. He reaches up and runs his index finger lightly over the bridge of my nose.

“You have freckles here,” he whispers. “I never noticed.”

He cups my face in his hands and tilts my head back to further meet his eyes. My heart stops.

“Just so you’re prepared.” He smiles. “This time, I
am
going to kiss you.”

And then his lips are on mine, and they’re so warm against my cold ones that it almost burns.

He tastes like salt water, or I do. I’m not sure. I only know that I’m kissing him back, and it’s so perfect I think I might die. It’s soft and sweet, and the whole time he holds my face like I’ll blow away if he doesn’t keep me in place. I push up on my toes to get closer to him and the pressure changes, becomes more intense. Brody’s kiss is utterly him: confident, sexy, and thoroughly grown-up. After a minute, or an hour, his lips slow down into a few sweet pecks on my lower lip, my nose, my cheek.

Finally he pulls back and looks at me with a slow smile. My heart starts beating again, and I say the first stupid thing that comes to my mind.

“That wasn’t very non-date-like.” I try and sound stern, but I’m grinning like an idiot.

He grins back and kisses my nose again, and then his smirk is back.

“Your lips really are blue, I was only trying to warm them up.”

He reaches down and scoops up all of our stuff, and then looks up at me. “Other parts of you might be blue too. If you want I can check, kiss those too.”

I roll my eyes dramatically and walk past him to change into dry clothes. I never look back, but the whole way to the bathroom I keep my head ducked underneath the edge of the towel so he won’t see my smile.

I walk back to the Bronco, feeling warm for the first time in hours. Brody is already back in his hoodie, with the heater going full blast. I jump in and put my fingers against the vent, shivering gratefully when they warm up a little.

“Do you like pancakes?” he asks abruptly.