How to Deal Page 8

  “The paint on your arm.” I try not to laugh.

  He looks at me, confused again. At this point, I have to sigh and roll my eyes. Then it dawns on him, finally, that he’s leaning against a wet wall.

  He chuckles as he stares at his arm and then walks toward the door.

  “Happy showering,” I tell him with a huge smirk because I’m already envisioning water beading on that tight hot body of his. Then I can towel dry him. . . shit. . . stop!

  “Thanks to your little show there, it will be happy showering,” he taunts over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Enjoy your time.”

  As I expect, he stops before he reaches the door and tilts his head to the side as he grins, like I told him he won the lottery.

  Oliver, not liking his proximity, growls again.

  He glances down at my dog and then to me. “Care to assist me?”

  “Nope,” I say quickly, and I’m actually surprised I said it so quickly because it’s not at all what I’m thinking.

  Mentally I’m already standing beside him with water beading on every hard surface of his body.

  I can’t help but smile again once he leaves. Thinking of Tathan—thinking of me—in the shower doing things that have nothing whatsoever to do with bathing makes me smile.

  Oliver looks up at me like I’m crazy, which I am, but refuse to admit it out loud to anyone, even if it is a puppy.

  “Shut up, Oliver.” He looks up at me but doesn’t say anything, because, you know, he’s a dog. “Stop judging me.”

  Monday mornings are never my favorite day of the week at work. I don’t think anyone wakes up on a Monday ready to start the week with enthusiasm. Well, I take that back.

  My dad had this nurse from hospice who came once a week to check on him, coincidently on Mondays, and I’ve never in my entire twenty-three years seen someone with more enthusiasm to be alive on a Monday. Maybe it was because of her line of work, or maybe she was just a happy woman. Come to think of it, her name was Joy. I shit you not. It was fucking Joy.

  Anyways, Joy used to pop off with all kinds of happy lines when she’d come over and see my dad. I usually never listened to her because hello, my dad was dying. I didn’t find humor in anything during that time of my life. I do remember the line, “Cherish the good things in life as they’re blessings from angels.”

  Joy may have been full of shit, but every Monday, that freaking line hits me when I wake up.

  Cherish the good things in life as they’re blessings from angels.

  My Monday begins with an offsite meeting, only I volunteered to stay at the office, as did Zane. Hello, wouldn’t you? Boss and every demanding asshole who works under him are out of the office, yep. Sign me up for phone duty.

  Naturally, Zane and I get nothing done. We’re sitting at my desk looking through the latest issue of Brides, which Elliott Warren is on the cover of.

  The photograph is of him, wearing all black again, with his head bowed looking down at his camera that’s carried in his palm, the other hand in the pocket of his black slacks.

  If you didn’t know it, you wouldn’t think that Tathan and Elliott are the same person. The only distinguishing features that really gives it away are his eyes and the beard. Maybe that’s why whenever he’s photographed, his eyes are either hidden, or his head is bowed.

  Sighing contently, Zane stares at Tathan’s photo. “He’s such a beautiful man.”

  “I know you know everything so what’s really the deal with Tathan anyway?” I flick Tathan’s picture on the cover.

  “He’s the most talented wedding photographer the industry has ever seen,” Zane muses. “He makes more in a month than most see in a year, and when his trust fund kicks in at thirty. . . let’s just say, he wouldn’t need to take photographs for a living.”

  “So, he’s a manwhore, a very rich manwhore.” I knew that already. I’ve named the sluts in his bucket.

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Zane says, flipping through the magazine, staring at his picture again. “That’s your perception of him, but I don’t think it’s honestly the truth.”

  Zane’s right. He’s absolutely right. I have this idea of what Tathan is like, but from what I’ve seen, it’s nowhere near accurate, and that frustrates me.

  Zane continues to stare at his picture in the magazine like a fourteen-year-old girl stalking her latest crush.

  “Where’d all the money come from and why does he go by Elliott Warren.” I know what Tathan told me, but I can’t help wondering if Zane knows anything else.

  His brow furrows for a second, and then he looks back at the magazine. “Ever heard of Warren-Madsen Engineering?”

  “Who hasn’t? They’re the largest engineering company in the Southwest. We’re partnered with them on a lot of jobs.”

  He looks at me like I’m a complete idiot, which I am because I hadn’t figured this out sooner. “Well, there you have it.” He nods, as if I should automatically understand.

  “Wait.” It finally dawns on me. “You mean to tell me he owns Warren-Madsen Engineering as well?” I ask, confused. “Why is he a photographer then?”

  I haven’t been this confused since the first time I saw a penis. It looked nothing like what I expected. And then it grew and was all veiny looking. Not something a girl wants to see as a teenager.

  “No, he doesn’t own it. Well, actually he does, but he’s partners with his brothers.”

  “So how do they own the company?”

  Zane groans and closes the magazine. “How do you not know this? And when he started here in January, how did you not know he was also Elliott Warren the photographer?” he asks, surprised I don’t know the story behind this. I guess I didn’t think there was a story behind him. Just a manwhore with a gorgeous body and a cool car.

  “I’m not a gossip queen like you,” I point out. “I actually do my job.” Zane knows everything about everyone in the city. “And Casey didn’t know either.”

  “Oh, please.” He waves his arm in front of me. “I’m just perceptive and I’ve worked here for two years.” He pushes the magazine aside finally. “All right, so Warren-Madsen Engineering was owned by Tathan’s birth parents, Jason Madsen and Keri Warren. They started the company right out of college and married a few years later. About twelve years ago they were shot to death during a car-jacking on Indian School Road. Being their godparents, Paul and Deanna adopted them after the accident.”

  It takes me an entire minute to process what he said. Thousands, okay, not thousands, but so many emotions run through me it’s hard to process any of them let alone words. Finally, when I do speak, my words are crackly as I hold back tears. “Dude, really? That’s like Batman. . . or that movie Ghost?”

  Zane rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. Shut up and listen.” He pauses and pulls up the article on Google and points to it. I start reading it as he continues. “After they died, they left everything to Tathan and his older brothers. James took over running the day-to-day operations of the firm, but when Tathan was old enough to work, he decided to continue with his passion, photography. Rumor has it that they have trust funds set up that mature when they turn thirty. That’s how James bought the restaurant.”

  “What does Kelly do?”

  Zane rolled his eyes. “He’s supposed to run Warren-Madsen Engineering, but Paul does mostly, which was why you hadn’t met him until a week ago. He’s a busy man.”

  “How old is Tathan?”

  “He turns twenty-six in August. Kelly is twenty-nine and James is thirty-three.”

  I’m impressed with how much Zane knows.

  “If you knew Tathan was Elliott Warren, how come you didn’t tell me before?”

  “It really wasn’t my place to say. He likes to keep his cover.” He shrugs. “Everyone around here knows. Why do you think these sluts around here are so obsessed with him? He’s famous.”

  “But Casey didn’t know either.”

  “She doesn’t pay attention t
o that sort of thing.”

  He’s right. She doesn’t. For the last year, she didn’t know Bryan had brought home a cat. She thought she’d been feeding a stray all this time.

  I turn my attention to the article, and I don’t realize I’m crying until Zane hands me a tissue. The article is so detailed on Jason and Keri’s endless love for one another. They met when they were eight years old for crying out loud. Eight! Goddamn you, Joy. Where’s the blessing in their happiness coming to a bloody end?

  The article describes a fairy-tale love that you wouldn’t think even existed, ever and it’s no wonder Tathan is the way he is.

  Just when you think someone’s life is perfect, you see it’s not.

  The guy who makes me insane at work now has a tragic story. I feel so bad for Tathan. I want to comfort him, which scares me because I had a plan. The plan went to shit. I need a plan that doesn’t include having sympathy for a guy like Tathan Madsen, and I’m not sure a plan like that exists anymore.

  I need time to relax. After work and walking Oliver, I head down to the hot tub around eight and take a bottle of wine with me.

  I’m down there all of ten minutes when Tathan shows up wearing his black-and-white swim shorts, a towel hung over his shoulder and two beers in his hand.

  I swear, I can’t get a moment alone anymore. Though after today and that article, I’m strangely okay with him coming down here.

  He says nothing as he gets in across from me. I shamelessly watch his every move and the way his defined body flexes as he sits down.

  Casually and relaxed, he opens his beer next and then tips it up to me. “Thirsty?”

  I raise my wine glass an inch and smile.

  I notice his phone in his hand. He swipes his finger over the screen, and then sets it down beside his towel as music from The Eagles begins filtering softly through it. Oh, look at him setting the mood. Clever.

  “Where’s your dog?” he asks, keeping his knowing smirk at bay.

  “Sleeping on my kitchen floor.” Not looking at him, I stare at the hills and the way they’re glowing from the city lights, breathing in slowly and steadily. I love his choice of music. “He’s lazy. Must be all this wedding planning wearing him out.” I think I’m funny, but I’m not sure. Wanting reassurance, I peek up at Tathan to see the corners of his mouth slightly quirked.

  “How’s the wedding planning going?”

  I don’t answer right away. Instead, I take a sip of my wine. “Good. The wedding’s next weekend.”

  His brow raises. “Big plans for the bachelorette party?”

  Of course he wants to know what we have planned.

  “Not really.” I’m not sure what he’s getting at, but Casey gets asked this a lot. Everyone assumes we’d go to Vegas, though we’re not. She’s not much of a Vegas girl, and neither am I.

  “So,” he begins with a smile, never making eye contact with me, “I hear Casey has been trying to get me to do her photos for her wedding?”

  I say nothing because I know exactly where this is going, and I don’t like it. “Hotel California” starts playing and I smile. This song and this scene make me smile, only for a moment though and I’m back to reality.

  Tathan smiles too, and his eyes give away a little side I hadn’t seen before. Just a glimpse into him as a person, and it’s nothing like I think it is.

  Then he speaks.

  “I might be inclined to say yes, if you will go out with me.” His voice is softer than I expect it to be. Shy even.

  “Why would you want that?” I’m not mean when I say that, but I suppose in some sense, the remark is mean, insensitive, perhaps demeaning. “I wouldn’t be going because I like you. It’s just a bribe.”

  “All I need is one date to show you the person I am is not the person you think I am.”

  I laugh at his bluntness. “Are you always so confident?”

  “I can be, sure.” He looks at me after taking a drink of his beer. It’s a quick glance before his eyes shift to the bottle in his hand resting on the concrete ledge. “Or maybe I just see you and know that all you’re really looking for is a friend. Not a boyfriend. You’re looking for a best friend. Someone you can trust.”

  I hate him.

  “Stop talking.” I’m about to cry, and I think he knows it. How could someone peg me so perfectly in one sentence?

  Tathan could.

  I’m about to tell him no, again, when I think about Casey and how much it means to her that she has Tathan take her photos.

  “I have one rule.”

  “Okay. . . .” He waits patiently, a smile tugging at his lips.

  Deep down this one rule—no matter what it is—means nothing to him. I know that before I say it. There is something about Tathan. Even if you hate him, even when you don’t know him, there’s an easiness to him you can’t ignore. A comfort.

  So, for my one rule, I protect myself. I have to.

  “You only get one date. No more. No matter what.”

  He looks at me like I’m joking, but quickly agrees despite the apprehensive expression. “Deal.” He holds out his hand, which I don’t take.

  I stand there for a moment drying off and slip my flip-flops on. “Let me get this straight. . . one date, and you’ll take Casey’s photos?” He nods, getting out of the hot tub too. “And then you’ll leave me alone?” He nods again, and I have to add, for the sake of him staring at me and making me nervous, “Because we know damn well you and I won’t work.”

  “That sounds about right,” he says, lifting the towel in his hands to wipe the water from his face, but there’s some amusement behind his words, like he’s about ready to make a joke.

  I wipe my hand on the towel, because it’s sweaty, and reach for his. “Deal,” I say, finally shaking his hand.

  He holds it tighter when I let go. “Oh, and Amalie?”

  “Yeah?”

  He pulls me closer, our chests touching. “You’re wrong.”

  I breathe out, long and exaggerated. “About what?”

  “About us not working.” And then he lets go of me and walks ahead, leaving me standing there, unable to argue with him.

  I suck because I have feelings for him and I know it. Shitty emotional feelings. And he knows it, too.

  Without another word, Tathan walks me to my door and see’s Oliver waiting for me, growling at him. “Why does your dog hate me?”

  “He doesn’t like men.”

  “But he doesn’t growl at Zane.”

  “He’s not trying to get into my panties and Oliver feels he’s of the female species so there’s no challenge from him.” I pick up Oliver so he won’t attack Tathan. “He protects me from men.”

  “Protects you from me?”

  I watch his face as I reply, every single reaction, but he gives me little to go on, brown eyes searching mine. “Yes,” I answer. “He knows you’re trouble.”

  “I’m not trouble.” He blinks. “My brother Kelly, he’s trouble. I’m the nice guy who’s taking your best friend’s photos for free, in exchange for a date with a girl I can’t stop thinking about.” He smiles as he backs away toward his own door. “Night.”

  “Night.” Oh God, that came out like a sigh, didn’t it?

  Shit.

  I close the door and sink down to sit on the floor, covering my heated face with my hands.

  Oliver finds me and jumps on my lap. I hold him up so our faces are inline. “What did I just agree to?”

  He wiggles.

  I can’t believe I agreed to this for Casey. She owes me big time now.

  Everyone needs time to themselves.

  Everyone. And me. . . I definitely need something to take my mind off everything.

  I try to think about when I’m the happiest, and my mind holds clarity. That time always occurs for me when I’m swimming.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I stand at the edge of the tile, the water gleaming below my feet, the morning sun so clear and calm.

  Just as the sun peeks over
Camelback Mountain is my favorite time of the day to do laps. It’s when that sun first hits the water and gives it that sparkle.

  I stare at it for a while, admiring the way there’s not a wave in sight, just clear glasslike water. I stretch my arms and legs, inhale deeply and then dive down feeling immediately weightless.

  There’s something surreal about swimming laps, the physicality of it alone wakes up parts of your body you didn’t know existed.

  The sense of weightlessness as you push and push your body to go faster, dig deeper, virtually glide through the water like a streamlined torpedo. It helps me escape to another world where the only sounds are my own for that solitary hour of almost horizontally free-falling through another dimension.

  I don’t want this feeling to end, but I know that it has to and then the drudgery of my day begins. It’s like this every morning. Just me in my own water-filled world, all alone, free of responsibilities, but I’m always forced to return to the land of the living, the land of bills and responsibilities and a dead-end job that I need to do something about. For now, I’m sinking effortlessly down into my aqueous world and will relish the feeling of the next sixty minutes.

  I live for this sensation. It’s the only strength I know these days and makes me feel confident, even if it is only long enough to give me the serenity to forget the past. Only I can’t.

  My mind is constantly on Tathan and the fact that I’m looking forward to seeing him today.

  Breathless, I emerge from the water, drying myself off with my towel. Why is he invading my thoughts like this?

  Oh, probably because I agreed to go on a date with him.

  What was I thinking?

  “You weren’t,” I tell myself, heading back upstairs.

  “What’s the harm in one date with him?” Zane asks, leaning into my desk. He’s dressed and smells better than me this morning. Pressed black slacks, crisp gray dress shirt, and tie, clean shaven. . . what is it about men that they can do very little and look amazing?

  Women. . . we have to use the right kind of face cream, concealers to hide the bags under our eyes. . . and don’t get me started on the eye makeup. It’s all so much work, which is why I do the bare minimum. Mascara. That’s it. If I wear foundation and all that junk, I feel like my skin is suffocating.