Good Time(4)

“Stop saying that. We’re in event planning. Event. Planning. Which sometimes includes weddings and sometimes includes better things that are not weddings.” I’ve had enough of weddings to last me a lifetime. “I said I might marry that guy and have his babies. A wedding and a marriage are two very different things. I don’t care about one day.” I really don’t. I care about forever and forever is unreliable, at best. Weddings are fun, sure. The fact that the majority of them crash and burn not withstanding.

“So one look and you’re ready to spend the rest of your life with him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I said I might, I never said it was a done deal. He might annoy the crap out of me if we spoke or, worse, be terrible in bed.” Doubtful though. The man looks like he’d be a real good time in the bedroom. He’s exuding sex and confidence and I’m not even in the same room with him. He’d be downright lethal if he was looking at me. “We might just have a torrid affair and then part ways amicably.”

“Torrid affair? Who the hell talks like that?”

“I do,” I say. “Just now. I just said it.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s a nice suit, right? He probably has a real job, so when he divorces me he’ll be able to pay child support. Do you think he looks like the type who would show up for their soccer games or would he just see them on holidays?”

“Your mind, Payton. Jesus.”

“Statistically it’s a fair question.”

“Hmmm.” Again.

“He’s so pretty,” I add wistfully. Like ridiculously good looking. Tall. Thick dark hair. Strong jaw. Olive complexion, I’m guessing Italian. That or he has a hell of a tan. He’s in a suit that fits him like a glove. Broad shoulders, flat stomach. I know he must be packing some abs under that shirt. As I’m watching he raises a hand and flicks his wrist so he can look at the watch on his wrist. Call me crazy, but that wrist flick is my new thing.

“Tell him that when you meet. Men love to be described as pretty,” Mark says drily.

“Gah, look at him though. I think he might be my kryptonite.”

“You think direct exposure to him is going to weaken you to the point of death?”

“Hmm, no, that’s not right. Am I not using that word correctly? Why are people always saying stuff like ‘donuts are my kryptonite?’ A donut isn’t kryptonite, it’s a gift to mankind.”

“So you think that guy might be mankind’s gift to you? Am I following correctly?”

“He might be. You never know.”

“Well, he’s leaving,” Mark points out.

“They always do.” I shrug, not bothered by this development. I keep watching though because damn, is he wearing that suit. I’ve got a bad case of the lust.

“Should we run downstairs and try to catch him? You can fake-trip into his arms or something equally stupid? I’d be happy to give you a shove.”

“Nah.” I step away from the balcony rail and start walking in the direction of the large ballroom. We were on our way to do a few measurements for the dreaded Johnson-McNally wedding when I got sidetracked. “You know what they say. If you love someone, set him free. If he comes back, marry him.”

“That is not how the saying goes, nor is it relevant for a man you’ve never met.”

“Says you.”

“If I ever get called to testify against you for stalking I can’t lie for you.”

“You won’t need to testify. Spousal privileges.”

“We’re not married.”

“Not yet, but we’ll be work-married by then.”

“Work-married.” Mark repeats the words slowly as if this is a foreign concept. “Will I know when that happens? Are these long walks down hotel corridors some kind of courting ritual I’m unaware of? Will there be a ceremony in the cafeteria when it’s official so I know when our anniversary is?”

“Ohhh, a work spouse anniversary! I never even thought of that! See, Mark, that’s why you’re in the running. You’re supportive and have great ideas.”

“In the running?” Mark deadpans. “I’ve got competition for a workplace pseudo-marriage?”

“Not a lot, if it helps. And you’re in the lead,” I announce as I enter the ballroom, dodging a construction worker on the way. The hotel we work at has just barely opened. We’re still in what we call a soft opening, meaning mostly travel journalists and industry executives checking into comped rooms. The casino floor is open for business, but the grand opening gala won’t occur for another two weeks and most of the event spaces are still in the final punch list stage of construction. Paint touchups, chandeliers being hung, trim work installed. It’s chaos and I’m loving every minute.

“Let’s get these measurements done,” I tell Mark. “I’m starving and it’s meatloaf day in the cafeteria.

“Just go.” Mark sighs as he waves me off. “I can do the measurements.”

“Mark!” I beam. “You know what? Let’s make it official. Today can be our work marriage anniversary. Congratulations. I hear that the traditional gift for a work marriage is a box of Cheez-Its. You can bring those in tomorrow.”

“You did not hear that. You just made it up.”