What Happens In Vegas Page 2

  I walk into my condo with views to die for of the Great Wheel and Elliot Bay. The sky is a mixture of pastels as the lights turn on while walking through the space.

  My penthouse is half of the floor, the other half of this floor is shared by one of the other partners at Addison and Drake. At a young age, I’ve worked hard for this view and I love coming home each and every time to bask in it.

  The clicking of nails echoes through the living room as Scout, my best-friend rounds the corner. I’ve had Scout since I graduated from undergrad. He was a gift from my little sister, and I would be a horrible human if I didn’t accept him as a pup. He has kept me company through the years and has created a good bond between my sister and I.

  I bend to my knees as the mutt slobbers all over half of my face and laugh as his paws push me onto my back while I rub behind his ears.

  “Hey buddy, I’ve missed you.” I say in between moments of Scout’s excitement to see me.

  I push myself off the floor and with Scout on my heel, walk over to my home office.

  After starting my laptop, I sit down at my desk and lean back in my chair.

  What a whirlwind of a weekend.

  My college best friend is getting married and like a rookie, I don’t remember the last twenty-four hours. I’ve been to Las Vegas many times, and this is the first time in several years that I lost control of who I am. I feel like I did something monumental, but I just can’t put my finger on it.

  I rack my brain for memories of what happened last night, what happened with the mystery woman.

  Who was she? Was she real or a figment of my imagination?

  I’ve got this weird feeling that if she is real that we did more than dance.

  Chapter Two

  “This one time in Vegas, I woke up outside my room. Had to traipse down to the front desk in pjs and barefoot to get a new key.”

  PEYTON

  The flight back home was obnoxious.

  None of the pain pills that I took helped, so my hangover came back from Vegas with me, and there was this guy in front of me snoring so loud and reclined that it took every bit of patience that I had to tune him out. I may have passive-aggressively kicked his seat a few times, but none of the movement made his snoring any quieter.

  Pshh. What happens in Vegas definitely didn’t stay in Vegas.

  Ugh, blasted hangovers crossing state lines.

  As soon as the seatbelt noise dings, I get out of my seat quickly and make it to the front of the plane as they open the doors, and immediately claim a seat.

  I’m sitting down with my head in my hands as Quinn and Hanna emerge a few moments later.

  “Hey, are you doing okay?” Hanna asks placing her hand on my shoulder with concern.

  “I just want to get home and crawl into bed, this headache isn’t going away.” I explain.

  “Oh no, still?” Quinn sits down beside me rubbing my back.

  I turn my head to look at her and offer her a small smile.

  “Let’s get out of here and make sure you get tucked into your bed, and maybe get you a gallon of water, you just need to get all that booze out of you.” Quinn stands and offers me her hand. “And definitely, something greasy.”

  * * *

  Slowly, my body wakes up, and I’m home—face-down on my pillow with a puddle of drool underneath me. I push myself up and then wipe the wetness from my cheek. I’m lethargic and feel like Vegas kicked my ass properly.

  Now to figure out, what the heck do I do about this damn marriage?

  Do Vegas weddings count as real weddings? Especially if one doesn’t remember it? Even though, we likely celebrated the marriage?

  I mean, I don’t think we shared phone numbers, otherwise I’m sure he would have called me by now, right?

  Who was he?

  Does he remember the night?

  And seriously what happened last night?

  I swing my legs out of bed, plant my feet on the floor and pull my hair up into a pony tail before making my way to the kitchen. I dig into the fridge and pull out a bottle of ginger ale that I have hiding in the back and open it.

  “Feeling any better?” Quinn bounces into the kitchen while I’m taking a long sip.

  I shake my head slightly to see if the headache is still there. “I think I’m good now.” I say with a smile.

  “Good. So, tell me about your husband, what’s he like?” she crosses her arms over her chest and leans her shoulder on the fridge with a smirk and a roll of my eyes.

  “I wish I could tell you, but last night is a blur and I am kind of fuzzy on the details. All I know is that I woke up next to him.” I reply.

  “Do you remember what he looks like?” she questions.

  “He was hot, that I remember kind of.”

  “Well, I may have been two sheets to the wind, but I do remember the whole group of guys were pretty damn hot. I think one of them was getting married or something, so he was taken, but I don’t remember which guy that was.”

  I nod, as if I can picture the group of guys.

  I can’t.

  But I don’t want to look like a complete fool and a lush. It’s been awhile since I’ve blacked out.

  “Hey, what was I drinking that night?” I ask.

  “Well, there was a lot of vodka on their table, you know in fancy ice buckets.” Quinn says nodding.

  “So, we were in the VIP area?” I further question.

  Quinn looks up to the ceiling as if she is remembering the night with her finger on her chin.

  “I believe so. When Hanna and I went to the little girls’ room and to get more drinks, we couldn’t get past the big security guy, because you all had left.”

  “I can’t believe that I had been so stupid,” I shake my head.

  “Listen, nothing bad happened, you were safe, and even though you were with strangers, you only managed to get married and nothing else.” She laughs.

  “Yeah, married. Ugh, my mother would be so proud.” I roll my eyes.

  “So, you don’t remember the sex, like at all?”

  “Not one bit.” I say shaking my head wishing that out of everything any sort of glimmer of what the night entailed could especially help out.

  “Man, I would have climbed him like a tree, he was totally easy on the eyes and looked like a good time,” Quinn laughs while fanning herself.

  “Either way, to me the night never happened, so that would also mean that I’m not married, right?” I straighten and ask.

  “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she shakes her head.

  “Well then, what the heck do I do?”

  “An annulment?”

  “I don’t even know who he is, how would that work. Have you checked your phone at all? Did you guys take any photos?”

  “I didn’t even think of that? Go check your phone too, maybe you got some before your phone died.” Quinn says excitedly grabbing her phone from the counter.

  I think a moment then dash to my room. I rummage through my purse and dig inside as I fish out my phone.

  With shaking hands, I press on the gallery icon and my breath stills. Spinning and sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare at the images.

  “Quinn!” I shout.

  I hear her as she makes her way from the kitchen to my bedroom. She stands in the doorway with her eyes wide.

  “Jesus woman! I thought something bad had happened.”

  “I think we’re going to find out who my husband is,” I hold up the phone and say with a weak smile.

  She moves beside me with her knee bouncing in anticipation.

  “We need to reverse image this. Let’s get stalkery on your husband!”

  We walk back into the kitchen on a mission and turn on the laptop. She taps on the keyboard and then peers at the screen while chewing on her fingernail. I lean over to see what she’s looking at so intently.

  Maxwell Addison

  Sounds like a fancy name.

  I look to Quinn and she shrugs.


  “Well, he’s not a famous movie star,” she says getting up to let me take her place.

  I’m scrolling the screen then stop and sit back to let out a breath.

  “Do you think? Is that him?” I look to her.

  She reaches around me and clicks on a profile photo.

  The screens shows a handsome man, in his mid-to-late thirties with a smirk on his face that says; ‘I know that I’m good-looking’. He has a light dusting of facial hair and brown eyes that look like he’s up to something. In his profile photo, he’s wearing all black with a gray background, the image looks like it’s a headshot, but I can’t be too certain.

  I take control of the track pad and scroll down his profile and there’s not much that he’s posted. There’s a few reposts of some articles, some general posts that it looks like he’s made, but nothing that leads to any insight into who he really is.

  I open another tab and type his name into the spacebar.

  “Holy shit, he has a wiki page.”

  “Why would he have a wiki page?” Quinn asks.

  She clicks on it and the page loads. “Who knows. Anyone can create one. Maybe he thinks he’s top shit and made his own. It says he’s partner at a law firm and that he’s one of the top producing partners, better than his father. Whatever that means. He has a lot—wow, that’s a lot of zeroes—of money.”

  She scrolls down the page even more and I think that both of our eyes widen at the same time when we see the dollar amount of his net worth.

  “I still don’t understand why he has a wiki page.”

  “He must know people,” she says.

  MAXWELL

  If there’s one thing that I hate about my job, it’s billing.

  We bill in 6-minute increments and it’s so fucking frustrating, since I hate the paperwork portion of my job. I want to be doing things, not recording them. Isn’t that what an assistant is for?

  When my father passed away last year, in his will and his recommendation to the board, was that I was named partner in the firm with his absence. After all, my last name is on the signage of the business and all the stationary. The board voted and approved the request on a probationary period, which I surpassed their expectations within the second quarter.

  I have worked my ass off and have brought in several deals that have put this firm on the map and allowed us to open up a fourth office later this year.

  I’m staring at my log for the month and all the numbers on the spreadsheet are blending together. Thankfully, a knock at my door distracts me.

  “Yo! Maxi-pad! I brought lunch,” my best friend, Jason says grinning holding up a white bag while barging into the office, filling the space with the aroma of food. My stomach growls and my mouth begins to water.

  “What did you bring me?” I ask pushing back in my chair and stretching.

  “Meat. Delicious meat that will melt in your mouth and make you pray to the cows!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask standing removing my suit jacket, draping it over the back of my chair and rolling up my sleeves.

  It’s been a week since being back home from Vegas and I’m still racking my brain about the trip. I have been working on a new client to bring my numbers up even more for the year, so I have been practically living at the office. I pulled out a sizeable sum of money for the trip, pulled out triple of what I went to Vegas with on Saturday night and I came back with nothing more than a hangover.

  I’m struggling with how I spent so much money, not that I don’t have the money to spend, but I am generally better at spending. What did I do in Vegas?

  “So, have you found her?” Jason asks me.

  “Huh?”

  “The chick that you hooked up with in Vegas?” He clarifies.

  “Was I supposed to be looking for her?” I look at him.

  He shoves my lunch in front of me and I begin unwrapping it.

  “Dude. It’s a cheeseburger.” I say with disgust.

  “Yeah, what of it? It’s supposed to be the best in town,” he tells me before taking a bite out of his own.

  “I don’t like cheeseburgers,” I remind him.

  “What? That’s not a thing.” He shakes his head.

  “I’ve never liked cheeseburgers.”

  “That’s bullshit, you’re joking, right? Everybody likes cheeseburgers!”

  “I like cheese and I like burgers, but I do not like them together.”

  “I don’t understand you,” he shakes his head.

  “It’s not rocket science, and it’s always been this way. I’ve known you for what … fifteen years, and seriously you can’t remember that one tiny detail? After all the meals that we’ve eaten together?”

  “I never order your damn shit man, why the hell do I need to keep tabs on your likes and dislikes? I’m not dating you.” He shakes his head.

  “You would be so fucking lucky,” I say using a French fry to drag the cheese off the patty. It does smell good, but I’m not about to jeopardize my taste to eat something as rank as melted cheese mixing with the beef. Cheese doesn’t belong on meat, just like pineapples do not belong on pizza, or forks in power outlets. It’s not hard to remember and it’s not hard to understand.

  Once I’m satisfied, I take my first bite and my eyes roll into the back of my head in pleasure.

  This is immaculate. The beef is so juicy and there’s something smokey yet, sweet about it that I cannot quite figure out.

  “You’re right, this is some good meat,” I tell him just as he takes his final bite.

  “So, back to the mystery girl. You guys took off right after we left the club, then you went off in the opposite direction from us, and took the limo. We had to call a car and figure out where the hell our hotel was since you took our driver who knew all the things we needed to know.”

  “Yeah, man I have no clue where we went or what happened. I could have sworn that we spent the entire night together. I think there was more to that night, but I’m not entirely sure.”

  “From what I remember, she was hot as hell. Her friends weren’t half bad either.”

  “I wish I could remember.” I say shaking my head.

  We finish the rest of our lunch, shoot the shit for a little bit then he leaves, and I get back to work while he leaves me alone with the thoughts that I’ve been avoiding by staying late and busy at work.

  Something is irking me about the whole Vegas trip and I’m not completely sure that I’m okay with it.

  * * *

  I toss the shot down my throat and my fingers grab another, poised and ready to take that one as well. But I’m waiting for the rest of the guys to catch up.

  It’s Marcus’s wedding day and the guys and I are doing what we do best.

  Pre-celebrating the event.

  “I think this should be the last shot that we take, you know, because I’ve got to get up there and say those special words,” Marcus says with a slight slur. He doesn’t have a very high tolerance.

  “Just one more,” Jason says holding up his shot.

  We all follow suit and after a count of three, take our shot and slam the shot glass down on the table.

  “This is the last day of the rest of your life, you’re getting married, the first and probably only one of us to do so. We’re just saying our goodbyes.” Jason says. “Plus, your lady doesn’t have a hot bridesmaid, what the fuck is up with that? I need these shots to be able to get through this wedding, since I certainly won’t be hooking up.”

  “Why do you have to be such a sleezeball?” Devin asks.

  “Hey, today is the first day of the rest of my life,” Marcus smiles proudly correcting him.

  “You do have yourself a nice one,” I tell him, patting him on the back as Marcus puts his arm around my shoulder.

  “You hear that fellas, that right there is why Maxi-pad is my best man.” He points at me, as none of the guys are paying attention.

  “Thanks man,” I reply.

  At the end of the nigh
t, after the dancing was done and the bar closed up along with the new bride and groom gone, the guys and I sit around a table. Our jackets are off, our ties are undone, and we’re completely drunk. We’re playing a game of poker, poorly and I’m pretty sure that Cooper has pissed his pants as he’s passed out in the chair beside me with the smell wafting in the air.

  “I can’t freaking believe that Marcus got hitched today, I mean who saw that coming?” Jason slurs taping on the table after throwing down a card.

  “Well, they have been together for about a million years,” I tell them.

  “That’s a good point, I mean what is the point of being with someone in a relationship, if you’re not testing them out for marriage.” Jason replies. “That’s why I stay single.”

  “Right.” I nod.

  “Regardless, if you can’t stay single, you can’t mingle. If you know what I mean.” Devin places two cards down and pulls more from the pile.

  “I think your kind of mingling might mean something different from ours, brother.” Jason swings his head as Devin rolls his eyes.

  “I mean, how long do you need to be with someone though, to know if you’re willing to be tied down to them forever?” Grayson asks lighting up a cigar.

  “Dude, my parents got married after two weeks of knowing one another, and like forty years later, they’re still bat shit crazy for one another.” Jason says nonchalantly. “It’s kind of gross.”

  “I think it depends on the circumstances,” I say.

  “And what are those circumstances?” Jason’s head perks up. “Prey-tell, oh wise-one?”

  “Luck. Chemistry. Attraction, hell I don’t know. But I do know, that when I find it, I’ll be a goner just like Marcus.”

  “You? Mr. No time for a relationship? I would pay good money to see that.” Devin laughs.

  “Yeah, me too.” I laugh.

  Chapter Three

  “This one time in Vegas, my sister and I drank a few at the piano bar, then ran around the hotel playing doorbell ditch.”