What Happens In Vegas Read online

  I spoon some ice cream into my mouth then sigh heavily. A light knock on my door interrupts my thoughts of despair.

  “Hey, Hanna and I are thinking of going dancing tonight, do you want to come with?” She asks.

  I look up at her from my pint of goodness, then look at my clothing.

  “That would mean that I need to shower and get ready.” I state.

  “How hard could that be?” She puts her hand on her hip.

  “Well, that would mean that I would need to get up from my comfortable spot here on my bed. That I would need to shower, then get myself looking club ready. What would I wear?”

  “Are you making excuses for not wanting to go out? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she leaves it open ended to leave the decision up to me.

  I put my ice cream down and sit up to cross my legs.

  “I don’t think I want to go, I’m feeling a little off after my trip and think that I’m going to just have a low-key weekend.” I tell her.

  Quinn steps into the room and takes a seat at the foot of my bed with a concerned expression.

  “What’s up?” she questions.

  “Nothing, just a little self-doubt creeping in, nothing big. It must be that time of the month.”

  “Wanna talk about it?” she offers.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine. Just going to relax and do some self-care.” I tell her.

  Quinn smiles and then stands. “If you want me to stay in and binge watch something, I will gladly do that with you.”

  “Nah, I’m all good. But thank you.”

  At the end of my night, I’m sitting in the darkness of my room with my laptop while I watch Netflix on one side of the screen and have his picture that I downloaded from his Facebook page on the other side.

  A girl can dream, right?

  MAXWELL

  When I was given her file, I may have stared at her photo a dozen times. I looked through all of her social media, and I didn’t see anything that raised red flags anywhere even though the PI told me the same thing.

  In fact, I scrolled through her Facebook page and nothing looked out of character. She posted funny memes, thought provoking articles and photos of her friends and herself. She was tagged in a few images that looked like they were from Las Vegas, but there was no indication that she would remember what happened that weekend from cryptic updates or what is known as ‘vaugebooking’.

  After sitting on all the information for a week, I decided that it was time to set some out of town appointments to check in with clients and to take a road trip down south. I’m not sure how long this impromptu trip will be, and I’m going in with no plan what-so-ever.

  She lives in a suburb of Los Angeles, on a residential street that had both trendy looking apartments and small homes. When I pull up to her apartment complex, I sit parked on the street looking up at the building. It isn’t much, it is a small complex, not completely updated, but at least it looks to be in a good neighborhood. There is a lot of activity in the neighborhood. There are people riding their bikes, there are small families walking toward the park at the end of the street and people outside their homes watering their yards.

  I’m not exactly sure how long I sit in the car, but eventually when my thoughts began to get impatient with thinking of what I will say, I say ‘fuck it’ mentally and get out of my car.

  I’ve memorized the address and her apartment number, as I walk straight to her door.

  I stand there, unsure of what exactly I’m going to say. I’m unsure whether or not, she will remember me. And a part of me, a part that I’m not used to, is uncertain of what will happen after I meet her.

  I raise my fist to knock on the door and straighten myself as I pull my hand back without connecting it to the surface of her door.

  Why I’m so nervous. I’ve faced tougher situations in the conference rooms with the management team. I faced harder situations face to face with my father when we didn’t agree. I can talk my way into every conversation, but right now, I’m not sure that I can.

  I breathe in and then release it.

  But before I lose my nerve, I knock loudly on the door.

  I hear someone shout something on the other end of the door and a second later, I hear the locks, then the door opens a crack. An attractive woman looks out through the crack, then opens the door all the way.

  Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. No sound is coming out of her mouth, but I can tell that she is trying to say something.

  “You’re, you’re… him?” She points at me.

  “You know who I am?” I ask her shocked.

  “You’re him.” She says in a gasp.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “The guy from Vegas. You’re the mystery man.” she says loudly.

  “Are you okay? Are you having a stroke?” I ask her.

  “Mystery man is standing right in front of me, at the door and he’s gorgeous I can’t believe this. Pey, is going to flip her lid.”

  “Standing right here, hello.” I wave.

  “Well, shoot. You should come inside. You look exhausted.”

  “Thanks. So, Peyton knows about me?” I ask.

  “Only what we’ve read about you on the internet. She doesn’t remember Vegas and well, kinda is avoiding the fact that you guys are married.”

  “So she knows?”

  “Knows what?” her friend asks.

  “About getting married in Vegas.” I’m losing my patience.

  “Oh that, yes. She doesn’t remember anything and you know what happens in Vegas stays there and all.” She waves her hand to dismiss the whole thing. “Wait, you know about Peyton?” she stops.

  “Is… um… Peyton here?” I ask following her inside the small apartment looking around at the space.

  It’s a mixture of chaos and organization. There’s a large couch facing a bookshelf with a small television. The kitchen is a galley kitchen with multi-colored cabinets and a small circular dining table off to the side.

  The woman who opened the door and let me in is running around the small space picking up random things and shoving them all into a closet just inside the hallway that likely leads to the bedrooms.

  “You’re looking for Peyton? Aww, that’s so cute.” She shuts the door and approaches me clasping her hands together in front of her.

  “Well, yeah. And you are?” I ask her.

  “Oh, I’m horrible. My name is Quinn. Pey and I are roommates.”

  “So, Peyton?”

  “Oh, she’s went to the store right quick.”

  “How long do you think she will be?”

  “She’s, um, been gone for a bit, so I wouldn’t think too much longer?” the woman says looking anxious.

  “Do you mind if I stick around?” I ask.

  “Not at all. Have a seat,” she points over to the small table and moves toward it.

  “Thank you. So, did we meet previously?” I ask, feeling embarrassed that I have to ask the question.

  “Yes and no. You were pretty zeroed in on Peyton. I did more talking with one of your other friends, but you and I didn’t have much interaction. So, you must have been pretty loaded too? You don’t remember getting married?” She asks talking a mile a minute.

  “Wait, were you there?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No, Hanna and I went to get drinks and use the ladies’ room, and then when we came back, you two were gone. We tried to get ahold of her, but she turned her phone off, or something.”

  I run my hand over my face. At least neither of our friends were witnesses to this whole thing.

  “Are you here to whisk her off and away, like Prince Charming?”

  I scoff at the idea.

  I don’t whisk women away.

  “To be truthful,” What am I doing here? “I’m here to get down to the bottom of whatever this is. I’m not sure what happened that night in Las Vegas, but I’m pretty sure that I didn’t intend to come home married to a stranger.”

  “She d
oesn’t remember either, remember?” She pulls out a chair and leans toward me with her chin in her palm, a doe-eyed gaze and smiles.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re so much better looking that the internet shows.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I say awkwardly.

  I hear the key in the lock and I stand suddenly, even though there’s a wall that is blocking my vision of her. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and I think that I’ve stopped breathing until I hear a bunch of random songs mashed together in the worst singing tone that I’ve ever heard.

  Chapter Seven

  “This one time in Vegas, I tapped a famous baseball player on the shoulder while I may have had a lot of alcohol in my system then proceeded to push him out the way so I can go to the bathroom.”

  PEYTON

  “Oh, we’re off to see the—anaconda don’t want none unless—you let me see that thong, th-thong, thong, thoooooong!” I don’t hold anything back, my voice cracks as I let the last of the Thong Song go extra-long. I pride myself in making my own mash-ups, and this one, is one of my best. I’ve kicked shut the door and bring the bags from the store into the small kitchen and place them on the small counter space that we have.

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company, please excuse my horrible—” the guy looks familiar and suddenly it’s as if someone threw a ball straight to my gut, “it’s you.” I whisper.

  He smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you want to tear off your panties and throw them at him.

  “You must be my wife?” He says stepping forward, looking the epitome of calm, when I’m anything but. He holds out his hand and smiles.

  I place my shaky hand in his and give a slight wave with the other.

  “Hello, Wife,” he grins.

  “Hello, Husband,” I return quietly.

  “How long have you known that we were married?” He asks cocking his head to the side.

  “Truthfully?” I pause.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Since I woke up in your bed, naked and rushed back to my hotel room.”

  “You didn’t think to wake me up and share the news with me?”

  “You could have been a serial killer. I watch the ID channel. I know that I need to stay sexy and not get murdered.”

  “I think that if you spent the entire night with me and were as naked as I was when you woke up, you wouldn’t have survived the night. I too, watch the ID channel and know that you need to stay out of the woods just the same.”

  Quinn sighs. “Look at you two, that’s already a few things in common.”

  I look over to her and give her the evil eye.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I woke up and remembered nothing. I didn’t know that I was married and thought you were just part of a dream. Can we start over?” He asks shoving his hands in his front pockets, looking suddenly, very boyish.

  “Right. Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to see you, or rather meet you and then here you are.”

  “Well, a proper introduction should be done then. Hi, I’m Maxwell Addison, and you are?” He holds his hand out to me once again.

  “I’m Peyton Manning, and no I’m not a football player or have any relation to his family. Also, I do not play any sports.” I smile shaking his hand again.

  The corners of his lips turn up and I think I’ve just fallen in love with my husband.

  * * *

  “I think you need to give him a proper chance,” Quinn whispers.

  I’m standing in my closet while Maxwell sits in our living room. I’ve agreed to go out to an early dinner with him and truth be told, I’m terrified that I really may start to like him and then my heart will be broken because we live so far from one another.

  I can’t do a long-distance relationship, and that’s all that it would ever be since we live in different states.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. I must control my thoughts and I must just look at hanging out with the guy as a means to get out of this sham of a marriage.

  “No proper chance, Quinn. He’s totally not my type. And even more importantly, I live here and he lives somewhere else. He’s fancy suits and I’m worn in sneakers.”

  “True, but he came down here for you.”

  “Yeah, to get me to sign divorce papers, not whisk me away. This isn’t a fairytale.”

  “Maybe he should take care of you, you know with orgasms, and lots of them. You sure that you can’t remember any of that night together?”

  “I’m pretty sure that if I did, you would be the first one that I would tell.”

  “That’s a good point.”

  I pull out a cute black dress that’s not too slutty looking and not too fancy at the same time. I wore it for a work party once and I recall getting a lot of compliments from it.

  I slip into the dress, do a quick brush up on hiding any bags from under my eyes, throw some lip gloss on and put my hair up in a purposeful, yet messy twist.

  I turn around for Quinn and smile.

  “How do I look?” I ask her.

  “Ready to impress your husband for a night out on the town,” she replies confidently.

  I walk back into the living room where Maxwell stands looking through our stacks of books that grace almost the entire wall.

  He looks over at me and I can see his eyes dilate as he turns to face me.

  “You look,” he looks like he’s trying to find the appropriate word, “divine.”

  “You make sure that you have her home, at some point. I’m just kidding, our girl here is a full-grown ass adult and has no curfew.” Quinn jokes handing me the small handbag that I pulled from the closet and pushing me toward the front door.

  * * *

  “So, what do you do for a living?” he asks after we’ve had our order taken.

  “I work for a party planning company, I don’t do anything fancy, but I run the office here in town.” I reply, trying to make my job so much more than what it is, knowing how high he is at his company.

  “What kind of parties do you guys throw? Corporate or birthdays?”

  “We do it all. We have both a familial department as well as a corporate one. We cater to all. We’re actually trying to expand offices up and down the west coast. I think one of the locations will be up in your neck of the woods.”

  “As in Seattle?”

  “The one and the same.” I nod.

  “And how exactly would you know where my neck of the woods is?” His eyebrow shoots up with a side smile.

  “Ugh, because, I would just assume that you’re, uh, up north. You have a Seattley-vibe to you. Okay, okay, we stalked you a little.”

  He ignores my admitting to the internet stalking and asks, “what kind of vibe is that?”

  “You know. The kind that likes to drink coffee, throw some fish around and then wear flannels.” I say nervously.

  “I hired a private investigator to help me figure out that night.”

  “And, what did he tell you, because it’s all still a little hazy to me.”

  He runs through the details of the night. Starting out at the club, where it’s assumed that we met, to when we ditched friends to getting married by Elvis. After that, there’s sparse details aside from us entering his hotel together holding hands and making out in an elevator, which leaves the rest of the night until the morning blank, but likely very eventful.

  I blush at that last bit and avoid eye contact with him.

  “So, about this whole marriage thing, what do we do about all this?” I ask reaching into the purse on my lap, pulling out the ring I woke up with and pushing it toward him.

  MAXWELL

  She’s gorgeous.

  She’s awkwardly gorgeous and I’m not completely sure I want to let go of her just yet. I’m not sure what my intentions were when I saw her. But I do know that I want to hold onto whatever this fairytale is before completely giving it up.

  “I’ll be here in town for a we
ek, how about we get to know one another?” I offer her.

  What the ever living fuck?

  I’m staying a week?

  Where did that come from?

  She looks taken aback by my offer, which is rightfully so as she presses her hand to her sternum. Her lips form a tiny little “o” and I’m imagining improper things that I would like to do to this stranger.

  Technically, in the biblical sense, she wouldn’t be a stranger. I woke up naked, and I’m pretty sure that if I asked her, she did too. So, I’m thinking that we did some things that would make us more acquainted than we seem to recall.

  While it’s been a few months since the trip to Vegas, my body is amplified around her, so while I may not recall much, maybe my body’s reaction to her is telling me something. Something that I should pay attention to.

  “You’re here for a week?” She asks.

  “I am. I have clients here in LA and I purposely scheduled appointments, so while I’m out of the office—it would appear that I’m not fucking around. I can still bill for the time away from my actual desk and make any surface a work station.” I explain.

  “Are you always so detailed and serious about work?” she asks.

  “I have to be. I deal with clients that are high in stature. I need to present myself as the utmost of professionals and that means making myself available.”

  “What if your clients caught you at an opportune moment?”

  “I wouldn’t put myself in that situation. There are times when it’s clear that I’m conducting business. Other times, such as during the Vegas weekend, I left my cell phone in the hotel room. Probably a dumbass idea for that night, but I did wake up with two phone calls on my phone that looking back, I’m glad I didn’t answer.”

  “I see. So, Mr. Maxwell Addison—” She begins, but I cut her off.

  “Please, call me Max. Maxwell is so formal, and I would prefer that we get to know one another on a different level after all this is not a business transaction. I’m not buying your company and you’re not planning one of our events.”

  “Ok, so Max, tell me about yourself? You say we should get to know one another, so let’s do this?”