Chapter 6
SIX
BIANCA
I’m barely over my hangover by Monday, and I’m definitely not over what I think I said to Waylon.
Did I really tell him about my sex bucket list? I was in that hazy area of drunk mixed with extreme fatigue so I can’t remember clearly. But I was comfortable for once in a gathering of people I didn’t know, so I guess that loosened me up a ton. That and freaking moonshine.
Whatever, I’m never drinking again.
I stand in the shower, trying to get clean with the weak water pressure and trying to keep my thoughts on the first day of this gig and not waking up being spooned by Waylon. He shot away from me when he realized what he was doing, but I was awake enough to feel his huge cock against my ass.
My sexual experience has been both bland and short — just my ex and my ex before that — so my exposure to dicks has been limited. But I know enough to know what I felt.
My hand drifts down between my thighs, but I pull it back up. Getting off to him — or the idea of him — is a slippery slope I shouldn’t go down. Banging my fake boyfriend isn’t a part of my plan.
As if he would. I know he’s attracted to me, but he seems like a rule follower through and through. I doubt he’d want to cross a line with his fake girlfriend.
And if it’s never going to happen, I might as well…
No. Still no. And I’d need my vibrator to get off fast before I need to leave, so I wrap up my shower and get dressed. Rose insisted that the office dress code is chill, but I still have no idea what chill means around here. I go for black jeans and a blouse, with flat sandals so I’m not towering over Rose.
I pack up Sadie in the car and follow GPS to the Stryker Liquors office. The offices are on the edge of town in a nondescript standalone office building, only adorned by the Stryker Liquors logo above the door. I park and take a deep breath.
I can do this, even if I said yes when I was a little too socially lubricated. If I’m stuck in the house all day just working on the spa, I’d probably drive myself crazy anyway. I already like Rose, even if I’m a little intimidated by her too. She seems like she knows what she’s about and what she wants for the future when I’ve barely gotten a grip on my next steps.
I head into the office, and it looks like I’ve stepped back into the nineties with the squiggly carpet pattern and dated furniture. The only slightly updated aspect of the office is the Stryker Liquors logo on the wall above the receptionist.
“Hello, how can I help you?” the woman asks, studying me harder than I’d like her to.
“Hi, I’m here to see Rose? Today is my first day.” I hold onto the strap of my bag, feeling that awful new kid at school energy.
“Sure thing, I’ll call her.”
The receptionist calls Rose and moments later, she appears down the hall. She’s in dark jeans and a t-shirt under a cardigan, her long braids down.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. “Thanks for coming in. Seriously.”
“Yeah, it’s no problem.” I shrug, my face hot. Bianca who’d had some moonshine volunteered to do this. What if I can’t even help that much?
“We’ll start with a little tour.”
She leads me around the office, which isn’t all that big — there are bathrooms, a small break room, more offices and meeting rooms. As we round back to her office, we spot a chunky chocolate lab in the hallway, waiting outside of a door. His whole body is stretched out, his chin resting on a stuffed toy. His snout is lightly peppered with white, like he’s older.
“Hey, Big Bubba. Waiting for John David?” Rose asks in a baby voice. Big Bubba’s tail thumps even harder and his tongue lolls out of his mouth as he gets up. He walks over to us, and I let him sniff me.
“This is Big Bubba. He’s the ‘brand ambassador’,” Rose says, rolling her eyes but still clearly amused.
“Brand ambassador?” I raise an eyebrow, looking at the dog. He’s all vibes, no thoughts — happy as can be. “Usually that involves some work, no? He’s not just the mascot?”
“Mr. Stryker — who, by the way, is always Mr. Stryker, mostly to distinguish him from Wes and Waylon’s brother John David — insists on calling him the brand ambassador. Mostly we just snap photos of him for social media and take him to events.”
“Ehn, I guess that’s being a brand ambassador in his own way.” I pet his big head, then pull my phone out of my bag. “Can I go ahead and take a photo of him?”
“Yeah, go for it.”
I kneel down and snap a few photos of Big Bubba. The lighting’s not great, but I can fix it in editing.
The door Bubba was waiting in front of opens and Bubba starts doing the cutest little dance. A huge man steps out with a much smaller man, and I immediately recognize the larger man from the photos at Waylon’s house — one of his other brothers. John David, I’m assuming. Build-wise, he looks more like Waylon than Wes, thick with muscle. Throw in the dark beard and his serious expression, and I feel like getting out of his way.
The man he’s with peels off to go down the hallway, and John David faces us while he pets Big Bubba. He raises an eyebrow at me, like who the hell are you? which is a sharp contrast from how hard he’s loving on the dog.
“JD, this is Bianca. Our new social media coordinator,” Rose says. John David blinks. “Waylon’s girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend?” John David’s eyebrows shoot up. “Since when?”
“It’s pretty new. I just moved here,” I say, trying not to fidget.
“You must have missed each other at the engagement party, but she was there,” Rose adds.
“Mm.” John David stands up and accepts Big Bubba’s stuffed toy. “I see. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
He walks away without another word, Big Bubba trailing behind him.
“Don’t worry, he looks scarier than he actually is,” Rose says, squeezing my upper arm.
So he’s a fellow ‘this is just my face and I don’t hate your guts’ person. “I understand that completely.”
“C’mon, let’s go over some stuff for the job. Then we have somewhere to be.”
She leads me back to her office, passing a few other people in cubicles. Her office space is small, but cozy, with a half-alive plant and a few knickknacks on it.
She walks me through the basics, like their email system and all of the platforms they’re on, along with their general strategy (which isn’t really a strategy — it’s just posting whenever). The photos they’ve been posting have been okay, but nothing special. Not a ton of engagement either.
At least it can only go up from here. All those free dinners at trendy restaurants in exchange for Instagram posts will actually come in handy for taking pictures of drinks.
“So, first assignment,” Rose says, putting her computer to sleep. “We’re going down to the veterinary clinic to take some photos. Stryker Liquors has always sponsored health treatments for animals in foster care as a part of their charity arm, but now they’re the biggest sponsor of this new animal shelter they’re building. I’m not sure if Waylon has mentioned it or if you know about it.”
“Oh, yeah.” It’s technically not a lie since I’ve at least seen the building. I tuck my notebook back into my bag.
“Waylon will tell you more about it.” She stands up and brushes her braids over her shoulder. “And Delia will be there too to discuss it and do a little promo to get donations and for the booth the shelter will have at the Jepsen Festival — it’s basically a carnival that Jepsen holds every year and it’s coming up. And we’ll need some social media at that event too.”
I follow her out to her car and hop into the passenger seat. When she turns on the car, the sound of one of my mom’s old songs comes streaming through the speakers.
“You look like her, by the way,” Rose says, gesturing to the speakers. “Miss G.”
I brace myself — I heavily favor my mom and people freak out a little bit when they hear.
“She’s my mom,” I say, holding in a sigh.
“For real?” Rose looks at me, wide-eyed. “That’s crazy.”
“Yeah. She’s mostly normal. Or as normal as she can be. She does a lot of stuff behind the scenes with my dad these days. Both of them have always been homebodies anyway so taking on that kind of role suits her.” I tug at the ends of my curls, hoping she doesn’t dig deeper. People always treat me differently once they know, even though Mom isn’t in the public eye as much these days.
“Are you tired of this song, then?” Rose asks with a smile, her finger hovering over the button to the next song.
“Kind of, yeah.” I laugh. She switches to the next song. “Thanks. No one’s ever asked me that. Usually it ends up being a listening party for all her songs, assuming the other person doesn’t have famous parents too.”
My whole body relaxes. I knew I felt comfortable with Rose for a reason. It’s been a while since people have known and treated me like a regular person.
“Wow, that’s crazy.” She shakes her head and pulls out of the parking lot. “I guess LA is really different, then. I mean, I lived in New York City for a few years and I can see that happening there too in some circles.”
“You did?” I ask. “How did you end up here?”
“I grew up here.” She pulls out onto the main road toward town. “Long story, but my shitty ex dumped me and I had to move back here. My dad works at Stryker Liquors in sales and got me a job at the Copper Moon, the bar the Strykers own. I met up with Wes again, a bunch of stuff happened, and now we’re engaged.”
She and Wes have that “meant to be” vibe that I never believed was real until I met them, so I’m not surprised at the warmth in her voice.
We arrive at the vet clinic a few minutes later — everything is pretty close together in Jepsen — and park in the back. When we head inside, one of the receptionists whisks us into the back area, which is much bigger than I thought it would be based on the size of the building. There’s a pen lined with blankets on one side, and an exam table, with counters and cabinets lining the walls. A bunch of wiggly little kittens are in the pen, along with their mother.
Waylon is at the exam table with a vet tech, his back to us. The way his body looks in scrubs should be a crime — all shoulders and strong back and nice butt. Aren’t scrubs supposed to be unflattering?
“Rose and Bianca are here for social media stuff,” the receptionist says.
Waylon glances over his shoulder with a smile. “Okay, great. Just give us a second.”
He finishes up and turns around, a black and white kitten tucked against him, so tiny in his huge hands. He smiles when he sees us, placing the kitten back in the pen with his mother.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in and gently kissing me on the cheek. He smells clean, like shampoo. “Where do you guys want to start?”
Rose glances to me and I swallow the lump in my throat. I know how to do this, so I just need to do it. I’ve done things that are a thousand times scarier. I just want to do a good job.
“Let’s just start with some photos of the staff and the kittens,” I say. “Then we can maybe do an interview about the fundraising for the new shelter once your mom arrives.”
“Works for me.” Waylon nods his head toward the kitten pen. “These kittens have a lot of personality.”
We follow him and he sits down next to the kitten pen, so we do the same.
“You want to come say hi?” Waylon says in a soft voice to some of the kittens who are waddling around. I snap a few photos of them, right as they meow. “Hi, little buddy.”
He scoops up one of the tabby kittens that’s come within arm’s reach and cradles him to his chest. I snap a few photos of them. Waylon is ridiculously photogenic — which isn’t always the case with guys who are hot in person. Him, plus the kittens?
I’m glad Rose made my first assignment easy. Anyone with a pulse will stop and look at these pictures.
“His name is Snickers,” Waylon says, letting the kitten climb up his shirt. “And he’s going to be up for adoption in the next few weeks. Right now he’s living with a foster family along with his siblings.”
I make a few notes for captions, then take a few more photos. He introduces a few more kittens — all with candy names — letting them use him as a jungle gym. They’re all over him, climbing up his shoulders and sniffing his shoes. His smile is warm and relaxed, even though I’m sure the kittens’ little needle claws are digging into his skin.
One of the kittens breaks away from him and starts wobbling over to me. She’s brown with little white paws, chunky and adorable.
“That’s Reese,” he says. “My favorite, but don’t tell the others. I usually name my favorites of litters after my favorite things — TV show characters, snacks, candy in this case.”
I smile. “Why is she your favorite?”
“She’s just ridiculous,” he says, right as Reese stumbles and continues on as she was. “And very sweet.”
I reach over to pet her tiny head. She squeaks a meow and purrs, butting her head against my fingers so hard that she nearly face-plants.
“She’s super cute,” I say. “If she’s your favorite, why don’t you adopt her?”
“Because if I adopted every cat or dog I liked, I’d have ten thousand pets, give or take. And most of the time there’s a perfect home for them somewhere.” He scoops up Reese. “Someday I’ll have a huge house with a big yard for a bunch of dogs and a cat patio for the cats, though.”
I can easily imagine that for him, with the perfect wife and perfect house. It bothers me way more than it should.
“You don’t want to adopt a cat now? Or you can’t?” I ask. “Even if it’s not Reese?”
“Nah, Duke and cats don’t mix well. If it’s small and furry, he’ll want to chase it,” he says, sliding Reese into the pocket of his scrubs. She curls up and closes her eyes. “Wes’s cat Dennis is my cat nephew and I get my cat fix that way. He chose Wes, though. We don’t know where he came from or how he got to the house, but he stood outside his back door and meowed his ass off until Wes let him in. Then he didn’t leave.”
I snort, snapping a photo of Reese falling asleep in Waylon’s pocket.
“He sounds sassy,” I say.
“He’s most orange cat stereotypes in one cat. Both bold and not super bright.” He scoops up an orange kitten and rests him on the ground between us. “He’s great. All these cats are great.”
He scratches Reese on the top of her head while petting the orange kitten, a soft smile on his face.
I should have realized that seeing him in his element, with cute kittens, would do something to me. But it’s doing a lot to me. His size in contrast with how gentle he is, the way the kittens are so drawn to him…it’s almost too much to handle and honestly? Pretty damn rude for him to be this good-looking.
“Here’s their mom, who’ll be up for adoption once the kittens are weaned,” he says, gesturing to the mom cat, who’s laid out, purring inside the pen. “She’s about three years old and super sweet. Her foster mom says that she loves to take naps on your lap or in a sunbeam.”
“Momma cat?” Mrs. Stryker comes in, wearing jeans and a blue blouse, the same shade as the Stryker Liquor logo. The whole outfit looks incredibly expensive, even though the pieces are casual. “What perfect timing. Hi, hun.”
“Hey,” Waylon says, gently plucking the kittens off himself. Some complain, but others toddle back over to their mother.
Mrs. Stryker hugs Waylon and kisses him on the cheek first, before she moves onto Rose, then me.
“Hello there,” she says to me with a smile, studying me with her hands on my shoulders. I try to keep a reasonable amount of eye contact, but I’m not sure if I do a decent job. “So, what do you need me to say?”
“We wanted to get a little footage of you talking about the plans for the shelter and asking for help fundraising,” Rose says. “Bianca’s manning the camera.”
“Okay.” She looks around and gestures toward a seat. “I’ll get set up here.”
“Let me get the lighting right.” I grab the ring light and start to move it around, adjusting it until she’s in the best possible light.
“Thank you. I swear, everyone else has made me look as washed out as possible.” She crosses one leg over the other, then sits up a bit straighter and adjusts her hair.
“Can you give us a brief bit on the shelter and its goals?” Rose asks. “And how Stryker Liquors is involved?”
“Of course. You can hit record whenever.” Delia looks at the camera and fluffs her hair again. I give her a signal to go ahead. “Stryker Liquors has always been involved in helping animals in need. We already donate a percentage of the profits from the sales of Big Bubba Bourbon to our local animal fostering network, and now we’re putting those funds toward the Jepsen Animal Shelter. If you’d like to donate to the shelter, which will open in a few months, please visit the link in our bio. Or, visit our booth at the upcoming Jepsen Festival.”
She has the smooth, practiced composure of someone who’s done a lot of this before. I’m not surprised. Everything about her seems perfect and composed, like she’s never had a slip-up in her life.
Rose nods. “That was perfect.”
“One take.” Delia smiles. “Now what’s next?”
Rose looks over her notes. “Can you discuss the Stryker family’s involvement in local animal welfare?”
“I’d be happy to.” She looks over at Waylon. “Waylon, come talk about it with me.”
“I’m not great on camera,” he says, even though that’s a complete lie. “You’re great at it. We’ll be done faster if it’s just you.”
Delia sighs. “Eventually you’ll be the face of this shelter, sweetheart. People should get used to seeing you.”
“I got great footage of him and the kittens,” I say, looking between Waylon and his mother. He’s clearly not thrilled at the idea of being on camera anymore. If he doesn’t have to be, he shouldn’t be. “We’ll definitely post that.”
“Still.” Delia gets another stool and pats it. “Sit down, Waylon. Just a little short interview.”
They stare each other down, something silent passing between them that I can’t fully decipher. Whatever it is, it’s an old conflict that goes beyond just Delia asking him to participate in an interview.
Waylon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Fine, we can make it fast.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Delia pats his leg. “You can start, hun.”
“Alright.” Waylon waits until I give him the signal that I’m recording. “Our family has always loved animals, especially dogs. Big Bubba Bourbon was named after a chocolate lab our family had when I was a kid.”
“And we’ve had a few Big Bubbas take up the mantle since,” Mrs. Stryker adds.
“Right.” Waylon swallows and fidgets with his watch. The relaxed, happy version of him that I saw just a few minutes ago is gone. “We’ve donated time in addition to the proceeds from the bourbon with sponsoring annual pet adoption fairs and holding the annual gala to raise money for adoptable pets that need extensive medical care. Uh…”
“And you became a veterinarian to help out too,” Delia says.
“Well, yeah. Among other reasons.”
“Very noble.” Delia smiles. “And it’s like you’re still a part of the company, too.”
“Yep.” Waylon pauses, jiggling his leg before looking to me. “Okay, that’s all I have to say.”
“Are you sure? You’ve barely scratched the surface.” Delia frowns.
“We got more than enough material,” I add. Hopefully I can convince Delia to put Waylon out of his misery.
“See? I should start doing some prep for tomorrow anyway,” he says.
Delia looks disappointed, but she just stands up. “Okay, fine. We can do more later.”
Waylon shoots me an exhausted glance and I hope mine radiates sympathy. I’m not the best at being warm but I feel for him. I’ve seen way too many people pressured into shit by their parents and it never ends well.
“Thanks for coming, Mom,” Waylon says.
She lets him kiss her on the cheek, but she’s clearly not pleased. Waylon doesn’t seem to care all that much about her displeasure, though. His jaw is tight with annoyance. I can’t blame him.
“I’m meeting someone for lunch, so I need to go. Rose, I’ll email you about the new floral arrangement idea I have,” she says. “And good to see you, Bianca.”
She leaves and Waylon sighs, leaning against the prep table.
“Thanks for trying to save me,” Waylon says once he pulls himself together.
“It’s no problem. Felt like you needed a little backup.” I want to reach out and touch him, but I hold back.
“I really appreciate it.” He lets out a breath, tension rolling out of his shoulders.
Rose putters around, typing away on her phone, but I stand there with Waylon. I let him think for several moments instead of just filling the air to distract him. He doesn’t seem to be the type who needs to be distracted when he’s dealing with something.
“It’s not that I don’t care about the cause — I really do. It’s just that I don’t want to be the center of attention,” he says after a few moments. “That’s Mom’s thing. And she can’t seem to hold both those ideas in her head at the same time — that I want to be involved but not do the whole ‘perfect figure in town who’s at the center of everything’ thing, you know?”
“I can tell.” I scroll through all the photos of him I took. “But these kitten videos came out really well, if that makes you feel better. I’m sure people will love them and donate.”
“Yeah, it does, actually,” he says, running a hand through his hair again and studying me, his eyes soft. We’re between the exam table and the counter, our bodies inches apart.
He’s usually pretty easy to read, but I can’t tell what’s going on in his head right now. But whatever it is, it’s making me tingle from head to toe. Like he’s actually understanding where I’m coming from in my attempts to help.
I’m not used to that. People rarely get me this quickly.
“Good,” I say with a swallow, looking away from him.
Rose clears her throat and Waylon steps back, avoiding my gaze. His cheeks are flushed.
“We should get back to the office,” Rose says.
“Okay.” I slip away and start to deconstruct the ring light, my face hot. “See you later, Waylon.”
“Yeah, see you. I’ll be by tomorrow to look at the house and all that, if that still works for you,” he says.
“Right. See you.”
He gives me another kiss on the cheek, lingering a little longer than he has to.