12. Chapter 12
Icrossed the shadow cast from the awning of the Galveston Atteridge—the venue for Victoria and Doug’s wedding shower. My lunch roiled in my stomach.
At two hundred dollars an hour, I would be lettering for an Atteridge in front of all her friends and family. It was too much money for my worth. It was too much fame for me—Emily Lane, who worked in a cubicle and ate too much Chinese takeout and considered writing addresses on envelopes a fun night.
On top of lettering for one Atteridge, I’d be fake dating another. We’d previously agreed Beck would pick me up for the shower. I hadn’t thought much of it when we’d made the plans, but sitting in Beck’s Audi, engulfed in his scent, not even an arm’s length away from him, had me questioning all the choices that had led me there.
How was I supposed to avoid the pull of his attraction when we’d be spending so much time together?
I took a steadying breath as the air conditioning of the lobby hit my cheeks.
I’m trying on Hailey’s life,I reminded myself. And Hailey would love fake dating a hot guy. And she most certainly would not sweat doing a live lettering event for the first time. Instead, she’d hold her head high and stride in like she owned the place.
The handle of the rolling crate slipped from my grip as soon as I crossed the threshold of the ballroom. I knew this would be a nice event. I knew Victoria had the funds to throw a big party.
But this.
Thiswasthe very picture of luxury.
A velvet loveseat for the bride and groom sat in the front of the room. Perhaps throne was a better word, as the loveseat waited on a raised platform with a backdrop of fresh banana leaves and hibiscus flowers so vibrant that they looked to have been plucked in Hawaii and flown over that very morning. A neon sign added a pop of fun to the tropical stage: All you need is love.
Caterers had set up warmers along a long wall, and a dessert table flourished under a full balloon arch of emerald and gold. A five-tiered cake stood proudly at the top, one of those artfully naked confections.
On the tables, floating candles sat in vases of water and ferns—more greenery, more life to the room. Even the chairs were dressed well for the event, tied with neat magenta and pink bows. All of this beneath the light of grand crystal chandeliers.
For a wavering minute, I wondered if I’d been confused, that this wasn’t the shower but the wedding itself. But then again, Atteridge money made Victoria a different breed from the rest of us.
A hand ran self-consciously down the side of my skirt. I’d painstakingly picked the outfit, wanting to look professional but not too stiff. I’d finally decided on a floral midi skirt and a cropped white sweater. Now I wished I’d gone with slacks and a button-down so I could blend in with the other vendors. Be a fly on the wall.
Beck noticed I wasn’t right behind him and doubled back. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked.
“It’s a lot.” My eyes trailed along the wall of vendors.
Beck scoffed. “Victoria tends to be a little extra.” His eyes roamed over my face. “You look pale, Lane.” Then those eyes widened. “You aren’t going to pass out, are you?”
“No!” The question surprised me, but then I remembered the meeting where Wesley had insinuated my fainting spells were a regular occurrence.
Beck didn’t seem convinced by my answer. He wrenched the rolling cart from me—no easy task since I had the handle in a death grip. After he parked it off to the side, he took my hand and steered me back into the lobby. I followed him into a dimly lit side hall and then to an empty conference room.
“Sit,” he commanded. Part of me wanted to be obstinate and refuse, but the rolling sea in my stomach told me to listen to him.
Water bottles lined the center of the table. Beck took one, then opened it for me. “Drink,” he said before taking the seat next to me.
“Are you this bossy to all your girlfriends? Or just the fake ones?” I asked before glugging half the bottle.
“What’s going on?” he asked, ignoring my attempt at humor.
I screwed the cap back on the water and then rested my forehead against the table. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted.
“Fake dating me or the calligraphy?”
“Both. But mainly the calligraphy part.” I raised my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I don’t think I can pull this off.” I inhaled sharply. “But I have no choice. I signed up for this. People are counting on me. I can’t just—”
“Hey, hey,” Beck put his hand on my arm to halt the tidal wave of my voiced concerns. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
My brows scrunched together. “But your sister—”
“Will live without someone signing seashells at her party.” His features softened. “Again, I’m not making light of what you do. But no one is going to force you out there. If you aren’t comfortable, I’ll drive you home right now.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course, I would.”
“But what about Reagan?”
Beck gave an amused smile. “What about her?”
I gave my own smile—a knowing one. He wanted to make her jealous, which meant he probably still had feelings for her.
“Listen,” Beck continued, “it’s your decision. And if you want to leave, I’ll take you. But you belong here. I’ve seen your work. It’s incredible.”
I blushed, but not one to take a compliment, said, “Says the guy who thinks cursive and calligraphy are the same thing.”
“You’re right. I have limited knowledge of calligraphy. But how many professional calligraphers do you expect to be in attendance today?” My lips parted, ready to reply. But he was right. I felt like I could breathe deeply for the first time since I stepped into the hotel. “I suspect you are a pro at your trade, but even if you aren’t, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be the leading authority on calligraphy at this event.”
And that’s how Beckett Atteridge coaxed me out of hiding and back into the ballroom. Still fighting the residual effects of imposter syndrome, I gripped the handle of my rolling cart, scanning the room for Amanda or Victoria, and nearly jumped out of my skin when someone shrieked behind us.
“No, Jason! Seven. We are doing seven seats per table. Not eight!”
I whirled to find Amanda, who was not at all the composed image she’d been in Victoria’s office. Now flyaways floated atop her head, escapees loose from a bun. Her blouse had come halfway untucked and not in a cute, I-did-this-on-purpose way. The blush of her cheeks looked less of a rosy and more of a I’m this close to losing my shit.
The man, who must have been Jason, seemed to read the look the same way. He put up his hands in surrender. “My mistake. I’ll fix it right away.”
Amanda huffed and then turned in my direction, seeming to see me for the first time. Her face fell into an attempted mask of pleasure. “Hailey, hi. We have you in that corner.”
She pointed to a folded table directly to our left, not far from the entrance.
“Okay,” I managed, afraid to say anything that might tip her over the edge.
“Let us know if you need anything,” she said, but she was already walking toward the caterers, surely to terrorize more victims before Victoria could terrorize her.
Jason gave me a harrowing run while you can look. I attempted a polite smile, but at this point, it felt more like a grimace.
I unpacked supplies onto my designated table: paint pens, chalk, a sharpener, pointed pens, a case of nibs, black and gold ink, as well as painter’s tape.
“You think you have enough stuff?” Beck asked.
“What were you expecting? I’d come with a box of crayons?”
“No. Maybe a few Bic pens but not crayons.”
I couldn’t help myself. I threw my head back and laughed. Maybe cackled is a better word. Beck’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a bright, all-consuming smile. He enjoyed making me laugh, I realized. The thought sent up a flight of butterflies rebelliously and stupidly in my stomach.
“Hailey, is this spot okay?”
My head snapped in the direction of Victoria’s voice. She was an absolute vision. Her curls cascaded down from a half-updo, spilling onto her back. Her coral dress fit tight, showing off her toned body.
Another woman walked in step with her on equally toned, perfectly bronzed legs. The sequins on her dress shimmered with each hip sway. She had long black hair that cascaded from a savagely tight ponytail. With piercing blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut, I didn’t think anyone ever fit the word “slay” quite like Victoria’s companion.
“Yes,” I finally answered. “This spot is perfect.”
“Good. Hailey, this is Reagan,” Victoria said, indicating the model in sequins. “Reagan, this is Beck’s girlfriend and my calligrapher, Hailey. They used to work together before Hailey started her business.”
Beck and I had discussed the lie before he sent his sister the text letting her know he was dating one of her vendors. It sounded odd coming out of Victoria’s mouth—something she believed to be true that I knew to be false—but not any weirder than her calling me Hailey, I supposed.
“They bumped into each other outside my office and have been dating since.” Her head cocked to the side, but she smiled while appraising us. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Beck told me you were seeing each other, but watching you two flirt just now—I can see the chemistry.”
I stiffened, and something in the back of Beck’s throat made a clicking noise. He tried to cover the sound with a laugh, but it came out strained.
Reagan’s icy eyes did a slow toe-to-head sweep of me. She looked unimpressed.
Yep. Nothing to see here,I thought sourly. Seeing Beck with someone as plain as me must have burned her up. I probably should have played nice, but I couldn’t get over the fact that she cheated on Beck—and broke his heart.
My arm snaked behind Beck’s lower back, and I grabbed his side to pull him close. In return, Beck’s arm draped possessively over my shoulder. I knew he was ripped; swimming with him had told me that much, but seeing and feeling were two very different things. Every cell in my body seemed to swarm to meet the points of contact: my chest at his ribs, my hips at his thigh.
“Yeah,” I said, trying my best to plaster an adoring look on my face as I looked up at Beck. “It felt like fate—running into each other again.”
Beck’s eyes danced. He seemed to enjoy my performance. I playfully scrunched my nose at him, and he booped it with his pointer finger. We were being nauseatingly cute.
Reagan gave a tight smile.
“Where’s Tom?” Beck asked Reagan, his deep voice rumbling through my rib cage.
“We broke up last month.”
“That’s too bad,” he said without inflection.
So much for the they’ve both moved on plan. Oh well, Victoria didn’t seem fazed by Reagan being single. She was too busy smiling at us.
“Babe!” a voice called from the ballroom entrance. It belonged to a man with sandy brown hair and a sharp blue suit. Victoria’s husband-to-be, I presumed. “The staff have a question about the valet.”
“Be right there.” Victoria smiled back at me, then gestured toward the table where I’d be doing live lettering. “And everything should be there. But if you need anything, let me know.”
As her and Reagan’s heels clicked toward the exit, I couldn’t help but think I may have gotten Victoria wrong. She was a lot more personable than I’d previously imagined. But I guess anyone would look warm standing next to Reagan, Ice Queen.
I glanced at my watch. Only twenty minutes before the shower started. Shit. My mini panic attack had cost me.
Beck read the urgency in how I rushed to sharpen a piece of chalk. “How can I help?”
“Can you prime the board for me?” I said, nodding toward the chalkboard on the ground.
Amanda had let me know there would be one, so I’d already created an outline to transfer over. The message greeted guests and let them know they could get a shell inked with a name or short phrase.
“What do I do?” he asked as I handed him a piece of chalk.
“Just rub it down, lengthwise.”
Beck licked his bottom lip, looking very much like he was holding in a smile. “Did you hear yourself say that?”
“Har. Har,” I said, working to keep the blush off my cheeks. A valiant effort but not an effective one. “Now get to work.”
“What is the priming for?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“It keeps the lettering from staining the board.”
“Hmm,” he said as though I’d given him an interesting fact to store away. After he’d finished, he set the chalk on the table and dusted his hands.
We had the table set up and ready to go just as guests started trickling in. A guy shook Doug’s hand, hugged Victoria, and then noticed Beck.
“Hey, man!” he called warmly.
Beck waved back. “How’s it going, Koontz?”
“You should get out there,” I said. “Mingle with your friends.”
“But you’re my date. And I don’t want you sitting here alone.” Something swelled in my chest, but I shoved it down.
“I am your date, but I’m also your sister’s calligrapher. You can’t be over here distracting me when I have a job to do.”
“Oh, so I’m distracting?” he asked with a flirty little grin.
“Get out of here,” I said, trying not to laugh and failing.
His face turned serious. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
My heart stupidly skipped a beat over his concern. He just doesn’t want you to ruin the party by fainting, I told the organ in my chest.
Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded at Beck. He backed away from the table, giving me one last smile before joining the steadily growing crowd.
With Beck—my distraction—gone, my imposter syndrome kicked back into gear. I felt like any moment, spotlights would glare down on me, and someone with a megaphone was going to call out, She’s not Hailey. And she’s certainly not qualified for this!
I swallowed back the thought and found another task, testing pens on one of the Capiz shells to find the best option for lettering. The gold popped on the shell and didn’t smear like the black had. Good, I’d been hoping for that option. Something as plain as black didn’t seem befitting of an event like Victoria’s shower.
I looked up as Beck greeted a stylish older woman with bouncy gray curls. They embraced warmly. When Beck pulled back, he shook the hand of the man next to her. I noticed the man’s eyebrows—sharp like Beck and Victoria. Judging by the stiff handshake, those were their parents. But neither Beck nor his father held a look of disdain, just reservation.
As they went their separate ways, I clocked the way his father sighed and how Beck’s head bowed slightly. Things looked complicated, indeed.
Beck shook it off quickly enough. He clapped his hands over the shoulder of a man who looked to be in mid-conversation. They both smiled, but Beck’s was luminous. I couldn’t help it. I smiled too. It’s fine, I thought. He has a nice smile. So what?
But then Beck caught me looking, and it was suddenly not fine, not at all, that I was smiling at his smile. I wanted to avert my gaze, look at other guests, check my outfit, and pretend to be busy. Something. Anything. But his gaze pinned me. I expected him to roll his eyes or stick out his tongue. Instead, his smile wavered slightly—as if he’d been ensnared by me as well.
“Oh wow! You do calligraphy?” My first guest snapped me out of whatever the hell that little staring contest had been.
“Yes!” I picked up a Capiz shell. “I can do a name, a favorite word, a phrase—if it’s three words or less.”
“Cool! Can you put my name? Lindsay—with an A.”
And that’s how my work began. It didn’t take long for Lindsay to go back to show her friends the Capiz shell, and then I had a steady stream of guests at my table. I didn’t know what I’d been worried about. Victoria may have been paying me through the nose for the service, but she was too busy to quality-check my work, and the guests were just thrilled to get something cute and personalized for free.
After the guests feasted on lunch and dessert, my line started winding around tables. It should have unnerved me: so many people, so many chances to disappoint. Not to mention, I needed to hurry to get the line down but give each shell enough care to meet Atteridge-level expectations.
But once I got in my groove, I let go of all the anxiety and found I was actually enjoying myself. Usually, I saved my talents for close friends and family, but here, the guests made me feel like what I did was a big deal.
Mostly, people wanted their first or last name. One elderly lady wanted the name of a recently deceased pet on her shell. Some people wanted words like hope or faith. Sometimes, they requested tiny mantras: be bold or choose happy.
One man in line introduced himself as the groom’s brother’s boyfriend, Sebastian Gomez. He told me he owned a shoe store on the north side of Houston and wanted to know if I had a business card so we could be in touch for a live lettering event at his store.
I’d done it. I had snagged a new client. The request sent my heart fluttering until I reached for said business card and realized the only ones I had were Hailey’s. Because I couldn’t advertise as anyone else at this event. If I took his job, I’d have to keep lying about my identity. My heart went from fluttering to a clumsy fall, hitting every branch on the way down.
I was seriously weighing the pros and cons of legally changing my first name to my sister’s when a familiar, smug face popped up next in my line. Beck had his hands in his pockets, that lazy smile on his face.
“What will it be? Beckett or Atteridge?”
I expected the names to land with bruising force. Instead, he only cocked his head to the side, letting out a contemplative, “Hmmm . . . How about Senior Analyst?”
I bristled. Another point awarded to Beck. I tried my best not to let it show as I dipped my nib in the gold ink and set to work on his shell.
Beck tsked. “I see you’re still picking up that pen.”
“You know, you talk a lot of shit for someone who waited in a long ass line to get something lettered by me.” I handed over the shell for his inspection.
Senior-Level Asshole glittered under the chandelier lights.
His half-grin cracked into that full-on smile he wore so well, little crinkle lines appearing near his eyes. “I think you misspelled senior analyst.”
“Sorry. No returns. Next!”
Beck didn’t grace me with his presence again until guests began a steady trickle out the door. My table had been empty for about half an hour when he stopped by with a cupcake.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, a little hesitant as I realized he’d brought me food twice now.
I bit into decadent vanilla, piled high with buttercream frosting, and licked my bottom lip with a small moan.
Beck leaned against my table, watching and waving at family and friends as they passed to leave. “So, you pulled it off, Lane.”
“No one is more surprised than me,” I said before taking another bite of heavenly cupcake.
“I’m not surprised at all,” Beck said. My cheeks warmed at that, and it made me glad he had his back to me.
“So, are we staying until the very end?”
I noticed the vendors packing up and figured it was a sign that I could go ahead and do the same. A glance at my watch told me I needed to get my ass home so I could complete my timesheet and reply to someone from accounting about a question they had the day before. Also, Wesley wanted me to review the parameters we set for Frank one more time before we had our meeting with him the next day.
“Victoria asked the bridal party to stay until everyone else is gone.” I looked at the remaining guests, who were all about our age: late twenties to early thirties. Every one of them dressed to the nines. “Probably wants to make sure everyone is on the same page about the rehearsal dinner. Or something to that effect. Shouldn’t take long.”
Victoria waved Beck over while Doug addressed the group. When I hung back to organize my pens, she called out, “Hailey, I want you here for this.”
Hesitantly, I walked with Beck over to the table, and when my eyes snagged on Reagan’s cold, blue ones, I slipped my hand in Beck’s. Beck could try and shrug off her disloyalty all he wanted, but he wasn’t fooling me. Reagan had hurt him. I tried not to melt as his warm hand completely enveloped mine. He squeezed once, a silent thanks.
When we took seats nearby, Doug addressed the group again, excitement flickering in his eyes. “As you know, the wedding is taking place in Costa Rica. But what you didn’t know is that we are going up there a week early. All of us. Get ready for the best fucking time of your lives.”
Victoria beamed, looking at her fiancé before turning to the rest of the group. “We are taking a week-long joint bachelor and bachelorette party.”
Beck’s hand gripped mine again, this time from shock.
“In Costa Rica?” someone shrieked excitedly.
“Hell yeah!” a deep voice bellowed.
Some of the guys high-fived, others clapped each other on the back.
Victoria’s eyes danced with laughter. “We have it all planned out. All you have to do is pack your bags.”
“And call in sick!” Doug shouted as if leading a war party. Cheering and hooting ensued.
I shot Beck a look, hoping my eyes conveyed the question shouting in my mind: What the hell have you gotten us into?