“Eleven buttons and who fucking knows how many TS’s. I lost track after fifteen.” Carrie Ann shook her head in disbelief and disappointment. In a trance, the tips of her fingers traced mindlessly over the cold metal circles of the nail head trim outlining the cream-colored upholstered armrest.
“Was he a good kisser at least?”
The hum of Shayla’s voice trailed off remembering Jason’s attempt at a kiss the night before…and it wasn’t pretty. Playing the part of the perfect gentleman, he walked her to the door. He lifted the back of her hand to his mouth, but as he bowed to place a kiss on her knuckles, she didn’t even notice his hopeful sapphire eyes. All she could see was a pair of amber eyes from her past haunting her subconscious. There were no tingles, no butterflies, no sensual lure, just a cloudy hallucination of motherfucking Summer staring down at her subliminally.
Caution overrode any enjoyment when he leaned in stealing a kiss. His lips were warm and gentle as they moved from the edge of her mouth. Her heart fluttered, searching for something, any spark of interest to erase the memories burned into her brain. But there was nothing. He eased closer waiting for her response, but she stood rigid against his frame, unable to return the kiss.
Ahem! Shayla cleared her throat. “Earth to Carrie Ann.”
She shook her head rapidly from side-to-side, bringing her focus back to the discussion. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Did you let him kiss you?”
“Who? Summer?” Shrills of confusion saturated her voice.
“Wait…you kissed Summer?”
“No! No, sorry. What did you ask?”
“I asked you if you kissed Jason?”
“Yeah, kind of. I’m not sure I’d really call it a kiss, but he tried.” Carrie Ann’s nose wrinkled. Her face scrunched in a tight scowl of defeat. “This is all Summer’s fault. I expected him to have some…some gorgeous bimbo on his arm. Jerk shows up empty handed. I felt guilty inviting Jason in the first place and now I’m gonna have this shit hanging over my head all week.”
“Since you brought him up…what happened with Summer?” Whimsy floated through Shayla’s inquiry, intentionally keeping it light and fluffy.
Rising from her chair, she tucked the phone between her cheek and shoulder grabbing her purse. “He said he wants another shot. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“Oh.” She drew out the silent h.
Carrie Ann halted in her haste to get out the door. “You don’t sound very surprised. Please don’t tell me you that you knew about this?”
“No. Not really. I mean, he and I haven’t talked about it.” Shayla managed through a cluster of stumbles and pauses.
“I feel a very big but coming on.” She snarled, snatching her keys off the top of her desk.
“Summer’s had dinner with Tommy and Tess a few times. He…he talks about you. A lot.”
“Oh. My. God. You know what? I don’t have time for this shit right now.” She flung her office door open. “I’ve got three fires to put out and it’s not even ten o’clock in the morning. The bartenders I hired turned out to be Not so fully-certified as they claimed, so I’m on my way to the villa to meet with Take Your Best Shot Bartending Service.”
“Hey, don’t get upset with me. I’m Switzerland remember. Tess was curious and asked me a few things.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you enlightened her.”
“I did.”
Shayla’s reply was weak at best.
“You’re still on for noon tomorrow, right? We need to practice the introduction and our emceeing.”
Since she started working with the charitable organization, Carrie Ann included Shayla in every event. In the beginning, she assisted with organizing and planning. Another year she announced the recipient of the Humanitarian Award. Once, she even posed nude for the Have a Heart ~ Bare Your Soul Calendar when an infamous blonde bombshell bailed out at the last minute, putting Carrie Ann in a bind. Having Shayla by her side made the events more fun, but in truth, she offered Carrie Ann a sense of comfort and security, calming her nerves during the behemoth undertaking.
“Yep! I’ve been working on my one-liners.”
“Should I be scared?” Carrie Ann snickered.
“Yes, you should be afraid. Very afraid. I’m just kidding. John was very impressed. He thought they were funny.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s impressed every time you open your mouth.” She giggled wickedly walking out the door. “Booya yourself! Now that was funny.”
*
In Beverly Hills, parties were serious business. California’s elite expected three things when attending any event; a phenomenal DJ, a bad ass bartender, and a guest list dressed to impress. Torrential downpours could flood the streets, hurricane winds might blow the tents down to the ground, but if she failed to entertain by any consensus, the blowback would leave a blemish on her reputation as well as the Have a Heart Foundation.
Take Your Best Shot touted world class mixologists with unlimited flair. Carrie Ann met with the owner and his crew of very attractive bartenders. Trevor was a tall, dark and handsome late-twenties-something entrepreneur with a smile that would make women go weak at the knees. He offered premium beverage services coupled with some serious showmanship of bottle flipping frenzy.
While watching a six minute demonstration of tossing, spinning, mixing and pouring, she fought to reign in the sexual pressure, fearing she’d be paying double for services rendered merely due to good looks. Especially the one with vivid green eyes, a bright wide smile, and dark curly hair.
She insisted, “I really don’t need them to steal the show as much as I need them to be completely professional. Arrive early, don’t be too chatty with the guests, and no excessive serving.”
“No worries. Each of my mixologists are very specialized and required to go through an alcohol safety training course. You mentioned that you wanted two bars with three men at each station, but considering the size of the event, I would suggest having three bars spread out over the property.” Trevor pointed out a few prime locations. “That way you keep a smooth flow with no bottleneck areas.”
She nodded. “Same cost?”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed into a flirtatious twinkle. “For you, yes. Same cost. If you’d like, I’d be happy to create a couple signature drinks designed around the parties theme.”
A vision of penis straws and breast umbrellas brought a timid smirk to the corner of her mouth. “That sounds great. Let’s stick to a heart theme versus bachelor/bachelorette theme.”
Trevor extended a hand, locking it around hers. His glance drifted over her inquisitively, taking in her neutral lightweight sweater, cream slacks, and stacked heels. “How about this? I’ll throw in two more bartenders and as long as you’re satisfied with our performance, you keep me in mind for future events.”
“That sounds like a deal.” A whiff of tobacco invaded her senses. She sniffed inconspicuously, searching out the distinct nuance of leather mixed with cedar and cocoa. She glimpsed a man wearing a vibrant red polo shirt wandering near the terrace. Retrieving her hand, she said, “Excuse me for a minute.”
“No problem. We’ll go ahead and take off. If you have any questions call me. I’ll email you over a contract. If you think of any other questions just shoot me a text or feel free to call me.”
“Perfect. Let me know the drink names by tomorrow and I’ll have my assistant make up a little menu to have at each bar.”
She strolled toward the squat heavy man leaning against a stone pillar. His grey hair barely noticeable at the root of his dark hair. A small assuming smile wove into the creases near his temple.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hello, Carrie Ann,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” she asked skeptically, forcing a grin to mask her shock.