Not You Again (The NOT Series Book 1)

by Terri Osburn

  That was the first time I’d ever heard Amanda tell a lie, and I didn’t blame her one bit. Sometimes you had to lie to get through the hard times. I’d been there done that and knew the trick well. Crossing back to my own desk, I sent up a little prayer to whatever higher being might be listening that she’d come through this and be back to her normal, healthy self on the other side.

  We may not have been close, but she was still the woman who’d taught me everything I knew about this business and given me more freedom and autonomy in my work than I’d have found anywhere else. I owed her for that, and if manning the ship for a few months would be my contribution to helping her get better, then that’s what I would do.

  Chapter Four

  After three morning meetings, I’d managed to squeeze in a lunchtime visit with Donna. I stopped at the Lebanese place around the corner from her building, and then showed up with gyros and a tabbouli salad in hand. Near the end of the meal, I conveyed the news about my boss.

  “Who talks about cancer like that?” Donna asked as I scanned through the DeStefano engagement photos. “She didn’t give any other details?”

  “Nope. Just that’s she’s starting chemo and I’d have to take all the clients until further notice.”

  I wrote down the image numbers on a couple photos I thought the bride would like and continued the search, gnawing on my pita bread as I went. I needed at least five to present for their review so they could choose the one we’d frame and have at the table with the guest book. The bride wanted her guests to write little notes on the white mat that would surround their faces and planned to enclose it all under glass as a keepsake.

  “Maybe she doesn’t have all the info yet,” Donna suggested. “Surely she’ll tell you more eventually.”

  Would she? I wasn’t counting on it.

  “You know Amanda,” I said. “She’s as forthcoming as a mob informant before the guarantee of immunity. What do you think of this one?” I pointed to a close-up shot in black and white.

  She shook her head. “She won’t like her nose at that angle.”

  Examining the image further, I had to agree.

  As a professional wedding photographer, Donna Bradford handled all Three Rivers events except on the rare occasion when two ran consecutively. We also recommended her for engagement shots and most couples took the suggestion. A proud woman entrepreneur, she wasn’t only a friend, she was an inspiration. Starting your own business was intimidating enough. Starting it right out of college and maintaining sustained success for nearly a decade was downright badassery.

  Her studio was a loft on Bedford Square that doubled as both a work and a living space. Exposed brick. Original hardwood floors. Very industrial and modern. Her apartment, a mere wall away, was the complete opposite. The same exposed brick and duct work, but a much more warm and cozy aesthetic.

  “How am I supposed to limit this to five?” I asked. “She looks good in all of them.” When choosing the right engagement photo, I always went with the ones that made the bride look the best. In my experience, grooms rarely cared what they looked like so long as the bride was happy.

  “Of course, she does. Because I took the pictures.” Donna leaned over me to slide a finger across the laptop mouse pad. Two clicks later, she said, “I pulled these ones before you got here.”

  Five perfect images popped up.

  “Why didn’t you show me these first?”

  She balanced on the corner of the desk. “You don’t like it when I choose them without you.”

  “Consider that no longer the case. If I’m going to handle my clients and Amanda’s while heading into the full sprint of wedding season, feel free to do anything and everything that will make my life easier.”

  I still had no idea how I was going to manage. After reviewing my calendar, the only solution appeared to be me never sleeping again while convincing clients to take late-night meetings whenever possible. I’d also parsed out a list of tasks that could be handled with a phone call alone, but I had to make the time to make the calls. My cell would be attached to my head for the foreseeable future. Reminding myself of the reason for the extra work made me feel terrible for whining, even if only in my head.

  Donna snapped the laptop shut. “That I can do. Now, about tonight. What are you wearing?”

  The date. Crap. I nearly forgot.

  “I haven’t decided yet. Where are we meeting again?”

  “Marco’s on the North Shore. Whatever you do, do not wear what you have on.”

  I looked down at my baby-blue pencil skirt and matching blazer. “What’s wrong with what I have on? This is an expensive business suit.”

  “Business being the key word,” she said. “Tonight you’re off the clock. Why don’t you ever let your personal style show through in your work clothes?”

  Much like the native accent, bohemian thrift store finds did not convey the correct tone when convincing clients to spend an extra five thousand dollars on the better booze. A decision no one ever regretted, by the way.

  “Not everyone can dress like an artiste,” I replied. Donna could rock absolutely any look—from skinny jeans and heels to a leather dress with thigh-high boots—and still command respect. “That said, I promise to change my clothes.” When was the question but I’d figure that out later. “What do I need to know about this guy?”

  “I’ve given you the basics. He lives downstairs, is a personal trainer, and is freaking gorgeous.”

  These facts told me nothing about him as a person. “If he’s so perfect, why aren’t you going out with him?”

  Donna’s dedication to her business, along with her schedule documenting activism in the community and planning the exhibition she’d been dreaming about for at least five years left little time for dating. This was the irony of my friends insisting that I go on these dates. None of them were dating either. At least not right now. Technically speaking, I was the only one purposely not dating. The others were still looking. Allegedly. I had yet to see proof.

  With a noncommittal shrug, she said, “He isn’t my type.”

  From the basic description alone, he didn’t sound like mine either. “Exactly how is he my type?”

  Donna returned to her gyro. “Three reasons. He’s clean. He’s a morning person. And the muscles prove that he’s a hard worker.”

  A flimsy argument but I did appreciate all three of those traits. So he sounded like a good match on paper. Josie had thought the same thing and we saw how that went. “He isn’t coming off a breakup, is he?”

  “Oh, I heard about the last guy. Adam hasn’t had a steady girlfriend for a while so there will be no drowning his sorrows while out with you. From what I can tell by talking to Josie, the two guys are really different.”

  That made it sound like they were throwing random men at me just to see if one would stick. I suppose that was as good an approach to matchmaking as any.

  “Well, if he stays sober, this date will already top the first,” I admitted.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  There was no spirit but I played along. All I had to do was survive the next three nights and this would all be over. Then I could bury myself in work and try not to run myself ragged while keeping the business running. Not to imply that there was any silver lining to my boss’ cancer diagnosis, but my schedule for the next several months would serve as an inarguable reason to refrain from dating.

  How would I possibly find time for a relationship? At this point, showers and meals were already iffy, and they were much more important than finding a man.

  Thanks to having to fit in the Jankowski meeting, I ended up doing exactly what Donna told me not to do. I wore my work clothes to the date. At least the business suit had some color to it. I did unbutton the jacket and the top button of my blouse in an effort to create a day to evening look. A waste of time but the best I could do.

  The driver dropped me at the corner near the entrance and I scanned the crowd for my date. Donna said to look
for a tall man with dark hair and lots of muscles. That described about thirty percent of the men in the immediate area. I checked the time on my phone to see that I was five minutes late. My driver had done his best but an accident on the parkway had tangled traffic for miles.

  “Becca Witherspoon?” said a man behind me.

  I spun around and found myself nose level with an impressive set of pecs. Tilting my head back, I found ice-blue eyes staring intently over a crooked nose. The scruff on his chin looked as if he’d applied it with makeup and a stencil. How else could he get that top line so perfectly straight?

  “Yes, I’m Becca,” I finally replied. “You must be Adam.”

  “That’s me.” To my surprise, he offered a fist bump, which I awkwardly returned. “Donna said you were little but wow. You’re like a munchkin.”

  At five foot two I did not qualify as a munchkin, a term I was pretty sure those who did qualify found offensive. Not a great first impression.

  “Should we go inside?” I asked, eager to move things along. Beyond the salad at lunch, I’d only had time for crackers between clients and my stomach had growled through my last two meetings.

  “In a hurry to eat, huh? I like a girl with an appetite so long as she doesn’t overdo it.” Adam looked me up and down. “With your small frame you could bulk up fast. You’ll need to watch that.” The comment took several seconds to process, as if he’d punched me in the face, and then followed up with have a nice day. He left me on the sidewalk in my backward-insult haze and strolled off toward the restaurant entrance. Realizing I wasn’t with him, he turned and said, “Are you coming?”

  One word came to mind. No. But then I heard my friends telling me I never gave him a chance and resigned myself to see this through. Plastering a smile on my face, I followed him inside and was grateful he at least held the door for me. He was probably nervous and let his filter slip. A valid reason to grant him a pass. For now.

  “Heya, doll,” he said to the young woman at the podium. “Two for Brubeck. I put the name down a while ago.”

  I hated when men called women meaningless little endearments like that. Especially women in the service industry. The hostess didn’t look like she appreciated the practice either, but she kept her response professional.

  Checking the list, she said, “You have one more party ahead of you, but you’re welcome to wait at the bar if you’d like.”

  Without consulting me, he said, “That works.”

  Again, he walked away without me and I had to hustle to catch up, squeezing through the narrow path Adam created on his way through the crowd. I didn’t typically frequent places like this one. Loud. Crowded. Trendy and hip. The fact that I even used the word hip probably proved how unhip I was.

  Having not been in the singles scene in my early twenties, I never learned the fine art of clubbing. And it was an art form. Donna and Josie had plenty of stories involving random hookups, obnoxious drunks, and various encounters in the ladies’ room that always ended in some girl-power high five before dispersing back into the mass of humanity as strangers once more.

  Not that Marco’s was a full-fledged club, since they had a dining room and served a full menu, but the atmosphere felt the same to me.

  “I’ll take a Yuengling Light,” Adam said to the bartender as I reached the empty stool beside him. Turning to me, he asked, “What do you want?”

  “Water, please.”

  Thin brows nearly met over the crooked nose. “Don’t be so uptight. If it’s the calories you’re worried about, I’ll get you one of what I’m having.”

  “No,” I assured him. “I’m not much of a drinker.” And I definitely wasn’t having alcohol on an empty stomach.

  “Donna didn’t mention that,” he said, sounding as if he regretted this fix-up as much as I did.

  It wasn’t as if I’d suggested he couldn’t drink. He could have all he wanted, but if this date turned out to be a repeat of the last, Mr. Muscles could find his own way home. He dropped onto his stool with a pout-like expression, and I felt certain I wouldn’t have to find an excuse not to schedule a date number two.

  “What do you do?” he asked half-heartedly as I lifted myself onto the stool. I assumed Donna would have told him at least that much.

  “I’m an event planner. Weddings. Vow renewals. Retirements. Any large gathering like that.”

  “So you throw parties?”

  I… “No, I plan events.”

  “Events. Parties. Same thing.”

  “Not really.”

  Our drinks arrived and Adam handed over his card. We settled into silence as the bartender left to ring him up and I again considered putting an end to this misery. He clearly wasn’t enamored with me, and I felt no need to change his mind. As he scanned the area, seemingly forgetting I was even there, I tried to figure out why Donna had thought this would work. Being a morning person wasn’t a personality trait. The hard worker description may have fit but he certainly wasn’t putting much work into being likable.

  If there’d been anything about him that reminded me of Brian, I’d have at least understood her belief that this could work, but like Peter before him, Adam paled in comparison. Not that I expected to find Brian’s twin. That would be weird and a bit disturbing. But a nice, generous guy who went out of his way to make me laugh one minute while challenging me the next didn’t feel like too much to ask.

  As I contemplated exit strategies, my date continued to glance down the bar as if looking for my replacement. He was welcome to choose another dinner partner at any time. The scene that followed would fall into the you can’t make this stuff up category because at the same moment that Adam eyed up a particular blond, said blonde’s companion witnessed the flirty exchange and was not happy.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” the stranger said to Adam while rising on his stool as if he might launch himself over the bar.

  This could not be happening.

  “Not your ugly ass,” Adam replied.

  Fabulous. This was happening.

  Chapter Five

  “What’d you say?” the man demanded, leaving his stool and stepping around a group of young women in order to poke my date in the chest.

  “Hey now,” the bartender snapped. “Take it down a notch.”

  Neither Neanderthal listened.

  “You callin’ me ugly?” the poker asked.

  “Did I stutter?” replied the pokee.

  As I watched this embarrassment unfold, three things ran through my mind. Why was I going on these dates? Was the universe messing with me? And who was going to stop this standoff before someone got hurt?

  Question number three was answered almost immediately, and in a way that proved the answer to number two was a resounding yes.

  “Take your seats, gentlemen,” the arriving bouncer said seconds before he noticed me cringing behind Adam. “Not you again?”

  The bouncer was none other than Jacob the driver. I’d have pretended I didn’t recognize him but lying had never been my forte.

  “This jagoff was lookin’ at my girl,” the stranger barked before I could speak.

  “Looking isn’t a crime,” Adam defended. “And she smiled at me first.”

  Maybe I could pretend I wasn’t part of this.

  “Call it off or you can both leave,” the driver turned bouncer announced.

  “This asshole can leave.” Adam shoved the stranger. “I didn’t do shit.”

  “Touch me one more time, you son of a—”

  “Out.” Jacob grabbed Adam by the elbow as a fellow bouncer appeared out of nowhere to handle the other guy.

  “Get your hands off me.” Adam jerked his arm away and bumped into a passing waitress, knocking over the two glasses on her tray which covered me in sticky alcohol and ice. My date didn’t seem to notice. “You can’t kick me out,” he yelled, still arguing with Jacob. “I was minding my own business.”

  A second later his arm was twisted up behind his back and Jacob was steering hi
m toward the exit. Not sure what else to do, I followed. The moment they stepped outside, Jacob let him go and turned in time to catch the door before it closed in my face.

  “What the hell, man?” Adam said. “You think you can use some kung fu on me? I’ll kick your ass, Chinaman.”

  Oh, hell no. I put myself between my jerk of a date and Jacob. “What did you just say?”

  “You gonna break out some karate next?” he asked, ignoring my question.

  “That’s offensive and racist and you’re lucky he hasn’t shoved your head even farther up your ass than it already is,” I snapped. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Did you not just see him throw me out of that bar for no reason?”

  “He had plenty of reasons.”

  “You’re my date. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “You sure know how to pick ’em,” Jacob mumbled behind me.

  I could only deal with one jerk at a time, and I wasn’t finished with Adam yet. “This date is over. I suggest you try your luck at the next bar down. Maybe you’ll find a woman with a caveman fetish and you’ll be all set.”

  The brute had the nerve to look me up and down as if I was the piece of shit in this scenario. “Why Donna set me up with your tight ass is a mystery anyway. Have a nice life.”

  He strolled off down the sidewalk as I vibrated with righteous indignation. After the tree debacle, I should have reached my mortification limit where Jacob was concerned, and yet I couldn’t make myself turn around.

  “You didn’t have to defend me like that,” he said. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay,” I said, turning to face him. “I’m really sorry.”

  Glancing down the sidewalk, he said, “Did he say this was a setup?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He lives in the same building as my friend Donna.”

  “Does she not like you?” he asked.

  I was starting to wonder that myself.

  “I assume he’s never shown her his true colors.” She would be hearing all about his true colors and begging for my forgiveness in the near future.