The Anti-Honeymoon

by Bethany Michaels

  “She needs a friend right now,” Zach said to himself. “A friend. Not an asshole trying to get in her pants.”

  When he was certain his body got the friend-zone message, he dressed in the clean clothes he’d picked up at the gift shop and left the bathroom. Jenna was sitting on the sofa staring at her phone, and she didn’t seem happy.

  Zach sat down beside her, careful to leave some space between them.

  “I called him,” she said, and of course Zach knew who “he” was.

  He nodded and tried to act casual, but he was worried. “How’d it go?”

  “About as well as expected.” She let out a breath and collapsed back into the couch cushions. “He let me know how I had ruined the whole day, all the trouble and expense it was going to be to reschedule. How I’d humiliated him in front of the magazine photographer and all the clients he’d invited to the wedding. How upset his parents had been. He demanded to know where I was and when I’d be coming back.”

  One word stuck out to him, besides the fact that Elliot’s first words hadn’t been to ask how she was doing and apologize for being a dick. “Reschedule?”

  She let out a short bark. “Yeah. Reschedule, as in go forward with getting married.” She turned her head to look at him. “Can you believe that?”

  Zach thought about how self-centered Elliot had become. “Actually, I can.”

  “I think all the other stuff was just to make me feel guilty enough to do it. Especially the part about his parents…and mine.”

  That bastard had used her dead parents against her? “And what was your response?” It would kill Zach if she’d decided to go back to Elliot, but it was her decision.

  She grinned at him. “No, of course. Duh.”

  Zach forced a smile, relief easing his tense muscles. “Right.”

  “Did you really think I was that gullible?”

  “Well, Elliot can be persuasive when he wants to be.”

  “True.” She tossed the phone aside. “I still can’t help thinking that if I’d just spoken up sooner. Addressed some of the things I’d been feeling. I mean, the seating was just the last thing, you know? Not the first. I should have—”

  “Stage three,” Zach said, unable to hear her go on, trying to find a way to blame herself.

  “Stage three?”

  “Bargaining and guilt. ‘If only’ statements.”

  “I wasn’t…hmm.” She twisted a strand of her hair around her finger. “You might be right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” he said, grinning at her.

  “Sure. Research and data. Who needs a psych degree when you have the internet?”

  “I’ve probably saved you a boatload of money on therapy already. You’re welcome.”

  She smiled but then started to frown again. “The thing I can’t understand, though, is why Elliot invited so many clients to our wedding and why he was so set on impressing them. I mean, a wedding is about the bride and groom, their family and close friends, right?”

  “It should be,” Zach said, though he’d never really thought enough about weddings to consider the guest list. Something about the situation had his Spidey senses tingling, though.

  When Elliot and Zach first started their firm, days after their college graduation, Elliot had insisted that they throw a big launch party and invite anyone who might give them business, even though they barely had a dime left after renting office space and setting up shop. Elliot came from money, but his parents had refused to lend Elliot any more until he proved he could stick with something, so they were on their own. When Zach questioned the wisdom and expense of putting on such a high-class event when they were eating Ramen every night for dinner, Elliot had said that it was important to look successful in order to make successful people want to hire them.

  So Elliot had wheeled and dealed to make it happen, and they’d run up scary high credit card debt, but Elliot had been right. It had worked. It had been a Hail Mary that had paid off, launching a firm that became known for catering to only the most exclusive clients.

  Maybe Elliot just wanted to show off his success, but from what Jenna said, it seemed he was not just wanting to show off, but desperate to do so. Was his business in trouble? It had been in excellent shape when Elliot had maneuvered Zach out of the way. But what if things had gone downhill since then? Zach had been the logical half of the partnership, always watching the bottom line and making the decisions that guaranteed a prosperous future for the business. With Zach gone, who was making those decisions now?

  Possibilities began to flood Zach’s brain. If he was in trouble, could Zach get the business back? He had his own thing now, but that business was his baby. He’d been fully invested in making it work, stopping only to sleep a few hours each day until it was the success Elliot and Zach had always dreamed of. Which made Elliot’s betrayal about so much more than money. When he’d left, he hadn’t just left a job. He’d left part of himself there. And if he could get it back…at least get back what was owed to him in pride and blood, then yeah. He was going to do that.

  But he wasn’t sure that’s what was going on here. He needed to gather more data before he made assumptions. That meant keeping his ears open for any other clues Jenna might drop and getting his team to put out some feelers and see if there were any rumblings around town. He had a couple people he could call, too. Zach began to make a to-do list in his head.

  “I want to ask you something,” Jenna said hesitantly. “And feel free to say no.”

  Zach forced his attention away from strategy and back to Jenna.

  “That sound ominous.”

  “Not ominous, but…” She stopped. “Forget it.” She started to get up, but he reached for her hand before she could run away.

  “What is it?”

  She sat back down, and he dropped her hand. No touching. Damn, that was hard to remember.

  “Well, this morning was actually pretty great. I mean, boxing isn’t really my thing. Or sweat. But it was fun, you know? You were kind of right about the anti-honeymoon thing.”

  “Can you repeat that, please?” he teased. “The part about my being right.”

  She gave him the side-eye but kept going. “I want to do the rest of the list. And I thought maybe, if you were able to take the time off from work, maybe you might want to stay for a few days and do it with me?”

  When Zach didn’t answer right away, she kept talking.

  “I mean, I understand if you have to get back. Believe me, I get the whole workaholic thing. But we get along and have the same sense of humor, and you’re just…fun.”

  Fun. No one had ever called him fun before. Focused, sure, but not fun. But with Jenna, he’d laughed and teased and actually thought about something other than data points and pie charts for almost twenty-four hours. It was so, so tempting to just blow off work and hang out with Jenna instead, but now that he had a new project in mind, and the big meeting to prep for, he just couldn’t. For the first time in his life, he actually resented his work.

  “I want to,” Zach said, looking into Jenna’s hopeful face. “But I have to get back. I have a big—”

  “It’s fine,” she said, smiling a little too brightly. “Really. I figured that would be the case. I just wanted to check. I’ll be totally fine on my own.” She got up. “I’m just going to grab a shower, if you’re done in there.”

  Now Zach was the dick. Some friend. No wonder he wasn’t really close to anyone in his life. “Jenna, wait.”

  She paused. “Yeah?”

  “I can stay tonight and go first thing in the morning.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I don’t need a pity…friend.”

  “Pity friend?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  “There’s no pity here,” he said. “I want to stay.” He picked up the wrinkled itinerary from the s
ide table. “Towel animal folding? That’s what you had planned for tonight?”

  “It seemed cute.”

  “I’ll come up with something else. Something a little more anti.”

  She smiled. “If you’re sure…”

  “I am, as long as I can camp on your couch again.”

  “It’s yours,” she said and went into the bathroom with a new lightness to her step.

  Jesus, that was heady—someone so happy for his presence. Was there anyone else in his life like that? Marcy and the rest of his staff would probably be breaking out the booze when Zach told them he was going to be late coming in tomorrow.

  He took out his phone, still smiling, and dialed Marcy.

  “Mr. Ruiz. Heading to the airport?”

  “No, actually. I’m going to be staying another night. But I need you to get the team on a new research project right away. Integrated Data Systems.”

  “Mr. Hansen’s company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “I’m wondering about the financials. I have a feeling he might be in trouble.”

  “A feeling.”

  “New information.”

  “Information from Mr. Hansen’s fiancée?” Her tone wasn’t judgey, but the insinuation that he’d squeezed her for info was there.

  “Ex-fiancée. And yeah.”

  “I’ll get the team on it right away and send you whatever we find out. Anything else?”

  Zach looked down at his gift shop wardrobe. The groom shirt was soaked in sweat, so he’d gone with “under new management” to change into.

  “I don’t suppose you could teleport some clothing,” he said. “I’m in shorts and sandals and…I don’t even know what you call it.”

  “Resort wear,” she supplied helpfully. “A lot of people here would pay good money to see that.” She cleared her throat. “There is a small wardrobe selection on the plane,” she said. “In case of emergency.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes. Would you like me to arrange for someone to bring a bag by the hotel for you?”

  “That would be great,” he said, pretty sure he needed to give Marcy a raise when he got back to the office. “One other thing…have you ever heard of towel animals?”

  “On some cruise ships, the housekeeping staff folds the linens into animal shapes and leaves them on the guests’ beds. Some are quite intricate.”

  Who needed Siri when you had a Marcy? “Somebody has way too much time on their hands.” Zach walked over to Jenna’s bed. Sure enough, housekeeping had been in and made the bed while they were gone, and there was a pair of flamingos with necks intertwined to look like a heart standing in the flock of parrots on her bedspread. More rose petals were scattered around, too. Hearts and romantic animal pairs were not going to work for an anti-honeymoon activity.

  “Got any suggestions for something crafty two people can do together that don’t involve laundry and isn’t romantic?”

  “Mr. Ruiz, you are a charmer,” she said. “But I think I have the perfect thing for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “‘Picasso’s Pinot?’” Jenna asked when the Uber driver let them out in front of a rundown storefront in a strip mall a few miles from the resort. The sun had slipped just below the horizon, staining the sky with bright oranges and reds as it sank into the ocean.

  After showering away the kick boxing sweat, Jenna had enjoyed a day full of, well, nothing. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t had to be somewhere or pick up something or call someone for the wedding or for Elliot. And she certainly hadn’t realized how much stress she’d been under until she had actively tried to do nothing but sit. She’d even taken an afternoon nap. And it had been glorious. After that, she and Zach had enjoyed last night’s leftovers on the deck, watching the sea birds in silhouette diving into the water, looking for their dinners, too. All in all, a pretty awesome day.

  Zach checked his phone then looked up at the sign. “This is the place,” he said, putting the phone in his pocket. Someone had delivered some of Zach’s clothing that he said had been on his plane, so he wasn’t stuck in newlywed T-shirts and sweats from the gift shop anymore. Tonight he wore a light yellow polo shirt and khaki pants, paired with a pair of leather loafers. The pale yellow really set off his dark hair and eyes. Jenna kind of missed the T-shirts, though.

  Jenna had chosen one of the sundresses she’d packed, paired with a paper-thin white sweater and sandals, of course. That was sort of required in Florida.

  “Marcy says you drink wine and paint and that these places are popular with the ladies,” Zach said.

  “They have a Paint and Sip night at Sunrise,” Jenna said. “But they only give the seniors sugar-free grape juice.”

  “Sounds like a blast.”

  “Actually, it kind of is. How sad is that that my favorite night of the month is drinking grape juice and making bad art with a group of folks more than three times my age?”

  “Well, unless I am forced to attend a social function for work, my Saturday nights usually consist of sitting my desk, either at home or in my office, and reading reams of research data. If I feel really frisky, I might work in front of the TV while having a glass of ginger ale.”

  “Sports?”

  He shook his head. “Cooking shows.”

  “That is way sadder,” she said, teasing him. “Do you cook a lot?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I like to live vicariously.”

  “I get that. I love reruns of old woodworking shows, and I’ve never used a table saw in my life…and have no current plans to.”

  They approached the building, and in the window was a display of some of the art that they could presumably paint as they sipped. There were some beach landscapes, a sunset, palm trees, and a few on wood that said things like “Home Sweet Home” and “Blessed.”

  “I have to say, this seems a little…”

  “Romantic?” he asked, giving a fake shudder.

  “I was going to say girly, but yeah. Romantic works, too. Not as anti as I expected.”

  He grinned and held the door open for her. “We’re not doing flowers or beaches,” he said. “I’ve arranged for a private session.”

  “Please tell me we’re not painting Picasso’s Pinot.”

  “No. At least I hope not.”

  The room was crammed with women of mixed ages. They seemed to be working on a starfish, not a Pinot, Picasso’s or otherwise.

  Zach went to the counter and gave the lady their names, and they were taken to a smaller back room of the studio. She handed them aprons and introduced herself as Mrs. Reynolds. Against one plastic-draped wall, two giant canvases were propped up, plastic also spread out on the floor underneath. Plastic cups of paint and a variety of brushes were laid out on a nearby work table.

  “Ever hear of Jackson Pollack?” Zach asked.

  Things finally started to make sense. Instead of creating adorable pictures of sea life, they were going to wreck a couple of perfectly unsuspecting canvases by throwing paint, spattering, and otherwise making a mess. Hell, yeah.

  Jenna slipped the apron on over her head. “This is awesome. Definitely not romantic.”

  Mrs. Reynolds looked at them a little oddly but handed them goggles and some of those paper shoe covers workmen wear into an apartment so as not to ruin the carpet.

  As they got suited up, Mrs. Reynolds went over the few rules and talked a little about Jackson Pollack and how he was at the forefront of Abstract Expressionism and had developed his signature style of painting around 1947. Then she asked if they wanted her to stay.

  “No, we’re good,” Zach said. He looked hilarious in his goggles, and Jenna grabbed her phone from the pocket in her dress and snapped his picture before he could object.

  “That better not go on soc
ial media,” he said, pouring two glasses of wine. He handed Jenna one.

  “Never,” she said innocently. She sipped the wine, but really she was eager to get started making a mess.

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “I want purple,” she said. “Big brush.”

  “I think we need some mood music,” Zach said. He turned on an old boom box sitting on the table and tuned into a hard rock station.

  Jenna threw up the rock sign and chose a brush. She tilted her head, considering the canvas, then made a huge X across the whole thing, letting the paint from the loaded brush drip down the canvas. It looked kind of macabre. She liked it, so she added several more Xs in various sizes and colors.

  “Not bad,” Zach said.

  “You know, I’ve heard of women who get divorced and have a party where they shoot paintballs at their wedding gowns. I never got that before, but I kind of do now.”

  “Want me to see if I can get a wedding dress to pin up there?”

  “Not necessary. I’m imagining my gown right now,” she said, flinging paint from her brush over her creation, making satisfying splatters on the canvas. “And the Python.” She flung her brush harder. “And those horrible heels.” She tossed the whole paint brush. It slapped the canvas with a wet thwack then hit the ground.

  Zach pushed his goggles on top of his head. “Remind me not to make you wear uncomfortable clothes.”

  Jenna laughed, and it felt good, like really good, to just let everything fly. Zach might have been right about the anger bit. And while boxing wasn’t exactly her thing, at least not with fitness Barbie there drooling on Zach, she could seriously get into this.

  She looked over at Zach’s painting. So far, he had grid lines on his canvas in dark blue. They were perfectly even, of course, and he was proceeding with the precision of a surgeon.

  “I think you’re imitating Mondrian rather than Pollack,” Jenna said. “You know, the guy who made a whole career out of painting squares in primary colors.”

  “I think it shows potential,” he said. “And besides, yours isn’t very Pollack-like, either. Only a few flicks so far. And Mrs. Reynolds said Pollock used unstretched canvas, just lying on the floor.”