The Wedding Contract(2)

I deflate as I see the livid look on Beverly’s face. She told me that she’d be sending a check today, but she’s in Nick’s studio instead. I don’t get it, and from the look on her face, she doesn’t plan to elaborate. “What did you say about my daughter? Or was your crass comment directed at me, Miss Thompson?”

What the fuckery? Seriously, I never blow off steam! I never tell anyone that they suck and the one time I do, it bites me on the ass. My lips tug into a nervous smile and I have that weird feeling where I don’t know what to do with my hands. I grab my pointer finger and try to patch things up, like I didn’t just eat my foot. No, I swallowed my whole damn leg and half my ass. There’s no way to make this right. “Mrs. Getty, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You didn’t imply anything, dear. And if you must know, we found Nick to be much more easygoing. A wedding is stressful enough and I didn’t want anything else to make my Tiffany anxious. I see I chose well and I’ll make sure that everyone knows how you really behave.”

Nick glances between us before putting a hand on Beverly’s shoulder. “Sky wouldn’t have ruined your daughter’s wedding. She’s a very capable photographer. The truth is, she only gets twitchy like this when she forgets her meds. It could happen to anyone.” Beverly Getty gives me a second look, like she can now see my obvious mental defect.

“Go back and grab a chai tea from the Keurig. I’ll get those new albums I mentioned.” He looks up at me and grins. “On your way, Sky. Or would you prefer I call Amy to fetch you?” He says it so sweetly, as if he’s helping me.

Not meaning to, I clutch my hands tightly and growl before I turn on my heel and storm out. As the door closes behind me, I hear Nick saying to the Gettys, “Don’t worry, she’s not dangerous.”





CHAPTER 2





Amy is standing in the doorway when I get back. My eyes are stinging and I want to cry. I go straight into the back and she trails behind me like a faithful puppy. “Sky, what happened? It can’t be that bad!”

“I called Tiffany Getty a slut and suggested that the only reason they signed with Nick was to touch his naked chest!” I’m sniffling hard, trying not to cry—not before I find the tissue box. I head over to the prop shelves and start digging around. A crate of plastic apples topples off the shelf, onto the floor, spilling apples in every direction.

“Well, that’s not that bad.” She has a quizzical tone to her voice that tells me she doesn’t understand.

“The Gettys were there! All three of them walked out from the back of his shop. Her dad looked like he wanted to slit my throat and toss me into the canal.”

Amy averts her eyes. “Oh, well, yeah. That’s kinda bad.”

I find the little tissue box and sink to the floor. “That’s not the worst part. Nick told them that I’m usually fine—that I only get like this when I forget my meds. So I went from being a bitch to being crazy!” Holding the tissue over my face, I take a deep breath. I need to calm down, but I can’t.

“Oh, honey. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.” She kneels next to me and rubs my shoulder.

“How can you say that? He’s ruined me. My business is falling apart because of him. The guy is a parasite and you’re telling me that it’s all okay?” I’m not usually like this. I don’t fall to pieces over little things, but it’s so far past little that I can’t take it anymore. I went from having a thriving shop to sneak-sleeping in the store. I have no apartment, no money, and thanks to Nick, I lost the Getty wedding.

“Of course it’s okay. Everyone knew you were crazy already.” She smiles and leans in, giving me a hug.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Seriously, Sky. Cut yourself some slack. You won’t close with every client. Some of them will choose someone else. You can’t beat yourself up when one gets away.” She only says that because she doesn’t know how bad it is. I’ve been hiding it from her. Amy has enough stuff to worry about, I haven’t wanted to add more to her pile.

But it’s going to become very obvious, very soon. I clutch my face and don’t look up. My gaze is fixated on the floor. “Go look at the calendar. My close-rate got cut in half after the ass-hat moved in. Clients walk out of here with my packet in hand, and I swear to God that he looks it over, offers them the same coverage for less money, and then gives them an extra album. I don’t even have a chance.”

Amy continues to encourage me. “Sky, you’re better than him. You’re the one who comes up with the newest ideas.”