Miss Match (4 page)

"So." Brandon folds his hands together on his desk in the typical
bosslike gesture. "You're here about the secretarial job."

Secretarial job? No, I heard you needed a plumber, Mr. Knox!

"Yes." She also weaves her fingers together on her lap.

"Do you have your resume with you?"

Nah. Who brings a resume to a job interview?

"Yes, right here." Hannah pulls a crisp sheet of paper from her purse.
How does she manage this? Her purse is half the size of the paper, yet the
paper isn't folded!

Whoa. We're dealing with a pro here.

Brandon peruses it, the familiar wrinkle between his eyebrows
appearing. Hannah and I smile stiffly at each other in silence.

Finally, I break it. "So you just moved here?

"Yes." This is it. No explanation, nothing!

"From where?"

"Los Angeles." Then she does this flip thing with her head that says
clearly, I do not want to talk to you of all people right now.

I watch the way the light bounces off her hair and know she is absolutely the wrong person for this job.

Of course, Brandon is reading and misses the whole of it. By the
time he looks up, she is Miss-Heaven-Help-Me, I'm-Too-Sweet.

"Looks good, Miss Curtis." He sets the paper on his desk.

She waves one manicured hand. "Oh, please, call me Hannah."

"Fine. Hannah, you seem very qualified for the job. We can offer you
eight dollars an hour."

She half-tosses her hair again, only this time instead of looking snooty
she gives off an innocent and sugary air. "Sounds fine, Brandon."

"Great! I'm glad. Laurie here can fill you in on all the particulars. Answering the phone and the like."

I manage a brief smile. "Sure can."

"Okay!" She is annoyingly perky. "When do I start?"

He shrugs. "How about tomorrow?"

"Good! I'll be here!" Okay, bubbly enthusiasm is starting to grate on
my nerves.

"Nine o'clock. It was nice meeting you, Hannah."

She sends him a saccharine smile. "Same here. Bye now."

Brandon and Hannah stand. I follow suit. "I'll walk you out." I will
like nothing better than locking the door after her.

"No, Laurie. Stay here."

There's the collie thing again.

"I'll walk Hannah out," he says.

I wait until his office door is closed before flouncing in my chair.
I need chocolate. And fast. Preferably loaded with caffeine. Whoever
invented chocolate-covered coffee beans is a genius deserving of praise.

The door opens and Brandon is back.

"Don't get up."

Aha. Here is the Brandon I know. "Yes, Brandon? Did you need to
speak with me about something?"

"What is going on?" He leans on his desk in front of me.

I try tossing my hair like Pantene Pro -V Barbie, but I guess you have
to be blonde to pull that off. "I beg your pardon?"

"You don't like Hannah."

"You are so observant."

"Why not?" He spreads out his hands in confusion.

"She's rude, she's conceited, she's immature, she talks like a Barbie
doll." I tick the points off on my fingers. "Shall I continue?"

Brandon pushes himself on top of his desk. "You're jealous."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." He crosses his arms. I can still smell the orangey
perfume.

"Why would I be jealous of her?"

"Oh, I don't know. She's beautiful. She's intelligent. She's pretty."

"You've mentioned her looks already, thank you."

His mouth curves in a patronizing smile. I hate it when he smiles like
this. It makes me feel like I'm four years old.

"Come on, Laurie. Be nice to her, okay? You will have to work
together."

"Thanks to you."

"That ad has been in the newspaper for the past three weeks. I'm getting to the point where I'm willing to hire any bimbo who can type."

I stand. "Looks to me like you just did."

"Laurie-"

"Good night, Brandon."

"Don't be like this, Laur." He sounds sincere, but I don't feel like
talking with him about this.

I take great pleasure slamming the door in his face.

If I wasn't already sure, I am now. I'm never getting married.
Especially if men want brainless Victoria's Secret models for wives.

Well, it suits me. It will just be me and my Hershey bars from this
day forward, 'til death do us part.

Dad is waiting for me when I get home. "Are you all right, Honey?" He
closes the garage door.

"Fine, why?" A package of candy bars is safely ensconced in my coat
pocket. Dad doesn't like me pigging out on chocolate. He'll worry about
my love life, or lack thereof, and then worry about my upcoming marriage, or lack thereof.

"Brandon has called four times to see if you've gotten home okay."
Dad shows me the phone in case I don't believe him.

"I'm sure he has." I sweep past Dad. "I don't want to talk to him right
now. I just want to go to my room and forget everything related to work
for a few minutes, and Brandon Knox is definitely related to work."

The phone rings.

Dad reads the number on the caller ID and looks at me.

I smile haughtily. "Tell him I've decided to take up squid fishing in
Borneo, please."

Dad closes his eyes. "That's not very polite, Laurie."

"Politeness has ceased to be a virtue. I'm going to my room."

I hear Dad exhale and answer the phone as I climb the stairs.
"Hello, Brandon."

The great thing about my room is that I designed it myself. The walls
are cream colored, and I have a bunch of fun lamps everywhere instead
of an overhead light. There's a bed, a desk, a photograph wall, and, best
of all, a perfectly squishy recliner situated very snugly by a TV. It makes
for a primo spot for a pity party.

"Ah." I settle into the chair. Out comes the chocolate, in goes Sandra
Bullock and Bill Pullman.

Life is good.

I have finished three Butterfingers and a Milky Way and I'm halfway
through a bag of M&Ms before the predictable knock comes.

I know who it is. Dad. Concerned about his daughter. Worried she's
contracted a horrible mental illness salved only by excessive chocolate
and romance.

Good old Dad.

"Come in!"

Brandon walks into Forbidden Territory. Sandra Bullock and I react
at the same time. She gapes, I frown.

Brandon takes in the candy wrappers and the chocolate left to be
devoured.

"You're turning into a psycho." He's changed from his work clothes
into loose-fitting jeans and a USA T-shirt.

I pop another handful of M&Ms in my mouth. "That's okay, all the
great photographers were said to be crazy. Leave me alone."

He doesn't listen. What else is new?

"Whatcha watching?"

"While You Were Sleeping."

"Mm." He sits beside the chair and picks up one of the Milky Way
wrappers. "Got a second?"

I pause the movie, making sure he hears my annoyed breath.

"Is this about Lexi?"

"Lexi?" What does my sister have to do with this?

"Yeah. Her getting married and all. Leaving you with your dad.
Does it make you want to get married?"

I stare at him. "Brandon, you're the psycho."

"So why are you up here all by yourself watching a romantic comedy
and scarfing down candy bars?"

Come to think of it, why am I so depressed? This is the thing about
chocolate. Once you've eaten so much, you forget what the problems are
in the first place.

I try to shrug my way out of it. Brandon just looks at me.

"I don't know."

"Is it because of Hannah?"

"No." And it isn't. Who cares about stuffy Hula Barbie anyway? Just
because I'll have to work with her for the rest of my life ... "I'm ready for
a change. Laney's married, Lex is married, Dad's ... still Dad."

Brandon covers a grin with his fist.

"I'm ready for something to happen to me." I finger an M&M. My
life is so predictable now. I hate predictability. The last time I felt spontaneous, I was introducing Nate and Lexi.

Brandon keeps pressing. "Like ... ?"

"Something different. Something unusual. Something. . ."

"Barbie-like?"

I give him the glare. Full wattage.

He laughs so hard he falls over. "Oh, Laurie," he says, wiping tears
from his eyes, "you crack me up."

"Yeah? Well, you need someone to crack open your head and make
sure your brain is still in there."

"Hey, you're the one turning into a schizophrenic on me."

This is what Brandon and I have done for years: Trade insults.

"Yeah, but a cute schizophrenic."

"A chocoholic schizophrenic." He throws the wrapper at me and
stands. "I should go. Got work in the morning."

"Ugh."

He sticks a finger in my face. "You'd better be there too, or it's your
head on a silver platter."

I groan. "Do I really have to train Barbie?"

"Yes.

"You hired her. Why can't you train her?"

He smiles at me sardonically. "I don't have the time."

I shove another handful of M&Ms in my mouth. "Bad excuse."

He pats the top of my head. It's the collie thing again.

"Sleep well, Nutsy."

"You too."

The morning comes much too soon. I fall out of bed and half-consider
wearing a skirt. Just for a millisecond. Ditching the idea, I reach for
another pair of jeans. I am Lauren Holbrook, and I will set my own fashion statement, not follow Aloha Barbie's.

Here is what I like to do: Sing in the car and watch the other drivers'
expressions.

I get a very good expression from a guy in a forest green Honda.
It makes me wish I had my camera. This is the problem with being a
photographer. You make money taking pictures you don't want to take
and when you find one you want to take, you don't have a camera. It is
one of nature's laws. I call it Holbrook's Law.

I get to the studio a good fifteen seconds early, much to Ruby's
chagrin. The only joy she finds in her day is ragging on people who
are late.

Career Barbie shows up at nine o'clock, one minute, and eleven
seconds.

Ruby is so pleased she almost swallows her tongue.

"Here at The Brandon Knox Photography Studio, we strive for excellence in everything. Which means we show up on time for work. You are
seventy-one seconds late."

Hannah's wide blue eyes widen a fraction more, but only for a
moment. "Of course. I apologize. I will be on time tomorrow."

Rats. She handles it like she does this weekly.

"Good morning, Laura." My nose informs me she felt flowery today.
My left eyelid is shaking from the sheer force of scent around her.

"Actually, it's Laurie." I smile close-lipped. "Ready to start
training?"

"Yes. Let me find a place for my purse."

"Right here in the cubbyholes behind the desk. I already marked
you a spot.

It took every ounce of self-control to mark it "Hannah" and not
"Disco Barbie."

Actually, make it Malibu Barbie. She is again wearing a short
skirt-it's still January-with a flower pattern on it, a sleeveless tank
top, a see-through sweater, and heels adding four inches to her height.

When I got out of the car this morning, the temperature gauge
on my dashboard read thirty-one degrees. The weatherman last night
warned about snow and ice for today.

And I'm working with a brochure for summer in Hawaii.

Hannah stashes her purse, and I show her the phone. "Three lines.
More than we will ever need or desire. This is the hold button. This is
the speaker button. Sometimes Brandon wants to use the speaker rather
than the handset."

"Okay."

"We answer it like so." I pick up the handset. The dial tone buzzes
in my ear. "Hello, The Brandon Knox Photography Studio." I replace the
handset. "Ta-da!"

Hannah doesn't break a smile. "Okay."

"Brandon, Ty, Newton, Ruby, and I will give you our schedules at
the beginning of the week of the days we can and can't be here, and you
fill in the calendar with appointments based on those."

"Okay."

I spread out my hands. "And that's about it."

"Okay."

"Oh! There's paychecks. I'll show you those later." I'm praying it's
much later. Now my right eyelid has joined in the trembling. Hannah
needs to learn the art of moderation when it comes to perfume.

"Okay."

I blink repeatedly, rubbing my eyes. "Got questions?"

"Where's Brandon?"

"He may not be in this morning. Who knows? I'll let you get accustomed to the desk. Besides, there's the Creightons pulling up now, and
I've got them."

Bless the Creightons.

Brandon saunters in at ten thirty just as I wave good-bye to the
Creightons. "You're late." My voice hisses.

"Wanted to avoid the bloodshed," he whispers back. Then, "Good
morning, Hannah! How are you doing today?"

Beach Girl Barbie can manage a smile for Mr. Knox. "Just fine,
Brandon," she coos. "How are you?"