The Sure Thing

"I was thinking we could have bouquets of heart-shaped cookies on each table, and maybe some of those little Valentine's candies
…
you know, the ones with the messages?"  Becca nodded, and Katie continued.  "It'd be so cute if we had little bowls of those at each seat, right?"

Becca's fake smile was painful to maintain. 
To be honest
, it sounded horrible, but Katie was the client, and if she wanted teddy bears dressed in dominatrix leather for her wedding, Becca would make it happen.  If she didn't make her car payment by the end of the month, she was going to have to start parking behind the trees in the vacant lot next to her apartment complex
to keep the wolf off the door
.

"Jordan said not to go overboard on the Valentine's theme, but I can't help it
.
I
t's going to be so cute.  Don't you think?"

Katie was so unsure of herself it embarrassed Becca. She'd catered weddings for timid brides before, but Katie was truly a challenge.  Part of
her
wondered how
she
could have possibly made the decision to get married when she was
clearly
incapable of choosing a napkin ring.  But it wasn't her job to question Katie's motives
. H
er job was to make
crudités
, and
choose
place settings, and
find
perfectly marinated prime rib. 

“
So, has she blown through the budget already?”  Both women turned to see
Katie’s fiancé,
Jordan Caufield, emerge from the front hallway of the apartment. 

Jordan was older than Katie, around thirty, and richer than a teenage Arab. He seemed disinterested in the particulars of the wedding, although he became quite animated when discussing the wedding party.  He had four old fraternity buddies serving as groomsmen
who
were coming in for the weekend to be fitted for their tuxes. 
The happy couple had
asked Becca to come to the fitting because Katie wanted the table skirts to match the men's cummerbunds.  Becca didn't know which depressed her more
, t
he thought of spending the afternoon with four rich, snobby, ex-frat boys whose only goal for the weekend was to drink their weight in beer, or the thought of matching fuchsia pink cummerbunds to the elegant table dressings she planned for the reception.

Katie let out a nervous chuckle.  “Jordan, honestly.  We were just discussing table decorations.  It's all included in the price quote.  Right, Becca?”  She looked at Becca with anxious eyes. 

“
Absolutely,” Becca replied, eying Jordan with a steady gaze.  She hated the way he used money to intimidate Katie.  Becca knew that Katie came from somewhat humble beginnings, and it was obvious that Jordan's wealth daunted her. 

“
Well, that's good
. I
don't want to start my marriage without a pot to piss in,” Jordan
said flatly
. 

Becca resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  The man had enough money to furnish his house with solid gold piss pots.  But she only smiled and stood to leave. 

“I've got some errands to run, but I'll meet you guys at the
men’s store
at four
.
” She
was
glad to be free of the tension that always simmered when Jordan was around.  Poor Katie, Becca thought, then caught herself.  None of her business.  It was a good-paying gig. And God
knew
she needed the money.

One would think that being a wedding caterer in Las Vegas, Nevada would be a profitable endeavor, but one would be wrong. 
T
he competition was fierce
. Sin City
was, after all, the wedding capital of the world.  But even more problematic was the fact that most people who got married in Las Vegas
were not
looking for a formal, catered affair.  A quick ceremony performed by an Elvis impersonator, followed by a drunken night in a casino, or a Cirque Du Soleil show, was more often the norm.  But Becca loved her job, and if it meant cutting corners and living frugally, she was willing to make the sacrifice. 

By the time she got back to her apartment it was almost noon and she mentally ticked off her to-do list as she pulled a Diet Coke from the fridge.  There was a
GA
meeting she was hoping to make before
meeting Jordan and Katie
.  However, she still had several calls to make, and laundry to fold, and bills to fret over...the temptation to skip the meeting was great, but she knew she would go in the end. 

Becca moved to Las Vegas
when she was barely twenty years old.  She was halfway through college and in love with Kevin, the boy she'd been with since her junior year in high school
.
W
hen Kevin was offered a job as a management trainee at one of the swankiest hotels on the
s
trip
, s
he followed him and they soon shed their Asheville, North Carolina personas in favor of the high-partying lifestyle that Kevin's new job afforded them. 

But after two years of living fast and wild, Kevin moved on to a faster job and a wilder woman, leaving Becca devastated and virtually penniless.  Not wanting to move home and admit defeat, Becca began to use part of her meager earnings as a sous chef to go to the casinos at night.  She
thought
if she could just hit
one
big pot, her money problems would be over.  Eighteen months later, after losing thousands on slots and blackjack, the night
came
that Becca found herself alone in her boss's office, standing over her desk.  She knew that the evening's tips were in the top drawer waiting to be split and dispersed. 

Becca told herself if she took five hundred dollars,
just five hundred dollars
, she could triple it by the end of the night and return the money the next day.  No harm, no foul.  She had the cash in her hand when she heard the door from the kitchen slam shut.  Pam, her boss, was walking down the corridor to her office, her spiky heels clicking heavily in the cavernous hallway.  Becca's skin was cold and clammy with sweat and she stuffed the money back in the drawer, crossing her arms over her chest and cupping her hands in her armpits.  When Pam walked in, Becca told her she felt ill and had come back to the office to rest.  Pam gave her two ibuprofen and sent her home.  The next day Becca joined Gambler's Anonymous.

Three years later, Becca had her own catering business, her own car, and her own apartment.  She no longer went to GA meetings daily, but she tried to make one at least twice a week.  And even though she lived hand to mouth, she was happy and independent, and glad to be free of both Kevin and the monkey on her back.

But today she was feeling stressed
. S
he grabbed a Pop-Tart from the pantry and went through her bills, deciding which ones to pay, which ones to postpone, and which ones to “forget” to put stamps on.  She couldn't shrug off the dread she felt at the thought of going to the tux
fitting
.  Not only did she hate spending time with Jordan, but now she was going to have to meet and play nice with four other Jordans, probably just as irritating and pretentious as the original. 

Such was her mood as she entered Ascot Formal Wear a few minutes before four.  Jordan and Katie weren't there
yet
so Becca
strolled
through the store, eyeing the elegant tuxes and accessories that would look so much better than the screaming pink abominations Katie had selected.  So it was a Valentines wedding, big deal
. D
id it have to look like
Hello Kitty and Polly Pocket were exchanging vows
?

“Excuse me, can you tell me where your restrooms are?” 

Becca turned and saw a man with a mop of dark blond curls looking at her expectantly.  What, did she look like an employee? 
 

“I...I don't
…
”  she started, and a look of understanding and embarrassment crossed his face before she could even finish her sentence.

“Oh...oh, no, sorry.  I don't know why I thought...never mind.”

“It's okay.  The restrooms are through those double-doors.”  He smiled and gave her a little wave, then turned in the direction she pointed. 

Cute smile, she thought.  Nice ass.

“Hey, Becca!”  She turned and saw Katie looking excited and a little nervous.  Behind her was Jordan and two other guys, laughing and picking up suspenders, shooting them at each other like slingshots. 

“Hi guys.”  Becca gave a weak smile and prayed this would end before five o'clock
. S
he wanted to get to the organic market before it closed at six.

“Becca Ellison, this is Cliff Harrison and Randy Scott.”  Katie made the introductions and Becca wondered if the other two weren't coming.  “It turns out that Steve can't make it, he had some emergency at work.  But he can get fitted and send the measurements to the shop, right?”

“Sure.  I mean, I guess so.  Where's the other one?”

“The other what?”  Katie looked confused.

“The other groomsman.  Didn't you say there were four?

“Oh, yes.  Nicholas.  He's going to meet us here, he's coming straight from the airport.”

“Okay, well, let's find the tailor and get this show on the road.”  Becca worried that she might sound impatient, but decided that she really didn't care.  She had better things to do.

“Don't you think we should wait for Nick?” Jordan asked.

“Hey, I was here before any of you guys.” 

Becca turned to see Nice Ass approaching the group, his smile wide and infectious. 

“Nick!” The chorus of greetings carried across the store, and Nick was immediately accosted by masculine hugs and overzealous back slaps.  He stopped and gave Katie's shoulder a warm squeeze, and then they both turned to
her
. 

“Nick, this is Becca Ellison, the wedding caterer.  Becca, Nick Brady.” 

“We...kinda met,” she said, shaking his hand as he gave her a sheepish grin.  He held her gaze and she noticed his eyes were an intense green with a ring of brown around the edge.  They were really nice eyes.

Becca turned her attention to the wider group.  “Why don't you guys visit for a minute
,
I'll find the tailor, and then we'll get started.”  As the fittings began, Becca tried, and failed, to avert her eyes when the tailor got to Nick, drawing his tape measure around his trim hips, then up over his respectably wide shoulders.  He wasn't overly tall
,
probably an inch shy of six feet
,
but he had a sturdy, wide chest and flat abs.  Yum.

Once the fittings were complete, Becca made a quick exit, still intent on getting to the market.  Flopping in the
front seat
, she jammed the keys in the ignition, glanced quickly at her phone for messages, and
backed
out
of her spot
.  But when she looked into her rear-view mirror, she saw a male figure approaching her car with a swift, determined gait.

Nick
.

CHAPTER TWO

Nick sat back on Becca's couch, taking the glass of red wine she offered.  She gave him a wide, warm smile.  God, it was a beautiful smile.  It made him want to do something worthy of such happiness, like tell her she'd won the lottery, or ask her to the senior prom.

“Sorry, I don't have anything to offer you to eat.  I haven't been to the grocery store this week.”