Page 61 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

The lobby has live music. I drink two margaritas, take my hair down, kick off my shoes, and start dancing to “Jolene” in the middle of the floor while Chase films me and tries to keep his eyes and his hands off of me.

Obviously, he’s doomed to fail.

He joins me halfway through the song. His shirt is effortlessly unbuttoned, his shorts hug him in all of the right places, and he moves like Jagger—no, seriously—my man can dance.

No shame. Just sweat and smiles and one old man on a banjo clapping like we’re restoring his will to live.

We collapse onto a velvet settee, breathless, and drunk on each other and local moonshine.

I kiss his neck. He whispers, “Let’s never go home.”

I say, “Let’s never get boring.”

And then, my phone rings. Glancing at the screen, I see her name and pause.

It’s Mari Lynn.

“Hey.” I answer. “Chase and I took a little honeymoo?—"

“Roxy, check your email. Now.” She cuts me off.

Uh, what? What the hell? Why does she sound like that?

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Just check your email. One of our clients is viral. And not in a good way. Your name’s all over it.”

My stomach drops.

Just like that, the real world catches up.

CHASE

* * *

Roxy’s just got a call from Mari Lynn and something spooked her.

What the hell just happened? Mari Lynn called and now Roxy is as white as a sheet and looks like she might throw up.

One minute ago, we were drunk-dancing and kissing. Then, the phone rang, she got tense, she opened something on her phone, and now, she’s staring at something on the screen like it just bitch-slapped her.

“Rox, what’s going on, baby? What just happened? Talk to me,” I say, gently.

She blinks, swallows, and hands me the phone.

A video is on the screen. I can see the caption, “Bride from Hell- Flaming Wedding Fiasco.”

I play the clip.

A hysterical bride screaming and yanking her veil off her head fills the screen. She destroys her elegant hair. She shoves a server in a black catering outfit holding a tray of champagne. The server slips and the champagne goes all over the photographer. He drops his camera, and it shatters. Pieces of it fly off. The caterer runs into the scene crying and cussing out the bride for assaulting her employee. The bride lunges at the caterer and starts beating on her head with her bouquet. The groom grabs the bride around the waist and lifts her, and she starts fighting him and kicking anyone who comes near her. She yells “And she called herself a fucking professional. She ruined my wedding!”

Roxy’s name is in the caption, her social page is tagged… so is Mari Lynn and Roxy’s business page.

She stands too fast and runs from the lobby and up the stairs. I follow her.

Once in the room, she grabs her bag and throws stuff into it before she starts pacing like she’s trying to outrun something clawing up her spine. “I knew she would do this shit. That bitch was psychotic! You think I’m crazy… I’m a freaking saint next to her! I should’ve shut everything down. I should’ve cleared the site. I should’ve?—”

I stop her. “You’re not doing this.” I say, taking her into my arms.

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