CHAPTER ELEVEN | SIENNA
There I was, stranded in the Little White Wedding Chapel parking lot, disgustingly hungover, legally married to a stranger, and on the brink of losing my job.
Oh, and I had no panties.
I hadn’t just hit rock bottom… I had hit it, then kept digging. As far as I was concerned, there was only one solution.
An hour later, I schlepped up the terracotta stairs towards my apartment with an ice-cold strawberry milkshake in one hand and a grease-soaked In-N-Out Burger bag in the other. The tantalizing aroma of an animal-style double-double cheeseburger and side order of fries wafted around me, masking the smell of whiskey and sex that oozed from my pores.
I was counting on two things: one, that I had ordered enough fast food to put myself into a coma, and two, that I would have the apartment to myself. I vaguely remembered my roommate, Kendra, mentioning something about a hot date tonight, and I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to come up with an explanation for my disheveled appearance.
My relief was dashed when I pushed open the apartment door and saw Kendra standing behind the kitchen counter.
“What the—”
Kendra was clearly in pre-date mode. She was dressed in nothing but skimpy lace lingerie, her face was spackled with a bright blue face masque, her hair was in rollers, and she had a mixing bowl under one arm. Somehow, it was that last part that shocked me the most.
“Sienna” she screeched when she saw me. She lurched across the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel, then hastily used it as a makeshift loincloth to cover up all of the bits that her crotchless lace panties did not. In the process, the mixing bowl slipped out from the crook of her arm and collided with the kitchen countertop, making an ominous CRACK.
“I wasn’t expecting you home!” she said hastily, tucking the towel into the waistband of her panties then propping her hands on her hips in a nonchalant pose.
“Ditto,” I sighed wearily. I dropped the paper In-N-Out bag on the kitchen table, then slumped down into one of the chairs. “I thought you had a date with What’s-His-Face tonight?”
What’s-His-Face could have referred to any one of the dozen or so men that Kendra kept on rotation at all times. She was a professional girlfriend—and before you got the wrong idea, I didn’t mean the sleazy, rent-by-the-hour, backpage escort kind of professional.
Rather, Kendra was one of those women who had mastered the hobby of seducing very wealthy men. Her Victoria’s Secret supermodel good looks made her the perfect arm candy for black tie galas and yacht parties in the Maldives, and her sharp wit and college education made her a hot commodity for fundraiser dinners and company Christmas parties.
Whatever the occasion, Kendra made the perfect date… and in return for her company, she was constantly showered with gifts. Expensive gifts. Luxury vacations, a closet full of designer handbags, expensive jewelry— the Mikimoto black pearl necklace she wore now was just one such example. The bubblegum pink Vespa currently lodged in the backseat of my Jeep was another example.
Although Kendra wasn’t one to turn down a gift, she made it clear that there was a very definite distinction between having a rolodex full of boyfriends that lived to spoil her rotten and being an escort. And trust me, that wasn’t a debate you wanted to find yourself in. I should know; I made that mistake once when we first met.
I had only been in Vegas for a few months, and I was renting a bedroom from a woman I had found on CraigsList. It was a temporary situation, and I knew I would need to find my own place eventually. So, when I saw the flyer soliciting a roommate at the local gym, I decided to take a chance. Kendra and I hit it off right away, and a month later I was moving my stuff into the spare bedroom in her apartment.
Of course, as a trained investigative agent, I could tell right away that there were some inconsistencies with Kendra’s story. Mainly, why was a woman with a $5,000 handbag living in a modest apartment on the edge of Sin City, and why was she looking for a roommate?!
Deductive reasoning told me that she was either in debt up to her eyeballs, or she had a sugar daddy. When she eventually admitted to the latter, I asked her why she didn’t let one of her rich boyfriends put her up in a penthouse suite over the Vegas Strip. That really set her off.
She went on a fifteen-minute rant about how she was an independent woman who could take care of herself. Expensive bags and jewelry were one thing… but rent? No way. She was way too proud to ever let a man pay her bills.
And true to her word, Kendra always made it a point to take care of herself. Every day she woke up at the crack of dawn and drove the 2006 BMW Z4—that she bought herself, in cash, thank you very much—to the offices of Burke & Reagan Plastic Surgery where she worked as a receptionist and administrative assistant. She didn’t make much, but she made enough to cover her half of the bills every month, and she was damn proud of that.
“Men come and go,” Kendra had told me once. “You can’t count on anyone but yourself.”
Even though we came from completely different lifestyles, that was definitely a sentiment I could agree with.
Without thinking, I ran my thumb over the smooth band on my ring finger. Ace’s face immediately flashed through my head, and I remembered the obnoxious way that he had ripped out of the wedding chapel parking lot on his bike.
You can’t count on anyone but yourself.
“I do have a date tonight,” Kendra said proudly, snapping me back to the present. “With Phil.”
“Ahh that’s right. Phil.” I nodded, pretending that I remembered Phil from the pile of other men that Kendra regularly dated then discarded.
“Come on, Sienna!” Kendra’s shoulders slumped downward and she cocked her head at me. “You remember Phil! He’s the one that got us those VIP tickets to see Britney Spears at Planet Hollywood!”
“I thought that was the app developer from Silicon Valley?”
“No,” Kendra rolled her eyes. “That was Peter. Phil is the gastroenterologist.”
“Sorry,” I shrugged, “I get my P-names mixed up sometimes.”
I dug into the paper bag and retrieved the soggy, grease-soaked carton of french fries.
“Phil is different, Sienna,” Kendra said. She suddenly looked self-conscious as she crossed her arms over her practically bare chest and sunk her hip against the kitchen counter.
“Different how?” I asked as I shoveled a fistful of fries into my mouth. The grease immediately dissolved on my tongue and hit my bloodstream, flooding my body with pure euphoria.
“He just is,” Kendra stammered. “I think I really like him.”
I froze, second fistful of french fries poised in front of my open mouth. I had never heard Kendra say those words before. Of course she had liked plenty of men. Hell, she loved men! But she had never made that kind of distinction before; had never made the determination that one of them was different.
“What do you mean?” I asked, dropping the fries back into the carton and crossing my legs. I was vaguely aware that my own private parts were on display underneath Ace’s t-shirt, but Kendra didn’t seem to notice. She was so lost in la-la land that her eyes might as well have been shaped like a pair of beating hearts.
“I don’t know,” Kendra shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to settle down? To see what it’s like just dating one guy for a while?”
“You mean a relationship?” I choked on the mouthful of fries that I was trying to swallow, and I had to hammer my fist against my chest several times to beat away the coughing fit that climbed up my throat.
“Are you okay?” Kendra asked, rushing to my side. “Here, drink something!” She handed me the strawberry shake, and I took a giant gulp then sunk back into my chair.
“I’m just… shocked,” I wheezed once I had finally caught my breath. “I didn’t think you were the relationship type. I mean… didn’t you once liken monogamy to an autoimmune disease?!”
“That sounds like something I would say,” Kendra chuckled and nodded. Then she snuck a fry from my carton and held it between her lips, nibbling thoughtfully. “But… I think I had it wrong. Maybe being cynical and bitter is the autoimmune disease and love is the cure?”
“Wow,” I grunted, rolling my eyes as I took another gulp from my milkshake. “What Hallmark card did you steal that line out of?”
“I know that must sound so cheesy and cliche, but I can’t help it!” Kendra sighed wistfully. “That’s just how I feel! Oh, Sienna… I’m so happy!”
There were plenty of things that I wanted to say to that. This is a mistake! You’ll regret it! Men can’t be trusted! Happiness comes from within, not from others! What happened to being a strong, independent woman?! But I bit my lips together.
“I’m glad you’re happy, Kendra,” I said instead.
“Really?!” she sounded relieved.
“Of course,” I nodded. I dug my fingers into another fistful of french fries and mopped up the excess grease in the carton before jamming them into my mouth before I could say anything else.
“I thought you’d tell me that I was nuts,” Kendra gushed as a genuine smile spread across her face. “Maybe I am nuts! Look at me: I’m actually nervous for our date tonight. I never get nervous, but I’ve been bouncing off the walls all morning!”
“Is that what this is all about?” I asked, glancing at the carnage that was spread across the kitchen; discarded egg shells, scattered chocolate chips, and a thin dusting of flour that seemed to cover every surface.
“Oh,” Kendra bit down on her bottom lip bashfully. “I’m uh… baking.”
“Baking?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Phil loves chocolate chip cookies,” she blushed.
“So, you’re… baking this man chocolate chip cookies?”
“I thought I’d surprise him. Is that crazy?” Kendra asked. Then she buried her face in her palms and groaned. “It’s totally crazy, isn’t it?! I’m new to this, Sienna. You know the last time I baked something for a man, it was a PopTart!”
“So you’ve always been a romantic, then?” I teased.
Kendra peaked out at me from between her fingers just long enough to glare.
“I’m kidding,” I told her. “I don’t think you’re being crazy. Actually, I think it’s very… sweet.”
“Really?” Kendra slowly lowered her hands and glanced up at me. I immediately felt like I was in seventh grade again, convincing my best friend to muster up the courage to talk to her crush. Even though I thought Kendra was making a mistake, I couldn’t help but find it all endearing. I had never seen this side of her before, and there really was something sweet about it.
A part of me— a very small part— even wished that I was capable of feeling the way Kendra did.
“Really,” I told her. Then I smirked and added, “I hope Phil doesn’t mind glass chunks in his chocolate chip cookies.” I nodded at the mixing bowl that she had dropped earlier.
“Shit!” Kendra groaned. She jumped up from the table and leapt towards the mixing bowl. A long crack had formed in the glass, but the bowl was still intact— and the cookie dough looked unscathed. Her shoulders sank as she breathed a sigh of relief, then she glanced back at me.
“Who knew that being a domestic goddess was so much work?!”
“Next time, stick to slice-and-bake,” I winked back.
Kendra’s eyes rested on me, and suddenly it was like she was seeing me for the first time. Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, and she scanned me up and down.
“You look like shit,” she said finally.
“Thank you,” I said dryly, treating myself to another slurp of milkshake.
I knew she was right. I had caught a glimpse of my reflection earlier, when I went to pick up my Jeep from the Red Rock Tavern parking lot.
Leaving my car parked overnight on High Rollers’ territory had been a risky move, and I half expected to find the car torched, broken into, or otherwise compromised. Much to my surprise, the vehicle was still intact and right where I had left it— no slashed tires or key marks on the doors. My own appearance, however, was much less intact.
I barely recognized the face reflected back in the car window. My eyes were puffy and circled with fuzzy swirls of last night’s smeared mascara. My hair looked like a suitable habitat for a family of birds, and my lips were swollen and slightly bruised. Throw in the oversized biker t-shirt that I wore like a dress, and I looked like I had stumbled straight out of an anti-meth PSA commercial.
I was horrified by my reflection. I could only imagine what Kendra was thinking.
But Kendra didn’t ask about the smeared makeup or the bird’s nest hair or the oversized t-shirt. Instead, her eyes darted straight to the ring on my finger.
“New ring?” she raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you wear that before.”
“It’s not mine,” I said hastily, folding my hands together to hide the band.
“Really?” she still sounded skeptical. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your phone call this morning, would it?”
“What phone call?”
“You called me this morning,” Kendra reminded me. “You wanted to know which finger a wedding ring was supposed to be worn on.”
“Oh, right...” I wrinkled my brows together in a frown and felt my head throb involuntarily. I had forgotten all about calling Kendra that morning from the hotel room. Even though it had only been a few hours earlier, it already felt like ages ago.
“So what’s the story behind this wedding ring?” Kendra asked, folding her arms and flashing me a sneaky grin.
“Nothing,” I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was part of a disguise I was wearing, that’s all.”
“A disguise?” Kendra looked unconvinced. “I thought you were playing dumb, blonde Vespa owner yesterday?”
“I was. The ring was for… something else. I must have just forgotten to take it off.”
I wrapped my fingertips around the ring, but my hands were swollen and the band didn’t want to budge. I tried harder, wriggling and twisting, until I finally managed to squeeze it over my knuckle and pry it off.
“There,” I said, dropping the ring on the table. Then I pushed myself up and announced, “I’m gonna take a shower.”
Kendra still looked skeptical, but she didn’t say anything as I drifted towards my bedroom. I avoided my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I stripped off the biker’s t-shirt and dropped it on the floor, then climbed into the shower. The hot steamy water felt even more euphoric than the french fries, and I stood under the stream of water until my skin was red and my fingertips looked like raisins.
By the time I got out of the shower and peeled on my pajamas, Kendra was gone. The apartment was empty, besides the vague aroma of burnt chocolate chip cookies and Chanel No. 5 perfume.
Kendra had left a plate of cookies on the kitchen counter. Really, it looked like a pile of rejects: crumbled and broken off fragments of cookie, some burnt beyond recognition. I popped a chunk into my mouth and immediately regretted it. Something had gone terribly wrong. I washed down the taste with a swig of milkshake, then I collapsed on the couch and pulled out my laptop.
Hangover or not, I had a lot of work to do. And at the top of my to-do list was the assignment I dreaded the most: my report on the High Rollers.
My boss had been expecting the report first thing this morning, but that obviously hadn’t happened. I knew I was testing his patience, and I couldn’t afford to procrastinate any longer.
Most of the report was straight forward; typing up the who, what, where, when, and how. I mindlessly worked my way through the form, writing in the details of yesterday’s undercover investigation. It wasn’t until I got to the last field of the form— a box marked Findings— that I hesitated.
I imagined typing up the truth. After failing my undercover investigation, I returned to a local bar and encountered a member of the High Rollers. He offered me a drink, and I proceeded to get absolutely shit-faced. Then I agreed to marry him.
Obviously that wasn’t going to work.
I pressed my face down in my palms and wracked my brain, trying to find an explanation or a way out. But there wasn’t one. I was stuck, and I knew there was only one thing I could possibly say; only one thing that could save my ass and make this whole mess go away.
So, fingers shaking, I began to type.
No illegal activity detected. Agent recommends closing case.
I had never lied to my boss before. I had never done anything that could jeopardize my career, either. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was a necessary lie. I had to make this go away… and the sooner I did, the better.
Before I could second guess myself, I scrolled down to the bottom of the page and tapped the SUBMIT button.
The form immediately disappeared and the screen went blank. A line of text appeared at the top of the screen. Form successfully submitted.
“There,” I said to myself. “It’s done. Now let’s move onto the next order of business…”
I clicked open a new tab on the browser and the Google homepage loaded up. I guided the cursor into the search field, then I raised my hands over the keypad and typed: Fastest way to annul a marriage