Miss Match: a Lauren Holbrook novel Read online

  Tina sparkles. Perfectly smooth, chocolate-toned complexion. Perfect brown eyes. Perfect caramel-highlighted black hair.

  Perfect, perfect, perfect.

  Never have I felt so blah in all my life.

  Kyle looks proud he snatched her up first. His black hair is short and fairly curly. Brown eyes. Muscled. Tall. Pretty darn cute.

  Brandon materializes beside me, and I can read the glint in his eyes.

  This couple is going to hang on the studio waiting room wall.

  Where they can mock me day and night.

  Wait a minute. What am I thinking?

  I am Lauren Holbrook. I have a good job and a father who would give me the state if he were able. . . . I have everything I could ever need or desire.

  That’s right.

  “Right this way. We’ll be in Studio Four. You’ll get three clothing changes during the session. . . .”

  It isn’t so bad. Tina sweetly informs me they will be married in four weeks. Kyle smiles like a model in GQ.

  I wave good-bye to them and turn to face Brandon.

  “So how was the charming couple?” His eyes are sparkling at me because he knows the answer.

  I push my fingers into my face. “Charming. Too charming. My cheeks hurt from smiling.”

  “Loosen them quick. I need you to be —”

  “Charming?” I keep massaging my cheeks. Any blush I had previously applied is now gone.

  “For lack of a better word. Yeah. Charming for Hannah Curtis. Got it?”

  I salute. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good.”

  Hannah Curtis arrives at four fifteen on the dot. I watch Ruby tensely count the seconds, ready to pounce if Hannah is a microsecond late.

  A petite blonde with big, round blue eyes and a figure boasting good genes and lots of exercise walks through the door. The room is immediately filled with a fog of her citrusy perfume.

  Surely, surely, surely this isn’t Hannah Curtis.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “Yes.” The blonde brushes her shiny locks away from her even shinier lips. “I’m Hannah Curtis. I’m looking for Brandon Knox.”

  “Sure.” I paste on a terse smile. “I’ll take you back to his office.”

  “Thank you.”

  I march down the long, carpeted hallway to Brandon’s office. Peach-Faced Barbie follows along as best she can in her toothpick heels and knee-length skirt.

  “Brandon.” I burst through his door. “This is Hannah Curtis.”

  Brandon stands, his eyes widening. “Oh.” His voice is much lower than normal. “Hi. I’m Brandon Knox.”

  “Hannah Curtis.”

  I just said that, idiot.

  I need to leave before my mouth starts working without the controlling presence of my brain.

  “I’ll leave you now.” I feel very unfeminine in my loose-fitting jeans. Especially next to Hannah with her legs arcing gracefully from beneath her dress.

  Who does she think she is? It is January, for Pete’s sake!

  “No,” Brandon suddenly erupts. “Stay, Laurie.”

  Now I feel like an unfeminine collie. Sit, Laurie. Stay, Laurie. Good girl!

  “Yes, sir.”

  This brings Brandon out of his ogle fest. He breaks his gaze with Hannah and starts staring at me. Only this isn’t the same Gosh-You’re-Beautiful gawk Hannah received. This is a What-the-Heck-Is-the-Matter-with-You? stare.

  Good old Brandon. Always boosts the ego.

  “Have a seat, Hannah,” he says softly. I get a nod toward the chair next to hers.

  “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 résumé with you?”

  Nah. Who brings a résumé 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 p
leasure 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.

  Chapter Three

  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?”

  “Peachy.” Brandon winks at me and continues the saunter to his office.

  It was a stroke of luck I left a Milky Way in my car last night. I am going to need it today.

  “Want to eat lunch with me, Brandon?” Hannah asks this as Brandon walks by about eleven forty-five.

  “Uh, sure.” He turns to me. I am digging out a peanut butter sandwich with a side of Krispy Kreme from the mini refrigerator under the desk. “Want to eat with us?”

  It doesn’t take a subsonic missile inspector to note the look of ugh written on Bridesmaid Barbie’s pretty face.

  “I’d love to.” Not because I want to but because I feel I should.

  Brandon and I sit in the chairs in front of Hannah’s desk, and she sits behind it. Not even ten seconds go by before Brandon invites her to our Wednesday night singles’ class.

  Oh brother.

  I have no doubt where Hannah will fit in our singles’ class.

  There are three groups of singles: Those who will marry soon, those who will marry eventually, and those, like me, who will never marry.