Page 27 of How to Deal

Work is boring. Saturday’s usually are. We’re never busy, but I do get a lot done with the meeting minutes I was behind on because Tathan’s not there so I’m not constantly staring at him. It’s amazing what you can get done when you’re not drooling over man candy.

Casey picks me up at noon, and we head into downtown Phoenix. Zane meets us at the hotel where the expo is being held, already inside and checking out dresses.

Inside the expo center, we lose each other at some point, probably because I camped out at the wedding cakes sampling them. Who better to sample the cakes, but the girl who loves cake?

An hour later, I feel like my gut might explode and Casey finds me. It’s for the better. I probably would have eaten cake pops until my stomach did in fact explode just so I had a reason to leave.

Casey. . . she’s excited because she’s found exactly who she was looking for, Mr. Elliott Warren himself. From the many women passing by, I heard he was in attendance but really had no desire to actually meet the narcissistic asshole.

As you know, Casey has been searching for a photographer since she and Bryan got engaged on Christmas, but hasn’t had any luck. Mostly because she only wanted Elliott Warren. This meant she had a very specific mission today.

Word on the street is this dude is pretty much unattainable unless you know someone who can get in touch with him. It’s like he’s a damn mob boss. I half expect the guy to have bodyguards surrounding him.

“Amalie,” Casey’s voice shrieks, too excited. “You have to come meet him. He’s freaking hot too!”

She thinks everyone is hot, but I know exactly who she’s talking about.

“Doubt that.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly think of photographers as being hot, but I guess I don’t know any either. I’m not even entirely surehowCasey knows he’s hot, considering there are throngs of women around him and I’m only seeing bits and pieces of his body.

How can one guy be that damn special?

“He winked at me, Amalie.At me!” she says, pointing to herself. She looks so happy I don’t want to let her down, so I agree, against my better judgment and act excited.

“I’ll come meet the famousElliott Warren,” I say, giving up because Casey’s relentless at times.

Grabbing another bite of the chocolate truffle cake and a bottle of water, I’m dragged away to the photographer area of the expo.

“Look, there he is.” Casey points to my left.

As soon as she points, I choke on the drink of water I just took. You wouldn’t believe it, or maybe you saw this coming all along, but standing there changing lenses while women drool over his every move is Tathan.

MyTathan.

With my mouth open gawking at him, he takes that exact moment to look up from his camera to meet my horrified stare. And then gives me a once over and winks. Naturally, this would be his reaction. Jerk.

I’m half tempted to run over there and punch him in the face or kiss him—one of the two is a good option.

Shifting my weight from one foot to another, like I have to pee, I glare my best “you must die” stare. And again, as if he knows he’s been caught, he smiles, practically laughing and motions with his finger for me to come over.

It’severythingI can do right then not to flip him off and mouth, “Fuck you,” at him.

“Have you met him before?” Casey asks, confused by his gesture. She looks closer, squinting at him. “Wait a second, Iknowthat beard.”

“Are you blind?” I growl, angry he didn’t tell me this when I was expressing my hate for his work yesterday. “That’s Tathan Madsen!”

“As in the Tathan who lives next door to you? Tathan that we work with? Like Paul’s son? How did I not know this before?” she asks, awestruck eyes. “Wait. . . so that would mean that Tathan is Elliott Warren?”

“If it wasn’t for your math skills, I would think you were like nine years old,” I tell her, shaking my head in disbelief.

A light finally goes off and her eyes gloss over with excitement. “Oh my God. . . maybe he’ll take my photos!”

She pushes me forward. “You should go over there. It looks like he wants to talk to you.”

She just wants me to ask him to take her photos.

“Of course he does,” I snap, walking away. “I’m busy.”

“With what?”

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