Page 28 of Concerted Chaos

“I think you should make a pitcher of margaritas and we should jump in the pool,” he suggests. “You don’t owe them anything. Keep your private life private.” That’s an unexpected response. I thought he’d choose whatever offer made him the most money. Maybe I’ve misjudged him, too.

“Alright, sounds like a plan. Turn your phone off and put it inside.” I don’t trust him that far. For all I know he could be trying to record our conversation and sell that. I’ll have to watch out for him asking anything about Jace or our history together. Maybe that’s why Tanner wants to drink with me—he hopes I’ll loosen up.

As he does so, I move to the outdoor bar and pull out the blender and ingredients. We’re going with prickly pear today and using the expensive tequila. I rim the pool-safe plastic cups with salt because I’m a conscientious hostess, fill them with sweet icy deliciousness, and then I wait. He takes longer than he should, making me wonder what else he’s doing in there. I can always review the feed from the interior cameras later. I don’t usually leave them on when I’m home, but I didn’t want to take any chances with a snoop like him in my house.

“I messaged all of them back saying that I’d left you and you weren’t answering my calls,” he says. “And I turned mine off.”

“Great.” I carry our drinks over next to the pool, so he has to come to me. Then I set them on the ground.

“Why’d you do that?” he asks as he stoops to pick one up. That’s what I was waiting for. Before he touches the cup, I give him a quick shove into the water. He comes to the surface sputtering. “What the hell, Cassidy?”

“Just making sure you didn’t have your phone on you. I told you I want electronic privacy today,” I say. He pulls himself up to sit on the edge and reaches for his margarita again, this time while carefully watching me. I’m tempted to fake like I’m going to push him again and see if he flinches.

“Good thing I’m not a liar. My phone is off and inside. You can go verify if you don’t believe me.”

“Don’t need to now. You’d have pulled it out immediately to check the damage if it had been in your pocket.” I pick up my own beverage. “Cheers.”

“I’m learning never to cross you. Cheers.” He grins as he taps his cup against mine and we both drink deeply. And as soon as I set my margarita down, he slips back into the water, seizes my legs, and pulls me off the side. I go under and come up laughing. He surprised me, and I don’t actually mind. The phones are off, we’re not talking about Jace, and I love to swim.

Tanner spent the night last night.

No, not like that.

We swam until we got hungry, then we ate way too much food from the fridge meals. Joel had left this weird meaty stew that Powell likes, and Tanner ended up devouring both servings, while I finished off some vegetarian risotto. Our personal chef is the only one I’ve ever met who is able to make risotto that still tastes delicious warmed up in the microwave.

Then we drank some more. Not to get drunk, that’s never been my goal. But there’s something so pleasant about sitting outside all evening, sometimes in the hot tub, slowly sipping a beer, and just talking.

I was careful though, as always. I listened to Tanner’s stories from art school, and all about his photography business, but I kept myself back. Not that I acted completely reticent, but I limited any sharing to what he could find out with an internet connection, knowledge of keywords, and a few minutes’ time.

At one point, he said he was glad that I was finally opening up to him.

“I’m not telling you anything you couldn’t have already read in the tabloids or learned in the unofficial Last Baron’s documentary.”

He seemed hurt by that, but I’m not stupid. A paparazzo, coming to my house, pretending he’s my friend?

“I’ve never watched that and I don’t intend to. Cassidy, I’d prefer to get to know you in person instead of stalkingyou online.”

“I’m hard to find online,” I told him, which is not quite true. I have a social media presence, but I don’t make public posts. My online existence is restricted to following famous friends, other people tagging me, and of course, my gym account. But that’s work, not pleasure.

“I know. I looked,” Tanner said, directly contradicting his previous statement about not wanting to stalk me online. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he blushed. “I mean...”

“It’s fine, you’re just doing what everybody does, and now you’re trying to manipulate me so you can get a more in-depth story.” I knew he was a wannabe journalist, despite his prior ‘serious photographer’ claims.

“I’m not. I’m trying to be your friend. But you don’t let anyone in, do you?” He stared off into the distance like his feelings were hurt. He’d probably be a pretty good actor.

That effectively ended the conversation, but I couldn’t kick him out. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d had too much to drive, and I didn’t want him sitting in his van in our driveway, so instead I took him to the media room, made popcorn, and we settled in to watch a movie. Based on ‘serious artist’ claims, I expected him to be one of those hipster snobs who only watches foreign films, but it turns out he’s really into crime thrillers, which happen to be my favorites as well. It’s nice to not have to fight over movie choices—Powell likes slapstick comedies.

And afterwards, I escorted him to a guest suite, wished him sweet dreams, and set the house alarm.

Yes, I switched on the interior sensors.

I didn’t entirely trust Tanner not to creep around, looking for some way to exploit us.

That’s why I’m pleasantly surprised to wake up on my own at eight thirty. By on my own, I mean of course, by waking from sleep of my own accord rather than because of blaring alarms. I’m not surprised to be alone. Tanner might be a sneaky paparazzo, seeking to ingratiate himself to me as part of a nefarious hunt for a story, but I do trust that he’s not the kind of guy who would appear uninvited in a lady’s bed. That’s more of a Xander move, and if I thought he was anything like Xander, I would have made him sleep on the patio. The chaises out there are comfortable.

I get dressed and turn off the interior security and head to the kitchen. Since I have a guest, I’m feeling inspired to cook. I make a fabulous breakfast casserole. My mom and I used to make them on Sunday mornings and heat up leftovers the rest of the week. It was a quick and easy meal. Cheap too, because the dollar store near our apartment sold bags of the frozen hash browns that we used for the casserole base. Nowadays, I use hash browns from the organic grocery, and cage free, cruelty free, possibly hand fed chickens with biographies printed on the carton. Today’s eggs come from Clucky, Bertha, and Peckster. My guess is that those names are all made up, but who am I to argue with their marketing techniques?

Tanner stumblesout of the guest wing, bleary eyed, just as the food comes out of the oven.

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