Meant to Marry Me

"Be honest!" Christy demanded, tossing back her sixth or seventh shot of tequila. They'd only been at the bar for an hour or so, which meant Christy was making good time on hitting her quota, not that she ever hesitated to hit the drinks. "Is living with Trent everything you thought it would be?"

"Uh... yeah," Bree replied, her hands nestled around her first bottle of beer. It was about gone, but she wasn't anywhere near as intoxicated as Christy was. Hank was also taking his time, though he'd finished at least two beers and was on his third. "I love living with Trent."

"Is he as perfect as you'd thought he would be? Or does he leave the seat up and his pants on the floor like the rest of his species?"

A giggle escaped Bree's lips as she pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle it and failed. "He's not perfect, but he's not bad, either. I have no complaints."

"It's too bad he couldn't come tonight," Christy continued, finishing her current drink and signaling a nearby waiter for another one.

"He really wanted to be here." Bree looked down at her phone on the table. She was hoping he'd call her, but maybe the ceremony wasn't over yet. "He just couldn't miss accepting such a big award in person." "That's awesome," Hank said, finally joining the conversation. "Trent is an awesome dude, and he deserves to win an awesome award."

His repetitive use of the same adjective would've been an indicator that he was drunk if the fact that he was slurring his words slightly and rocking briefly hadn't already let her know he had drank too much before their arrival at this particular bar for his own good. But then... it was drunk Hank who'd given her access to the pictures and video that she'd eventually passed on to Trent which had been what he'd eventually used to make up his mind not to marry Monica, so she didn't mind.

"He's worked so hard to start his new firm here in Nashville," Bree agreed. "He really does deserve it."

"Do you worry, though, about her being in town?" Hank clearly couldn't bring himself to even say the woman's name.

Bree didn't need to hear it to know who he was talking about. She answered quickly. "No. Why should I? It's not as if he would ever consider getting back together with her, even if something happened to me."

"Yeah, I know that," Hank confirmed. "It's just... she's such a manipulative bitch. Who knows what she might try?"

"I'm so glad to hear you say that," Christy chimed in, her new drink in her hand now, courtesy of the waiter who was now hurrying off to bring Hank another beverage. Bree continued to sip hers, feeling that someone should keep their head on straight.

"Oh, don't get me wrong." Hank reached out a hand and put it on Christy's shoulder, knocking them both off balance. "I still love her. Hell, if she walked through that door right now, I'd do whatever I could to try to get her to come back to my hotel. But... she's still a manipulative bitch."

"Is that all you think of yourself?" Christy's voice was loud now as she scolded him. Bree found herself turning to look over her shoulders. A few people at nearby tables turned their heads for a moment but then went back to their conversations. "Hank, we've been over this a million times. You deserve so much better than her!"

"I know, I know!" he practically shouted back. "But... God, she's so beautiful. And in bed--"

"Lemme stop you right there!" Christy insisted, pushing against his chest. "Nobody needs to hear that. I already saw the damn pictures and the video."

Hank did stop, but only to take another drink, shake his head, and look miserable. Bree was glad that Christy had stopped him, though. The last thing she needed to think about was Monica in bed. It bothered her to no end that the conniving bitch had been with Trent. She couldn't let her mind go there. It wasn't as if she was a virgin when she'd gotten together with Trent, and she didn't expect him to be either, but Monica was a different story.....

Christy started a conversation about a guy she'd met at work, and Bree was glad to talk about something else, anything other than Monica. Her mind wandered a few times as her friend went on about how hot this guy was, and how they had to sneak around because it was against the rules at her company for people who worked in the same department to hook up, but it was so worth it.

Not until she'd been talking for about ten minutes did Bree realize Hank hadn't been paying any attention at all. Perhaps he'd already heard this story on the way there, or maybe he simply didn't care. But then... he let out a low moan, his eyes focused on his phone, and Bree felt every hair on her body stand up. "What is it, Hank?" she asked. Something about the look on his face made her think, whatever it was, it was really bad. "Where did you say Trent was tonight? What was the name of it?" he asked.

A million awful reasons for the question shot through her mind. Had there been a bombing? A shooting? An earthquake? "The Nashville New Entrepreneur of the Year Awards," she said quickly. "Why?" Hank was shaking his head, but he didn't answer. Bree felt her blood run cold and her stomach tighten. It had to be something awful. Trent hadn't called because he was dead! "What is it?" she demanded. Without a verbal response, Hank held his phone out, extending it across the table. Bree took it, holding it up to her face, confused by what she was looking at, vaguely aware that Christy was demanding to be filled in. The pictures were of Monica in an evening gown. She looked lovely, as always. Smiling, posing, just like a model. The guy she was with was older but still good looking. It wasn't until her eyes caught someone else in the background that she realized what it was Hank was trying to tell her. Across the ballroom where Monica was standing with another woman in an evening gown, she saw a familiar face. He wasn't looking at the camera and probably didn't even know the picture had been taken, but it was Trent. She saw Celia next to him, looking up at him with an expression in her eyes that worried Bree almost as much as the fact that Trent had been in the same room with Monica for the last several hours. It took her a moment to decide what to say. She handed Hank's phone back. "Okay." She had to stay calm. Maybe she hadn't even talked to him. Maybe he'd been able to keep his distance. "So Monica was also there. That doesn't matter. She could be up for an award, too. Bitch of the Year or something."

The joke made Christy laugh and Hank snicker, though he wouldn't release his pent up feelings for the model long enough to actually laugh laugh. "Do you think he'll tell you when you get home?" Hank wanted to know.

Her immediate response was rude and fueled by alcohol. She wanted to tell him, "Of course he will. Trent doesn't keep secrets from the people he cares about." But she didn't say that because Hank was her friend, and he already knew he'd done wrong. There was no point in her trying to claim Monica's made-up award over it. Besides, there was a chance Trent wouldn't say anything. She thought he would. But he might not. "Yeah, he'll tell me. I'm not worried about Monica." She really wasn't. Why should she be? The chances of Trent getting back together with Monica were about as likely as him declaring he'd been named an astronaut and was being sent to Mars next month.

"Who did he go to the event with?" Christy asked, her beer sloshing out of the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away, sloppily. "She's pretty."

"Oh, that's Celia. She's basically his right hand gal at work. She's gorgeous. And so smart. I've only met her a couple of times, but she's no nonsense, that's for damn sure. If Monica said anything out of line, I'm sure Celia will set her straight." Bree had to take another sip after that. As much as everything she said was true, the idea that Trent might be better suited to Celia--an accountant who wasn't afraid to speak her mind--had entered her thoughts before. Hank was staring at his phone again, but this time, the look on his face wasn't the consternated glare he'd been hurling at Monica's image. "She is hot," he said. Bree had to assume he was talking about Celia, not his ex. "What's her name again?"

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"Cee-l-ya!" Bree sent that across the table with some sarcasm in it, her volume up as well.

"Thanks." Hank narrowed his eyes at her. "She married?"

"Would it matter?" Christy asked.

"Damn!" Hank's mouth fell open, and Bree couldn't hold back her laughter. Christy apologized, but Hank continued to look wounded.

"No, she's not married, but she does live here. In Nashville. And you don't." Bree tipped her bottle in his direction and then took another sip, realizing she was getting a little drunk herself.

"Yet," Hank said pointedly. "My career choice is very fluid. I can move anywhere in the country and find lots of out of shape people who want to pay me a ton of money to get their asses in shape."

"Or pay you a lot of money so they can continue to sit on the couch and eat chips while you take all of their money," Christy chimed in.

"That happens sometimes," Hank admitted. "Anyway, this Cee-l-ya chick is hot. Do you think that Trent hates me too much to introduce me to her?"

"I don't think Trent hates you at all, but I don't know if he'll introduce you to her or not." She didn't even know if Trent would want to see Hank himself. "How long are you in town?"

"Our reservations are through tomorrow, but they can be extended," Christy said, the first nice comment she'd made toward Hank in a while.

Bree smiled. Fixing Celia up with Hank might solve another little problem that had been niggling in the back of her mind. She fully trusted Trent, but she wasn't sure she could trust Celia. If she had a boyfriend, maybe she'd be less likely to try anything with Trent. "I'll see what I can do."

Hank raised his beer bottle, and the girls raised their drinks as well in a toast to whatever may come next.