Nate

Yes. It was an asshole move throwing her line back out at her, but her type just makes it so damn easy. She purses her perfectly glossed lips, and I'm waiting for a pithy comeback that doesn't happen. It's too bad because I think we could have gone back and forth a few more times.

She pauses for a brief second longer before giving me a curt half nod and walking away.

Her heels click on the sidewalk, and her skirt pulls just right around her hips. One thing about the uptight girls is that they're uptight enough to keep their bodies just perfectly-

A light smack on the back of my head jolts me, and I spin to face Mom's frown.

"Yes?" I try to give her a polite smile, but this situation sucks, and we both know it. I don't want to be here, and after a couple months of me cramping her style with Morsten, soon-to-be husband number three, she doesn't want me here either.

"You know not to smoke inside. Not only do I hate it, but it's against the law. I have brides come in and sit down in front of the five thousand dollar coffee table you think is an ashtray." Mom's perfect updo is shiny, even in the heat.

I step around her and hold open the door to her offices so she can come inside and finish her lecture somewhere that's not on a Las Vegas sidewalk. The endless sea of stucco is slowly driving me insane.

"Won't happen again," I say as I let the door close behind her.

Mom pinches her nose as she takes a practiced breath in. Fifty bucks says she's counting down from ten. "I don't understand where the smoking comes from. You've spent too much time in New York."

It has nothing to do with New York. It has to do with me needing to be busy every second of every day so I don't sink again. Guys don't take months to put their hearts back together. "I said it won't happen again."

Mom taps her French manicured nails on her chin. "She was kind of a mess, but adorable."

"You've got three more interviews this afternoon," I say. After the disaster of that girl, I knew I was safe from having to work with her. "I believe they all have experience of some kind."

"That hasn't worked in my favor. I'm just looking for another assistant. Maybe training someone up would be the way to do it..."

"You're too busy to take time to train someone up." Surely my logic will win this because adorable or not, I don't think I could work with that girl every day.

"And you know this business better than you'd ever admit. Despite your knack for flustering people-like you did with that poor girl-clients love you. If you'd just put some effort into it, my job would be-"

I hold my hand up silencing her. The last thing I need or want is to be any kind of permanent fixture in Mom's business. "I need to go and work some Photoshop magic to make the newly married Mrs. Jeffries look less sweaty at her reception."

Mom frowns "Oh. I need you to drop Celeste a note about the Blixen wedding this weekend. Make sure she has the times set."

"Will do." I like Celeste. She's a gorgeous girl dating an asshole, though. I'm amazed sometimes at the shit women let themselves be put through just to stay in a relationship.

Mom kisses her fingers and presses them to my forehead. Twenty-two seems old for this kind of gesture, but Mom won't be deterred. Her phone buzzes, her smile spreads from ear-to-ear, and that's my cue to grab my laptop and run. I can't stomach her conversations with Morsten. Every time they talk, even when he's not around, all I see is his bald, egg-shaped head and goofy smile. Anyway, I only have an hour before the next interview. I need another cigarette.

***

The best part about living in Las Vegas when you suffer from insomnia is there's always something to see, to look at, to do... Good thing I'm not a gambler because I'd be broke. Adjusting shutter speed for the lights on the Las Vegas strip keeps my brain busier than anything else, and I have to keep my brain busy.

One of the interviewees this afternoon, or yesterday afternoon, or whatever day this is, smacked my ass on her way out, which nixed her for both of us. Mom has two more interviews tomorrow, but my gut tells me she's going to go with the strawberry blond. Just because she knows it'll make me crazy.

I lie on the sidewalk and wait for the water show in front of the Bellagio to start. I should hate this show by now. They've used the same songs for ages, and they're not even that great, but...there's something about the way the light reflects over the water. I'm still trying to capture a good shot here. Something that shows the water, the color, the movement, but also the background. Not easy when the span between colors and the speeds I should be using are so different.

Tonight I'm shooting film. Old school. I'm on the third roll when my phone vibrates in my pocket. This is when Viv always tries to catch me. It has nothing to do with me. It has to do with the few items I took with me when I left our apartment in New York-things I know she doesn't want me to have.

I turn my phone off and decide I need a pastry from Paris, then I'll finish my roll of film. As I pass one group of friends after another, laughing, partying, here for a wild weekend... I'm faced again with how pathetic my life has become. My girlfriend of two years and soon-to-be fiancé was sleeping with my best friend behind my back for... I'm actually not sure how long, but I do know that more than two months after I moved out, they're still sharing a bed. My other two guy friends from high school are also sharing a bed...in very much the same way Viv and I were. And I don't care that they're gay, I really don't, but watching them fondle each other is still weird. I've known them both since middle school, making me wonder what else I was blind to.

I'm a photographer. I'm supposed to notice things about people.

A couple is coming down the escalator at the far end of the hall, and I take a moment to watch as he brings her hand to his mouth. There's something about the soft sentiment in such a loud place that makes me pull out my camera. I snap a few shots of them, letting the edges blur, knowing I'm going to further blur the edges later on.

They kiss after the step off the escalator, and again it feels like someone just kicked my chest in. I don't want to hurt over the same girl anymore. I just don't.

"Hey... You Paparazzi or something?" A girl's voice turns me around.

I pause for a moment to take in her over-glossed lips and too-tiny shirt, or well, since I'm enjoying the view, her perfectly-fitted shirt.

"No." I see a few girls behind her all watching. Bachelorette party or college girls from out of town.

"Photographer?" She takes a step closer.

"Yes." Demoted from working under some of the greats in New York to doing weddings with my mommy...

"So..." She glances back over her shoulder. "We thought you might be local and would know something fun we could do?"

There's a small chorus of giggles making me wonder if the IDs that got them into this place are real or fake.

I glance at my phone and know my brother is probably prepping for his show, and when the girl closest to me touches the necklace near her collarbone as she predictably bites her lip, I wonder if I could talk myself into fooling around. Just for a night. And then a pinch of panic pushes in, and I feel pathetic for being unsure of something so simple.

"You girls into magic?" I ask.

Her entourage steps closer.

"I know X and was headed there next." I shrug and take a couple steps toward the door. "You don't have to come or anything, but I always have a table." I actually know he wouldn't mind-especially if they wanted to go backstage. My brother has one goal aside from hoping that eventually more people like him than Criss Angel, and these out of town girls play into that perfectly.

"Are you serious?" The girl grasps my arm, and I flex a little. Just, you know, to give her something to hold on to.

"He's my brother."

"X is your brother?" And with that we're all walking out of the hotel together. Me and four girls whose names I don't know.

"His name is Xavier." Mom's idea. "Our last name is Marks, so that's where he-"

"Gets the name for his show!" The girl behind me squeals loud enough that even the noise of the strip doesn't keep my ears from getting damaged. Definitely underage. Well not underage, but not twenty-one.

"X Marks." The girl I'm walking with grabs my bicep. "I'm Tish, by the way."

"Nate."

"I'm so glad we ran into you, Nate." She's a little too enthusiastic, but again, that might work in my favor.

At least I'll get my brother off my back for not 'taking advantage of being single and hooking up with the thousands of girls from out of town looking for a good time.'

Tonight. I'm definitely for having a good time. When you're moping enough to annoy yourself, something needs to change. Though, as I glance at the girls surrounding me, I'm wondering if I picked the right people for anyone but my brother.