To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (5 page)

Even when her friends had been pushing comfort wine into her hand, even when her dad was threatening to “show that bastard a thing or two,” even when her mom had insisted on crying “on Brooke’s behalf,” she’d known that she hadn’t needed to cry or scream.

She needed to start over. And here she was.

“Hi there!” a perky voice chirped as a petite redhead came into the lobby. “So sorry to keep you waiting. I didn’t have anything on the schedule, and I was just eating a late lunch.”

“Oh, I’m not a bride,” Brooke explained.
Not anymore.
“I’m Brooke Baldwin. I—”

“Oh. My. Gosh!” The redhead came around the side of the desk, and when Brooke extended a hand, the other woman ignored it and went in for a hug. “I am
such
an airhead. I’ve seen your picture, like, a million times, and Alexis totes just told me you were coming by today. I’m Jessie, the receptionist!”

Brooke blinked in surprise at the hug. Not that she minded hugs, but Jessie was just about as different from her colleagues as could be. Like the others, she was attractive, but where Alexis was elegantly
refined and Heather was confidently pretty, Jessie was freaking adorable. She had chin-length orange curls, huge green eyes, and slightly elfish features.

“Tell me that’s not all your stuff,” Jessie said, gesturing at the large tote bag slung over Brooke’s shoulder. “When Mel moved out last month, she had, like, ten boxes.”

Mel. That would be Melissa Thompson. Brooke had done her homework. Melissa was nearly as famous in the New York wedding scene as Alexis herself and had become pregnant with twin girls less than a year after giving birth to her first child, a son.

She had, in Heather’s words, moved to the burbs.

Brooke couldn’t blame her. Being a wedding planner was a full-time job. Nights and weekends weren’t just normal, they were necessary.

Brooke continued holding out hope that she’d figure out how to fit a dog into her crazy schedule, but a baby? She couldn’t imagine. And three? No—not possible. Even for a glass-half-full kind of girl like Brooke.

“I wasn’t sure how much space I’d have, or what the office would be like,” Brooke said, patting her bag. “I just brought the essentials.”

“Ohmigod, you’re going to love. Your. Office,” she said, punctuating each word in a way that was, Brooke was quickly realizing, Jessie’s default rhythm of speaking. “It’s got these big old windows, a
ton
of amazing natural light,” Jessie gushed. “Come on up, I’ll show you. In the meantime, tell me
everything
. You’re from California, right? Can I call you that? California? It suits you!”

“Ah—”

“No,
of course not,” Jessie chattered on. “It’s not like I’d want to be called Louisiana. That’s where I’m from.”

“You don’t have much of an accent.”

“I know, right? It just sort of started fading on me this past year. ’Bout all I have left of the South is the occasional ‘y’all’ and an affinity for fried food. You’re not, like, vegan, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Gluten-free?”

“Definitely not.”

“Thank
gawd
. I mean, we could still be friends if you were, but food’s kind of like my thing, and everything that tastes good has gluten—that’s what Heather and I are always saying. You met her at lunch, right?”

Brooke opened her mouth to confirm, but Jessie kept right on talking. “Anyway, you just let me know if you need anything. Since I moved to New York I’ve pretty much done nothing but work and tour the city. And eat, of course.”

Of course.

“Okay, so up here, this is where the offices are,” Jessie said, pausing at the top of the stairs and gesturing around.

The upper level of the Wedding Belles office was mostly just hallways and doors, reminding Brooke of the little house she’d grown up in before her dad had gotten his big break in the Hollywood production world and moved them all to a bigger house in Beverly Hills.

“What’s on the third floor?” she asked as Jessie led her to the end of the hall to the left.

“That’s
Alexis’s place.”

“She lives here?”

“Yup. And if you’re wondering how she manages to separate work and personal life, she doesn’t. I just didn’t get how a woman who deals with weddings all day long doesn’t even seem to want a boyfriend, but then I saw her in action and realized the woman doesn’t have time for a hamster, much less a lover.”

“What about you?” Brooke asked. “Boyfriend?”

“Eh, yeah. Dean. It’s new yet, but I’m feeling good about it. He makes good waffles.”

Brooke held a smile. Had to like a woman that could be wooed by waffles.

“What about you?” Jessie glanced over her shoulder as she asked it. “Boyfriend?”

“I’m single,” Brooke said, deliberately keeping her voice light. “Super single.”

Jessie skidded to a halt and turned around to face Brooke, eyes wide, before putting a hand on her arm. “Oh. My. Gawd. I’m such an idiot. I’d totally forgotten about all that crap and the guy you almost married, and . . . you know what? Let’s not even talk about it right now. That’s what we do in my house back home. We don’t talk about things that pull us down. Not at first. Unless of course you
want
to talk about it.”

Brooke’s head was spinning. “No. I’m good. I mean, the topic’s not off-limits, it’s just—”

Jessie held up a hand. “Say no more. Okay, here we go. You ready to swoon?”

Jessie opened the door to Brooke’s new office, and Brooke made an involuntary happy noise.

It
was bigger than she’d expected—heck, it felt nearly as large as Brooke’s entire apartment in Yorkville. A white desk was pushed against the window, and though the view was of bare, leafless trees, Brooke had to imagine that in the spring it would be lovely.

Or even better, what must it be like in autumn? As someone who’d grown up surrounded by palm trees, Brooke had always wondered what it would be like to experience true fall, with all the bright, vibrant colors of the changing leaves and the crisp air . . .

“Right?” Jessie said, correctly reading Brooke’s silence. “Mel had a heck of a time leaving. She loved this office. Loved the job, really. But when you push, like, three kids out of your V in just a couple years, I guess maybe you have more important things to worry about. Kegels and breast pumps and stuff.”

“And raising children,” Brooke said wryly.

Jessie wagged a finger at her. “Right. And that. I like you. I know it’s dorky, but the Belles are kind of like a family, so I’ve been hoping that you’d be awesome. And you totally are. And super pretty.”

Brooke rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious! You
look
like you’re from LA with that blond hair, blue eyes, and the tan, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Well, the tan won’t last long,” Brooke said. “It’s freezing out there.”

“I want to tell you that you’ll get used to it, but you, like, totally won’t. Or at least I haven’t.” The redhead gave her an apologetic smile. “Bet you’re missing California right about now, huh?”

“Not
really,” Brooke said, determined to ward off the wave of homesickness that swelled the second Jessie had mentioned her home state. “I mean, I love it there, but I think I’ll love it here, too.”

Jessie tilted her head. “A positive thinker. I like that.”

Brooke smiled and shrugged. It was how she’d always rolled. Looking on the bright side just seemed smart.

It would take more than one rotten fiancé to change that.

“I should probably get back downstairs,” Jessie was saying. “That phone, like, never shuts up, and sometimes we get walk-ins. But let me know if you need anything. And we should for sure grab drinks later. If you’re not busy?”

“Not unless you count unpacking my kitchen,” Brooke said.

Jessie waved her hand. “Oh, honey. That can wait for weeks. We New Yorkers don’t cook much.”

“Thank goodness. My fridge is the size of a toaster, and I’m pretty sure the stove doesn’t turn on,” Brooke said.

“Yeah, well, welcome to New York. Alexis said you found an apartment in Yorkville?”

“That’s what they tell me,” Brooke said. “I haven’t quite wrapped my brain around all the neighborhoods yet.”

“Well, like I said, ask me anytime. I dated a broker when I first got here, so I know, like, everything. And mark your calendar for Friday-night martinis. Heather knows all the best places, and I’m her aspiring apprentice in all things slightly dirty.”

“I’d
like that,” Brooke said, meaning it. Jessie was slightly exhausting but fairly impossible not to like.

Jessie left with instructions to make herself at home so she’d never ever want to leave, and Brooke started unpacking the few belongings she’d brought with her.

Her MacBook Pro. Her favorite polka-dot mug. A couple of framed photos, one of her parents, and one of her sorority sisters at the beach house they’d rented for her bachelorette party.

It was one of the few wedding-related items that had made it with her on the move from California to New York. One of the few that didn’t make her cringe.

It burned a little. No, it burned
a lot
that the wedding planner had finally gotten the chance to plan her own wedding to the love of her life, and it had ended with the groom in handcuffs, and not the sexy, kinky variety.

Because Brooke had planned the hell out of her wedding.

It had been her best work because it was her most important work. The wedding to top all weddings, even in the land of celebrity nuptials, where one pop star recently gave out purebred puppies as her wedding favor. Brooke was well aware that her own nuptials would be her most telling calling card, and she had been determined to put on the wedding of the century.

Brooke shook her head to clear thoughts of Clay from her mind and continued unpacking the rest of her meager belongings.

It
took all of five minutes, and short of trying to guess the Wi-Fi code by trial and error, there wasn’t much she could do until Alexis got there and explained how the on-boarding process would work.

Brooke was on the verge of going downstairs to chat up Jessie, or rather have Jessie chat
her
up, when her cell rang.

Thank God. A distraction.

Brooke picked up. “Hey, Alexis!”

“Brooke, hi.”

Alexis’s voice had the same low, calm tone that Brooke had gotten used to hearing on the other end of the phone, but there was just a slight edge to it this time, and Brooke sat up straighter. “Everything okay?”

There was a rapid
click-click-click
that Brooke guessed was high heels walking across a hardwood floor—quickly.

“Well . . . no, actually,” Alexis replied. “Not okay.”

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got a wedding tomorrow—Senator Marlow’s daughter—and let’s just say as far as wedding crises go, it’s the big one.”

“Oh crap. Missing groom?” Brooke asked knowingly.

“Worse.”

Brooke’s mouth dropped open. “The bride?”

“Yup. She disappeared sometime between her manicure appointment and final dress fitting. All we have to go on is a text to the maid of honor saying she needed time to think.”

Oh crap. Not good.

Although,
Brooke wished she’d taken time to think before her own wedding. Maybe had she slowed down, she might have seen warning signs—

Not the time, Baldwin.

“What can I do?” Brooke asked.

“Well, I hate to do this to you on your first day, but I wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t amazing, and—”

“Alexis,” Brooke said in a soothing voice. “Lay it on me. Tell me what you need.”

Her new boss blew out a long breath, and the clicking stopped as though Alexis had come to a halt. “I’ve got a new client coming in for her initial consultation. Jessie can give you the full file, but CliffsNotes version: the bride is the Tyler heiress, and—”

“As in the Tyler Hotels?” Brooke interrupted, unable to stop herself. To think she’d worried her days of big-name clients were behind her. The Tylers were huge. Hilton huge.

“Yep. Maya Tyler. I don’t know much about the groom other than his name’s Neil. At this point, I’m not even sure what they’re looking for, but she seemed sweet enough on the phone, so hopefully I’m not handing you a total diva as your very first client.”

“Wait—my first client?”

“Well, of course,” Alexis said. “I mean, I was going to see which of us was a better fit for her style after we met with her, but if you’re at the consultation and I’m not, it’s all yours.”

Brooke inhaled, already feeling the familiar buzz of excitement that took over whenever she was on the verge of a new project.

She
wanted to squeal. She refrained. Barely. “Not a problem,” Brooke said, impressing herself with her cool voice.

“Excellent,” Alexis said, resuming her
click-click-click
walk again. “And Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome to the Wedding Belles.”

Forty-five minutes later, Brooke had practically memorized the file on Maya Tyler and Neil Garrett that Jessie had Dropboxed her.

Not that there was much to memorize on the latter. Alexis had been right; there wasn’t much to know on the guy. The Wedding Belles’ details on the man were sparse, and though a thorough Google session had turned up plenty of Neil Garretts, none matched the description Maya Tyler had provided of her fiancé.

Brooke wasn’t worried. This early on in the process, it was rarely about the groom anyway. Especially when the bride came from money—big money.

Booking the Wedding Belles was not a cheap endeavor—Brooke’s rather impressive salary told her that. But looking through the photos of Maya Tyler that Alexis had pulled, Brooke didn’t think budget was going to be an issue. Brooke’s designer-trained eye spotted an awful lot of Armani and Jimmy Choo, and the woman had a definite affinity for Louis Vuitton.

By the time two o’clock rolled around, Brooke was all but rubbing her hands together in excitement.

She could work within a budget, of course. Some
of her favorite weddings had been the sweet, smaller affairs. But Brooke couldn’t deny that the opportunity to have a blank check and access to all of New York’s most glamorous vendors was an excellent way to salvage her career and start her off on the right foot here.