For Better or Worse (28 page)

“Oh, that reminds me.” He began leading her through the airport as the crowd parted for them, fairy-tale style. “We'll need to pick one or the other.”

“Pick one or the other what?”

“4A or 4C.”

“Why's that?”

“Contractors are at our place now, figuring out which wall to tear down to join our two units.”

“Wait, what?” She held up a hand. “Can you do that? The landlord's going to be pissed.”

“The landlord just manages the place. It's the owner who will care.”

“Well, whatever. Point is, we're going to get in trouble.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I don't think so.”

Heather's eyes narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something?”

He reached for her left hand, lifted it to his lips as his thumb played with the ring on her finger. “One thing I may have forgotten to mention. I sort of own the building.”

She stared at him. “What?”

Josh shrugged. “Why do you think I had no qualms about playing my music so loud?”

“Because you're an ass?”

“At first, maybe,” he said, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her close. “After that, it was all about getting the girl in 4C to notice me.”

“Did she?” Heather asked innocently.

His mouth lowered to hers. “Oh yeah.”

Epilogue

T
HE WEDDING WAS PERFECT.

But then again, Heather knew it would be—after all, she'd planned it.

From the flowers to the music, all the way down to her mother's pale pink maid of honor dress that Alexis had somehow managed to secure same day, the wedding was everything she'd dreamed of. Everything she'd wanted.

Good old Alexis had surprised exactly nobody by making a couple of crucial modifications. For one, there was no sign of Danica Robinson's gaudy, overpriced dress. Instead Heather walked down the aisle to the man of her dreams wearing her perfect satin white sheath, her butt looking every bit as amazing as she'd envisioned.

Or so Josh told her.

And the wedding was small. Tiny, even: just a handful of close friends, the Belles, Heather's mom, and of course Josh's family.

His band was there too. Ex-band.

Trevor had winked at her as her mom had walked her down the aisle, and she'd winked back. Which had made Josh's eyes narrow, and that was just downright sexy.

But as Heather stood at the altar, listening to the pastor talk about love and forever, she realized that none of this mattered. Not really. Not the dress or the flowers, or even the color of her mom's gorgeous dress.

What mattered was Josh. And her.

And the fact that her heart had never felt so full, and the moment had never felt so right. He was hers, and she was his, and they had the rest of their lives to make each other laugh, and she had no doubt they'd rise to the occasion, no matter what fate threw at them.

But it wasn't until the end of the evening when they were cutting the cake that Heather realized that Alexis wasn't the only one who'd made some tweaks to Heather's dream wedding.

Josh had made some changes of his own. Most of them for her sake, but as she opened her mouth to receive the proverbial first bite of cake that he shoved in her mouth, she realized that one of the changes had been just for him.

“Josh! What is that?” she said, barely managing to choke it down.

Her husband—
husband!
—merely grinned as she forced herself to swallow the god-awful piece of wedding cake.

Josh Tanner had finally gotten his banana bread.

Acknowledgments

T
HANK YOU TO THE
amazing team at Pocket Books who helped turn my scrappy story idea into the gorgeous book you're holding:

Especially Elana Cohen, for always knowing ­exactly what the story and characters need.

For the production team, who never judge me for an overreliance on elipses.

The cover designer, for creating one of the most gorgeous covers I've ever seen.

The sales and marketing gurus who work endless magic to make sure you know about this book.

And all the other behind-the-scenes folks whose names I might never know, but whose commitment to quality gives us book addicts the best of the best.

Next up, a shout-out to my friends and family, especially my husband, who not only tolerates me wallowing for hours in the writing cave, but actually moves mountains so that I can do so.

For my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who said, “Let's
do it,” when I told her I
had
to write a series about wedding planners.

And lastly, for Kristi Yanta, for believing in my writing since the very beginning and helping it be the best that it can be.

Get lost in the fast-paced, sultry world of The Wedding Belles, three women who can plan any wedding to a 'T' . . . except their own.

Up-and-coming wedding photographer Leah McHale's career is on the rise . . . but one loud-mouthed sexy ex-flame could bring it all crashing down.

From This Day Forward

All Brooke Baldwin wants is a chance to start over—but will she make room in her heart for a love she never saw coming?

To Have and to Hold

Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek of Book Three in the Wedding Belles series,

TO LOVE AND
TO CHERISH

Available Fall 2016 from Pocket Books!

Eight Years Earlier

W
HAT CAN
I
GET
you, miss?”

Alexis settled at the barstool, unwinding the scarf from around her neck and placing it on top of her warm puffy coat before smiling at the bartender. “Pinot grigio?”

“You got it. Which one? We've got two by the glass.”

“Um . . .” She glanced down at the menu, scanning for the wine list. “I had one the other day . . . I think it was four dollars?”

“Ah, yup. That's our happy-hour white. I can still give it to you, but it'll be eight fifty now as it's past seven.”

“Oh,” Alexis said, trying to hide the stab of dismay. “That's fine.”

She'd just have to drink it slow, make it last.

“Food menu?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “You mind if I work on my laptop here at the bar?”

The bartender shrugged, her blue eyes completely disinterested. “Fine by me. Tuesdays in January are slow. You could pretty much sleep here, and nobody would notice or care.”

A few days ago, the offer might have been somewhat tempting, but as of yesterday morning, Alexis was officially a New York resident.

Well, sort of. Did subletting count? She'd signed a three-month sublease on a two-bedroom place in Harlem with a sweet, if slightly ditzy, roommate named Mary.

It wasn't quite where she wanted to be, but it beat the cheap hotels she'd been staying at before now, at least budget-wise. Enough so that she was fully intending to eat something with protein in it tonight.

She flipped open the menu and winced as she saw the price of a cheeseburger.
Or not.

Even hole-in-the-wall pubs were pricey in Manhattan. Alexis thought she'd been prepared, but she was running through her allotted spending money a hell of a lot faster than she'd expected. Especially considering she hadn't made any traction on a potential investor in her business idea: an elite, full-service wedding-planning agency.

Alexis glanced at the bartender, hoping she wasn't too late to cancel her wine order, but the bored-looking redhead had already poured her wine and was heading her way.

At least the glass was filled to the brim. Alexis must have looked like she'd needed it. Still, she'd have to offset the wine price with the cheapest food item.
Again
. Just a few months ago, she wouldn't have thought it possible to be sick of French fries, but she'd passed that point about a week ago.

“You know what you want to eat, or need a few?” the bartender asked.

“Still deciding.”

“No prob.” Her attention was on her phone. “Just holler when you're ready.”

The bartender wandered away, still typing on her phone, and Alexis opened up her laptop and pulled out the ever-present file folder where she kept a printed copy of the most recent proposal.

Generally speaking, the electronic version of her business plan was more practical, but you never knew when someone who mattered was going to ask you for more information, and she wanted to be ready.

Alexis was
always
ready.

Her stomach rumbled in hunger, and hard as she tried to ignore it, it wasn't the first time a tiny part of her wished that she'd taken her father up on his offer of a loan. Then her company would be a reality instead of a dream, and maybe she'd be able to eat something other than cereal and ramen.

But though she had a reasonably good relationship with her sometimes-cold father, his stipulations had just been too much.

For starters, the loan came with a location requirement.
Stay in Boston.

That wasn't the dream. New York was the dream.

The other stipulation had been even harder to swallow.

You could hire your sister, you know . . .

Yeah, no.

She didn't want to hire her sister. She loved Roxanne, but her sister wasn't the type of person she was looking to bring on to help get this business off the ground. Alexis needed someone with drive and business acumen. Roxie, while smart and savvy, was easily bored when it came to her career choices. Alexis needed someone who'd be in it for the long haul.

Plus, there was the bigger elephant in the room—it was just too damn hard to be around her sister right now.

The wound would heal, eventually. Alexis knew that. It was just a little too fresh, and Boston was just a little too painful.

She took a sip of wine as she opened her spreadsheet. The potential investor she'd spoken with today had been polite and shown token interest but was concerned with her growth model, specifically with the size of her team.

It was a valid point—a tiny number of employees would mean they could only support so much business. Still, Alexis was hesitant to change it. What the company would lack in scalability, it would make up for with consistency. Perfection every time, even if there were
fewer
times.

She left the column as is. Alexis knew it was unrealistic to think she wouldn't have to make some compromises, but she kept holding out hope that someone would
get
it. That someone would hear her, see what she was trying to do, and understand.

“Hello.”

The sexy British accented startled Alexis out of her thoughts, and she glanced up, both alarmed and intrigued to find that the face that awaited her was every bit as appealing as the voice.

The man was about her age—early, maybe ­midtwenties—and ridiculously cute. His hair was dark and maybe just a touch too long, as though he intended to get a haircut but kept forgetting. The eyes were brown and friendly, accented by trendy black-framed glasses.

The chunky cable-knit sweater with elbow patches—
for real
—bordered on dorky, but then, Alexis had always had a soft spot for dorky. He had a bit of the Clark Kent thing going on, which had always been far more her type than the overrated Superman.

“Hi,” she replied quickly, realizing that she'd been staring.

His smile grew wider as he extended a hand. “Logan Harris.”

Darn. Even the name was good.

“Alexis,” she said.

“Does that come with a last name?” he teased, lowering himself to the vacant barstool beside her.

“Not to strange men,” she retorted.

“I could buy you a drink. Get rid of the ‘strange' part.”

Alexis's smile slipped as she remembered that romance, even flirting, wasn't part of her plan. She'd learned the hard way that she could have one or the other—her own business or a boyfriend—not both.
And even if she wanted the latter, the latter didn't want her back.

“No thanks; I'm fine,” she said, letting the slightest amount of chill enter her voice. The ice-princess treatment, Roxanne called it.

Logan shrugged, undeterred. “All right then. May I borrow your menu?”

She nodded, and he picked it up, perusing it for several moments and paying her no attention.

It was both a relief and also a bit of an insult, if she was being entirely honest, to be given up on so easily.

Alexis tried to turn her attention back to her laptop but watched out of the corner of her eye as he finally shut the menu and waited patiently to catch the bartender's eye.

“Hi there,” he said, when the bartender ambled back over. “I'd like a Stella, and maybe a bite to eat?”

Alexis didn't miss the once-over that the bartender gave Logan before the curvy redhead leaned over the bar, displaying perky boobs as she clicked her pen and pulled a notepad out of her back pocket.

“Shoot,” the bartender said flirtatiously, looking a good deal friendlier than she had when she'd spoken to Alexis.

Not that Alexis blamed her. A cute Brit could do that to a girl.

“All right then,” Logan said. “I'd like the burger, medium, with Swiss. Fish and chips, extra tartar, and . . . how's your chicken club?”

The bartender blinked. “It's good. But you want all that?”

“I do. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, scribbling Logan's order on the pad.

“Hungry?” Alexis couldn't resist asking after the bartender moved away.

Logan gave a sheepish smile. “I'm a recovering student. I sometimes get so wrapped up in my day that I forget to eat.”

“A
recovering
student. What does that mean?”

He turned slightly toward her. “Someone's showing plenty of interest in a
strange
man.”

She bit her lip. “I'm sorry if I was rude before. I'm just not really in the market for . . . you know.”

He gave her an easy smile. “Everyone's in the market for a friend, Alexis.”

She opened her mouth and then shut it as she realized he was right. She
could
use a friend. She'd spent her entire life in Boston and knew almost nobody in New York. This guy seemed nice and nonthreatening enough—what would be the harm in a little conversation over dinner? It had been too long since she'd had somebody to share a meal with.

Logan seemed to know the moment she capitulated, because he turned more fully toward her. “A recovering student, Alexis, is a recent graduate. One who hasn't quite absorbed that there will be no more finals, no more requisite all-nighters, and no more dorm sex.”

Alexis laughed. “Undergrad, then?”

He gave her a wry look. “How young do I look, darling? MBA from Columbia. Just finished up end of last year.”

She felt a little stab of relief that he wasn't twenty-two.

He leaned toward her slightly. “Twenty-five next month, just in case you were wondering.
As a friend
.”

She tried to hide her smile and failed. “Columbia, huh? You're a long way from home.”

“Noticed that, did ya?” He winked. “I came out here for undergrad, also Columbia. Always figured I'd go back to London and maybe someday I will, but . . .” He shrugged. “Seems I have stuff to do here first.”

“Such as?” She took a sip of her wine, dismayed to see that it was half-empty.

“Well, this will probably shock you, given my vast amount of brawn, but I'm an accountant. Or at least I will be, once I get my business up and running.”

Alexis was impressed. “Your own business?”

Most twentysomethings, even those with an entrepreneurial bent, opted to get a few years of work for someone else under their belts before branching out on their own.

He nodded. “I'm working out of my flat for now, but I'm hoping to lease some office space soon, get some legitimacy. If nothing else to get my father off my back.”

“He's not a fan of your plan?” Alexis asked.

Logan's shoulder lifted, and for the first time he seemed a little sad. “Both parents have had it in their head that I'd come home. Run the family business in London.”

“Which is . . . ?”

He spun his beer glass idly. “Financial consulting firm. My father's the CEO, Mum's the COO.”

“Wow, that's . . .”

“Scary?” Logan supplied.

“I was going to say impressive. That they work ­together—without killing each other, I mean.”

“They're in love. It's atrocious,” he said with a wink. “What about your folks?”

Alexis laughed. “
Not
in love. They divorced when I was in high school. Dad's remarried and happy now, I think. Mom not so much.”

“And you?” he said. “Are you happy, Alexis?”

She pursed her lips, surprised and yet not entirely unsettled by the personal question. “It's been a while since anyone asked me that. Since I even thought about it, really.”

“Think it out. I'll wait,” he said with a wink.

She didn't have to think that long. “I'm
almost
happy.”

“You sound quite confident on that.”

She shrugged. “Let's just say that I need a few things to fall into place in my professional life, but once that happens . . . yeah, I'll be happy.”

She'd make sure of it.

“You're starting your own business.”

Her head whipped around. “How'd you know that?”

Logan reached over and tapped her laptop. “I can spot an Excel spreadsheet from a mile away.”

“Is that why you came over here?”

“No, darling. That would be your smile.”

“I don't remember smiling.”

He burst out laughing. “You're unusual. I like that. And you
did
smile. At the bartender, when you ordered your wine.”

“You were watching me,” Alexis said, eyebrows lifting. “Rather creepy for a
friend
.”

Instead of acknowledging her comment, he nodded his chin at her laptop. “What are you working on, if you don't mind my asking? Dare I hold out hope you're also an ­accountant and we can have darling, glasses-wearing babies together?”

“My eyesight is twenty-twenty,” she retorted.

“So that's a maybe, then?”

Alexis couldn't help the laugh, a
full
laugh, the first in a long time, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners as he watched her. “Tell me about you, Alexis, my new best friend.”

Damn, he was charming.

“Well,” she said slowly. “I'm not an accountant—sorry to break your number-crunching heart. But I, too, am a ‘recovering student.' ”

“Do tell.”

“I finished up my master's program at Boston College end of last year. Marketing and business administration.”

“Boston,” he said, the word sounding ridiculously appealing in his clipped accent. “And what brings you to New York?”

Alexis waved a hand over her laptop and the folder holding her business proposal. “This.”