To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (13 page)

And yet Brooke didn’t move away. Neither did he.

Belatedly, she realized they were steering into personal territory. She had to think of this as a business meeting between two associates, that was all. So she had to get back to the business at hand.

She cleared her throat. “So where does Maya fit into all of this? What if Neil can give her what she wants?” she asked. “What if she and Neil both benefit from the marriage? Excuse me,
merger
.”

He gave her a ha-ha look, but he answered her question seriously. “Maya wants what any woman with no parents and a crusty brother wants. A companion. My sister is . . . she’s lonely.”

“Not a word I’d use to describe her,” Brooke said slowly. “But I suppose you’d know better.”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “She has plenty of friends. And me, of course. But even when she was young, Maya was always one of those people who flocks to others. Not because she needs them; she just likes them. She gets her energy from those around her—specifically, from people who love her.”

“And you don’t think Neil Garrett is that guy?”

“Honestly?”
he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not even sure Neil Garrett is Neil Garrett.”

Brooke stiffened. Seth meant his comment off-the-cuff. As far as she knew, he didn’t have a clue about her history with Clay beyond what she’d told him.

But his words brought up bitter memories, memories of a man who wasn’t who she thought he was. Not in person, not in intentions . . . not even in name.

“Since I’m going to be practically spying on the poor guy, I need to know—what makes you think that about Neil? Why don’t you trust him?” she asked Seth, keeping her voice calm.

He picked up his drink, studied the dark cherries before taking a thoughtful sip. “I don’t know. Hunch, mostly. Everything about him is so vague. His family. His job. His past. All of his social media profiles were created at the exact same time, about a year ago.”

“Plenty of people were late to the social media game,” she said. “Including yourself.”

He gave her a curious look, and she blushed as she realized what she’d just given away.

Seth leaned toward her slightly, his smile devilish. “Why, Ms. Baldwin. Have you been researching me?”

“I research all my clients,” she answered in a clipped voice.

His smile only widened. “What is it that you wanted to know?”

She didn’t look away. “What made you tick. What your angle was.”

“My
angle
?”

“That
first day,” she said, not breaking his gaze, “you were so reserved and yet so forward. The contradiction was puzzling, and I wanted to know what you wanted.”

“I think you know exactly what I wanted, Ms. Baldwin.” Very slowly, Seth’s hand extended toward her, his large finger gently touching her jaw. “What I still want. And perhaps more to the point . . . I think you want it, too.”

S
ETH
HAD PUSHED HER
too hard.

Too fast.

The entire ride back to Brooke’s apartment, he kicked himself for misgauging the situation.

It was rare for Seth to make a misstep, but he’d definitely made one tonight, and Brooke was making him pay for it with the silent treatment.

The second he’d touched her and pushed her to admit she wanted him, she’d turned skittish on him and clammed up, offering only a tight little smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes before she abruptly changed the subject. They’d stayed at the bar long enough to finish their drinks, but the mood had been deliberately impersonal on her part as she’d rambled on about flowers and bows and canapés, in what he knew was a deliberate attempt to keep him at bay.

Which was fine.

He didn’t have time for a dalliance with anyone, much less his sister’s ditzy wedding planner.

But
then she wasn’t ditzy, now was she? Behind those practiced smiles and guarded eyes, Brooke Baldwin was . . .

Well, she was a surprise.

She was a romantic, sure, but she was also deliberate in her romanticism. As though her unshakable belief in happily ever after was a conscious decision rather than a default fantasy born out of naïveté.

And even more puzzling was her admission that what she wanted—
all
she wanted—was someone good to love her.

The simplicity and earnestness behind her words had nearly taken his breath away, and now as she sat stiffly beside him, keeping her face pointed resolutely away from him, he wanted very much to pull her toward him and beg her to explain what she’d meant.

To figure out how to be the kind of
good
that she wanted.

He supposed he could find out. He could research her in the same way he was researching Neil. Find out what made her tick. What secrets she held. But he was realizing he didn’t want to find out that way. He wanted her to tell him. Wanted her to confide in him.

Why he wanted that, he didn’t know. He didn’t want a relationship. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted a friendship.

And yet, neither was he ready for her to get out of the car. To walk away from him with all this strange tension lingering between them.

“When will I see you again?” he blurted out.

She looked at him in surprise.

“For our deal, I mean. To discuss the wedding.”

“Oh.
Right.” She dug around in her bag and pulled out her planner. “Um, Maya and I are doing an initial consultation at a couple of dress shops on Friday, but you won’t want to know about any of that, so . . .”

“Friday is perfect.”

She glanced up. “What?”

“What time is your appointment?” he asked, ignoring her surprise. The car had just pulled up outside her building, which meant he had to act fast.

“Two,” she said begrudgingly.

“And it’ll last how long?”

Her eyes narrowed. “There are a couple of shops I want to take her by, see what sort of vibe she likes. Factoring in traffic, we should be wrapped up by five or so.”

“Five. Done.”

“No, not
done
. I’m not seeing you on Friday.”

“You said that if I butted out of the wedding planning, you’d keep me apprised.”

“Sure, of the stuff that’s relevant to you and that has to do with Neil. Neil won’t even be there. Maya’s dress is completely irrelevant.”

“And going to be terribly expensive.”

Her mouth snapped shut, her teeth making an irritated little clicking noise. “Yes, I suppose it’s likely to be expensive, depending what she’s looking for.”

“And I’ll be paying for it,” he said with finality. “So let’s make it five thirty on Friday.”

He pulled out his phone to schedule it in, refusing to look Brooke in the eye for the irritation he knew he’d see there. Yes, he was controlling the situation,
pushing her too hard. But Seth didn’t back down. He didn’t know why, but making time for Brooke Baldwin in his life felt necessary somehow, and he didn’t much care whether she liked it or not.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Five thirty. I can come by your office, we can review whether or not your sister wants a sweetheart or halter neckline—”

“And then I’ll take you to dinner.”

Her hand was on the door handle, and she shoved the door open, likely catching Dex by surprise.

Seth leaned over and caught her arm before she could go storming out of the car. “Ms. Baldwin.”

She shot him an angry glare. “Do you realize how many times you just interrupted me? How pushy you are at trying to achieve your agenda?”

He opened his mouth, and then shut it as he realized he had been horribly high-handed with her. “I’m sorry.”

Her mouth opened to retort, but then she shut it and gave him a suspicious look as she jerked her arm free from his grasp.

His fingers itched to touch her again, but he clenched his fist instead and took a steadying breath and forced himself to make the request of her. “Ms. Baldwin. Will you have dinner with me on Friday? Please?”

“To discuss Maya’s wedding dress?” she asked warily.

Fuck no. He didn’t give a shit about his sister’s wedding dress.

But he’d set himself up for this bullshit, so he forced himself to nod. “Yeah.”

“All
right,” she said slowly. “We can do dinner. But, Mr. Tyler, I really need you to understand . . . I’m not looking for anything . . . romantic. Or sexual. This thing between us—I’m not going to pretend it’s not there, but I’m also not going to act on it. My career with the Belles is too important to me to risk screwing it up over something like this.”

His fist clenched harder, and he pulled his hand back at the rejection. He wasn’t surprised. Hell, he didn’t want anything, either; it was just . . . the straight-up dismissal burned. Not only because he was turned on as hell every time he looked at her, but because he got so much damned energy just from being around her.

And the feeling, apparently, was not mutual.

“It’ll just be a business dinner,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I have them all the time.”

Which was true. Just not with people who looked like her. Not with people who made him feel the way she made him feel.

“Perfect,” she said primly. “I’ll see you Friday at five thirty, then. Shall we meet at the restaurant?”

“At my office, just in case I’m running late,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

She nodded. “Okay, then. Have a nice night, Mr. Tyler.”

“You too,” he said gruffly as she shut the door behind her.

But he wouldn’t have a nice night.

He’d be too busy trying to get her out of his damn head.

I
CAN’T BELIEVE
YOU
got us an appointment at Blanche,” Maya said admiringly as they stepped out of her town car onto the sidewalk outside one of the city’s most elite bridal shops.

“This is what you get when you hire the Belles,” Brooke said with a smile. “The best.”

“I know, but I have friends—famous friends—who couldn’t even get in,” Maya said, sounding slightly awed.

Brooke wasn’t surprised. Small, tony shops like Blanche very carefully cultivated their air of exclusivity. She knew they’d rather needlessly turn someone away than give them the impression that they were overly available.

But that’s why people hired the Belles. Half of a wedding planner’s job was wooing not just the brides but the vendors.

And lucky for Brooke, Alexis Morgan had gotten her stiletto-clad foot in the door of all the most elite vendors.

Brooke
smiled indulgently, proud of herself for clearly impressing her client. They’d had a great day so far, a complete one-eighty from the disastrous venue-scouting day. It turned out that spending time with Maya Tyler without the presence of her hovering fiancé or domineering big brother was actually quite fun.

Brooke had liked the woman before. It was hard not to like someone who seemed so determined to be pleasant at every turn. But after the two of them had started their wedding dress consultation day with a Starbucks run, just the two of them, she was delighted to find signs of a sharp wit hiding beneath that angelic face. There was a tartness to Maya that had Brooke realizing that in addition to being an easy-to-work-with client, Maya was also the type of woman that could become a friend.

“Look at these potted plants,” Maya crowed as the climbed the steps to the discreet brownstone that housed the dress shop. “Everything’s so white. The flowers, the pots. I’m surprised they didn’t spray paint the freaking stems. I mean, how
dare
they be green.”

Brooke snickered. If she was being perfectly honest, she wasn’t overly excited about this particular appointment. The woman on the phone had been perfectly civil—ingratiating, even—but there was a fine line between exclusive and snobby, and her instincts told her that Blanche would be coming out on the latter side of the scale.

Still, Maya was a hotel heiress who’d probably literally used silver spoons growing up—Brooke couldn’t not at least show her the place.

Brooke
rang the bell.

“Hello?” The voice that answered managed to sound upscale and refined even through the intercom crackle.

“Hi, Brooke Baldwin here with Maya Tyler for our two o’clock appointment?”