To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (19 page)

“Of
course,” Alexis said, studying Brooke with that too-sharp gaze. Brooke had the most unsettling feeling that Alexis somehow knew what she wanted to talk about, which made no sense.

But then, that was Alexis for you. One step ahead of everyone.

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Baldwin,” Logan said.

“Lovely to meet you, too, Mr. Harris. Hope you’re allowed above board long enough to see the sun come up.”

“Above board?” Alexis asked.

“Inside joke,” Brooke said with a wink at Logan.

Alexis’s eyes narrowed, and Brooke hid a smile. Maybe her friend wasn’t quite so unaware of Logan as she was pretending, because she clearly wasn’t loving the fact that there was an inside joke she wasn’t in on.

There was a story there, with Logan and Alexis, but Brooke would bet serious money that Alexis didn’t even know it yet.

Up in her office, Brooke booted up her computer as she sipped her latte and stared out at the chilly New York morning that was just beginning to show the first traces of life as people trudged to work and started on their daily post-weekend grind. She was still struggling like hell to get used to the frigid weather, but Brooke was surprised to realize that she liked having an actual winter.

The year-round sunshine in California had its benefits, certainly, but there was something lovely and quiet about a true winter. The short days and cozy nights curled up under a blanket were relaxing
and reflective, allowing her a chance to sit and contemplate in a way that the long LA days and nights hadn’t really permitted. Not that Brooke allowed herself to do much of that lately. It had been hard enough to keep her feelings about the Clay situation at bay, and now there was Seth Tyler muddying things up even further.

For starters, the man was too damn serious. Yeah, he had a sense of humor lurking under that sharp gaze, but he also wasn’t easy. He’d demand more than she was willing to give just by being
him
, but he wouldn’t give anything back.

Pleasure, certainly. She was positive that they’d do just fine in bed.

But what about after that?

Seth didn’t want to get married. Hell, the man barely looked like he wanted to
date
.

And Brooke . . . Brooke
did
want that. She so desperately wanted a nice man who’d take her to dinner, buy her pretty things, and most of all, who’d hold her. Who’d pull her close, wrap his big arms around her, and just let her lean. Without plan or agenda.

A kind man, a gentle man, who wanted to build a life with her.

That’s all she wanted. Not so much to ask, really.

Seth Tyler was
not
that man.

But he could kiss. Holy hell, could he kiss.

Brooke’s phone rang, and she winced when she saw the caller ID. Nothing like seeing one’s mother’s name pop up on the screen to ruin what could have turned into a good X-rated daydream.

She flicked her finger lightly against her forehead,
willing the filthy images of Seth Tyler to fade from her mind before she picked up the phone.

“Hey, Mom! You’re up early. Like, really early.”

“I started this new predawn yoga class,” her mother said in a voice that was far too energetic considering it was barely five a.m. in California. “And they have a juice bar connected to it featuring a really lovely collection of sea vegetables.”

Um, gag.

“Yummy,” Brooke managed in response.

Brooke considered herself to be a fairly health-conscious modern woman. She exercised regularly, tried to eat assorted salads for lunch most days. But Heidi Baldwin was a whole other level of health nut. Calorie counting, juice cleanses, clean eating, the whole deal.

“How’s New York, darling? Are you making sure to get plenty of fresh air?”

“You live in LA, Mom,” Brooke said, picking up her latte. “Not exactly known for being smog-free.”

“Well, tell me you’re at least carrying your pepper spray with you. That many people crammed into a tiny space, and you’re practically begging to get mugged.”

“I wonder which one will kill me first,” Brooke mused. “The pollution or the mugging?”

“Or a runaway cab,” her mother said. “I’ve heard some of them don’t even have their driver’s licenses.”

“Where?” Brooke challenged. “Where have you heard that?”

“At least tell me you’re happy,” her mom said, ignoring the question.

“Of
course!” Brooke said, the response rolling off the tip of her tongue before she had a chance to even consider the question.

But it was true—she really was happy. She loved her apartment. Loved her job. Loved her clients, and her work colleagues, who were slowly but surely becoming her friends. She was even growing to love the city, which, while admittedly completely different from what she was used to, was a bit addictive.

So what if she was a little lonely sometimes? If she ached for the unmistakable caress or touch of a lover at the end of a long day, someone to listen to her stories and pour her a drink as she walked in the door and kicked off her shoes? Brooke firmly believed that happiness was a choice, and she was choosing to be happy, therefore . . . she was.

“I’m glad,” her mother said cautiously.

“I really like it here,” Brooke said, consciously quieting her voice so it didn’t come off quite so manic.

“Good,” her mother said with an audible sigh of relief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the selfish in me wants you to come back home so I can make you my homemade kale cakes while we watch
Real Housewives of Orange County
, but the part of me that’s a rather exceptionally well-adjusted parent is glad to see you thriving.”

Brooke laughed. “I miss you guys, Mom.”

“We miss you, too, sweetie. Did I tell you I found a package of Oreos in your father’s sock drawer?”

“No! Not Oreos,” Brooke said in an exaggeratedly scandalized tone. “What’s next? Cocaine?”

Brooke’s
father went along with his wife’s health-nut crazes, but only to a point. He’d embraced meatless Mondays, developed a taste for quinoa, and could choke down a smoothie in the morning, but he refused to give up his Saturday-morning bacon, his Friday-night martini, or, apparently, his Oreos.

“He said he was stress eating,” Heidi said. “Because he missed you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Brooke said. “Good to know I can be replaced with chocolate wafers and fake sugary cream.”

“That’s what I said!”

Brooke smiled at the legitimate outrage in her mother’s voice. “So other than your new yoga place and Oreo-gate, how are you guys? Anything new?”

There was a moment of silence, and Brooke’s smile slipped. Her mother’s moments of silent were rare, and they almost always were a precursor to not-great news.

“Well, sweetie.”

Brooke closed her eyes. “Lay it on me, Mom. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

“It’s about Clay,” her mother said in a rush.

Brooke sucked in a breath, even though she’d known that that’s what any bad news must be about. It was just that she wasn’t used to hearing his name. Her friends and family went out of their way to avoid mentioning him, so if her mom was bringing it up now, it must be important.

“You know his trial’s coming up,” Heidi continued quietly.

Brooke said nothing. She’d known, of course, in
the back of her mind, and had even started to prepare herself for hearing his name in the news again, maybe even hearing her own name. But she resented his intrusion on her life just as she was starting to get her feet back under her.

“Well, I guess we knew it was coming,” Brooke said, keeping her voice calm. She started to take a sip of her latte, but the sugary, foamy taste suddenly turned her stomach, and she set it aside.

“That’s not all, honey,” her mom said. “The thing is . . . well, we had a meeting with the prosecutor last week.”

Brooke tensed. “Why did the lawyer want to talk to you guys?”

Her mother fell silent again, and Brooke groaned. “Mom. Please. Rip off the Band-Aid.”

“Your father lost most of our retirement fund in one of Clay’s scams,” her mother blurted.

No.

Must breathe. Must get air.

There was no air in this office.

Brooke put a hand to her chest and forced herself to draw in a ragged breath.

“Sweetie, say something,” her mother begged.

“Tell me you’re joking,” she said when she was convinced she was no longer going to pass out.

“I wish. We didn’t want you to know. You’d already been through so much, and we both felt so foolish, but they want us—your father—to testify.”

Brooke let out a little manic laugh. Her dad was going to be testifying against her fiancé. Ex-fiancé.

Brooke’s father was the senior vice president of
marketing for a major Hollywood studio. His income wasn’t insignificant, which meant that his retirement account likely hadn’t been, either. And Brooke’s mother had sold her organic bakery for some hefty sum a couple of years earlier, most of which they’d set aside . . .

For retirement. Which they’d now lost, thanks to Brooke’s stupidity.

“Oh my God,” Brooke breathed.

“In Clay’s defense, he did seem reluctant about taking your father’s money,” her mother said.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Brooke said sourly. “Are we defending Clay or testifying against him?”

There was a moment of silence, and Brooke knew why. It was the first time she’d expressed any kind of bitter emotion about what had gone down with her and Clay. She took a deep breath, pushing the anger back. Knowing that if she let it in, even a little, it would consume her.

“I just mean that I think he really did care about you,” Heidi said gently. “And by extension, I don’t think he wanted to hurt us.”

“And yet he took all your money.”

Okay, so maybe the anger was a little bit there. Lurking.

“I know. It’s just, we practically threw it at him,” Heidi grumbled. “We were so determined to support our new son-in-law, and . . .”

Heidi broke off, seeming to realize she was only making Brooke feel worse.

“Is Dad—is he going to testify?”

“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” her mom said.

“You
mean to gauge my level of bitterness?” Brooke said. “Like on a scale of one to ten, how badly do I want him to rot in jail?”

Her mom laughed, but it was one of those sad, “this sucks” kind of laughs. “Pretty much.”

Brooke blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I mean, I want him to pay for what he did, obviously. But I’m trying to put it behind me.”

“I know you are, honey. I just sometimes wonder . . . have you thought about talking to someone?”

Brooke frowned. “I talk to people all the time.”

“About Clay?”

“Well . . . no. Not if I can help it. There’s no point in dwelling on the negative, Mom. You taught me that.”

“Sure, sweetie, but I never meant that you weren’t allowed to mourn. I worry that you—”

“I’m fine,” Brooke interrupted. “Really.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“So Ms. Farley hasn’t contacted you, then?” her mom asked.

“Who?”

“Irene Farley. The lead prosecutor.”

“No. Why would she?”

“We’ve just been worried that they might try to bring you on the stand.”

Brooke froze. “They wouldn’t. Would they? I mean, I didn’t know . . . I didn’t have anything to tell them. Why, did she say anything about me?”

“Just that they might be in touch,” Heidi said miserably. “Apparently Clay himself will be getting on the stand, and they’re worried about him being
able to charm the jury. They think their best shot is to discredit him on a personal level. Make him seem not only a thief, but, well . . . a callous jerk.”

But he’s not.

Damn it.

Brooke hated that that was her first thought—to defend the man who’d broken her heart. It was just so damn hard to erase the memories she had of Clay. Of the man she’d known. Loved. That Clay might not have been real, but their time together was. Her memories were. Her happiness with Clay . . . that had been real to her, even if it had ultimately also been an illusion.

“I haven’t heard from her,” Brooke said quietly. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“So you wouldn’t testify?” Heidi pressed.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Brooke replied, spinning around the cup of her now-cold latte. “But if Dad wants to, I don’t have a problem with it.”

“You’re sure? Because, honey, you know that we did like Clay. It’s just . . .”

“He took all your money, Mom,” Brooke said, still trying to wrap her head around the betrayal. “I more than understand that he needs to face the consequences of that.”

Just leave me out of it.

“I know that your
brain
gets that. You’re a smart girl. It’s your heart I worry about.”

“Mom,” Brooke interrupted, trying to keep her voice gentle and patient. “This is why I moved to New York. So that I could get away from all of that.”

Brooke heard footsteps behind her and turned to
see Alexis backing out of her office with an apologetic wave.

Sorry
, Alexis mouthed.

Brooke waved her apology away. In fact, her boss’s interruption made for the perfect excuse.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. Work calls.”

“Okay, sweetie. Will you call me later? Your dad hasn’t committed to testifying yet, so if you change your mind, it’s really not a problem for either of us. We would completely understand.”

“I’m not going to change my mind. Tell Daddy to go for it. Really.”

“But, sweetie—”

“I love you, Mom. Tell Dad I love him, too.”

Brooke hung up, knowing by now that it was literally the only way to end a phone call with her mother, who seemed physically incapable of saying the word
bye
to her only daughter.

“Come in,” Brooke said in a bright tone to her boss. “Unless you’d prefer I come to your office?”

Alexis entered and sat down. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Well. So much for small talk.

“I’m sorry about the personal call,” Brooke blurted out, knowing she was stalling big-time. “It’s just . . . moms,” Brooke mumbled as she dug around in her drawer for the emergency Hershey’s Kisses she kept stashed.