To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (6 page)

Jessie gave Brooke a quick tour of the consultation room that was off the main reception area.

No wonder the Wedding Belles have exorbitant fees
, Brooke thought. There was an espresso machine, eight flavors of macaroons delivered daily. Multiple French champagne options.

The Belles had sophisticated luxury down pat.

“So, you think you can hold down the fort?” Jessie asked as they went back into the main reception area. “I got a text from Alexis. Still no luck on the missing bride, and she wants me to go check the ex-boyfriend’s apartment.”

“Yikes,” Brooke murmured. “Let’s hope she’s not there.”

“Right? Talk about an OMG sitch,” Jessie said, pulling her curly red hair into a stubby ponytail. “Wish me luck that I don’t find her. Not there, at least. Maybe she decided to get a last-minute Brazilian, you know? For the honeymoon? But you’re good here?”

“Absolutely,” Brooke said.

And surprisingly, she meant it. This may be her first New York wedding consultation, but she felt 100 percent in her element.

There was nothing Brooke couldn’t handle. She’d seen it all. Experienced it all.

She was going to
own
this.

Not
two minutes after Jessie left the office, there was a chiming sound at the main door. What better way to demonstrate top-tier service than to open it herself and dazzle the clients from the get-go? Brooke sashayed over to the door and swung it open, then promptly realized that there was one element to wedding planning that she’d never experienced, and it was a bad one.

A
really
bad one:

Wild, instant attraction to the groom.

The man standing on the other side of the door made Brooke’s stomach flip in a way she hadn’t felt since . . . ever.

Her mouth went dry. Her palms grew sweaty. Her breath drew up short.

It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous in the stop-and-stare kind of way, although he was certainly good-looking. His light brown hair was just slightly windblown, with just the subtlest amount of curl.

The long wool coat was perfectly tailored to his lean body, and the navy color made his light blue eyes look all the more piercing. The nose was just a touch long, the brow just a bit intense, and the mouth unsmiling and sexy as hell. His skin was the vaguely gold tone of someone who tanned easily.

But it wasn’t his good looks that had her feeling a bit short of breath. It was the look in his eyes—the look of surprise that she knew mirrored her own. Surprise that a perfect stranger could cause such a fierce stab of want.

And he was someone else’s fiancé.

No, her client’s fiancé.

Crap.

Even
Brooke’s “look on the bright side” mantra couldn’t fix this.

“Hi, you must be Neil,” Brooke said, forcing a smile and extending a hand.

“No.” His voice was low, his enunciation precise.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not Neil.”

Brooke blew out a slow relieved sigh, then quickly tried to cover it up with a little cough.

He wasn’t Neil Garrett.

Which meant he wasn’t getting married. Which meant . . .

Knock it off. You’re so not in a place to be man-hunting right now.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I thought you were my two o’clock appointment,” she said.

“I am your two o’clock,” he snapped.

The man was literally staring down his nose at her as though she were the ultimate nuisance. Clearly, Brooke had been wrong about their attraction being mutual.

He started to brush past her, but Brooke shifted to block his way. “I don’t think so. Not if your name isn’t Neil Garrett, and not if you’re not marrying a Maya—”

“Maya Tyler,” he finished for her.

Brooke’s eyes narrowed, but she moved to let him inside, ignoring the way his closeness made her heartbeat quicken.

She shut the door and turned to find him holding out his jacket to her.

Seriously?

Brooke
had no problem taking her clients’ jackets. Or making them coffee, or pouring them champagne, or frankly, jumping through whatever hoops they wanted her to as long as it related to the wedding.

But something about this man’s entitled attitude set her on edge. No, scratch that. Everything about him set her on edge.

She ignored the jacket. “And you are?”

Their eyes locked and held for several moments. God, he was good-looking, in a pretentious, head-of-the-boardroom kind of way.

He tilted his head just slightly, a knowing look on his face as though reading her thoughts. Brooke finally grabbed at his jacket, needing an excuse to turn away from him.

“I’m Seth Tyler,” he said quietly as he watched her hang the jacket on a hook near the door. “Maya’s brother.”

Ah. That explained his sense of entitlement. The man was one of the richest people in the country.

And actually, Brooke was a little surprised she hadn’t recognized him. She followed the social scene fairly closely—there was plenty of crossover between the New York and Los Angeles social elite.

But then again, while Maya Tyler made frequent appearances at all the big-name events and dated a handful of celebs, her brother kept a relatively low profile, at least on the social scene. She’d heard his name, certainly, but never seen a picture. Brooke was certain if she had seen a picture, she would have remembered.

“A bride’s brother,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s
a new one. I’ve had sisters tag along before. Mothers are almost a given. Dads, too, given the whole father-of-the-bride thing. But a brother . . . that’s a definite first.”

Seth’s eyes never left Brooke’s. “Maya doesn’t have a sister. Or a mother. And as of eight months ago, she doesn’t have a father, either.”

Brooke forced herself not to look away in embarrassment.

He was trying to make her feel like a jerk, and it was working. She’d forgotten that Maya’s file indicated both parents were deceased. She certainly hadn’t
meant
to remind him about Hank Tyler’s recent death, but her comment had been insensitive all the same. She was usually much better at details than this.

Still, she wasn’t about to grovel beneath his icy stare, so instead, she gave a small nod. “Well then, Maya’s lucky to have you.”

His eyes narrowed as though assessing her statement for mockery, but Brooke merely smiled. Just let him stew on whether or not she was being sarcastic.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “A cappuccino, water, champagne?”

He glanced at his watch. “Champagne? It’s barely past two in the afternoon.”

Ugh. So he was like that.

A total stiff.

Good thing he was a ten physically, because his personality was trending toward the negative.

“It’s also a special occasion,” she said softly. “Your sister is getting married.”

Seth
grunted and tore his light blue gaze away from hers, and Brooke’s curiosity spiked. Whatever Seth Tyler’s reasons for being here, they certainly didn’t involve being excited about his sister’s upcoming nuptials.

Brooke tilted her head slightly and considered him. “You don’t want to be here.”

His eyes snapped back to her. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Really,” she said, crossing her arms. “So you’re telling me that you want to be standing inside a wedding planner’s office right now, gearing up to talk about canapés and bustles and tea-length versus cocktail-length bridesmaid dresses, and coupes versus flutes for the champagne toast?”

Seth’s gaze raked over her before he took a step closer. He was tall, but she was in five-inch heels, which meant she only had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. She didn’t know why, but this man seemed determined to make her feel small. Well, screw him—Brooke wasn’t going to roll over and play dead.

She’d experienced plenty of belittling in the past four months from people she actually cared about. She wasn’t about to let a perfect stranger—no matter how gorgeous—get under her skin.

“You should know something, Ms. . . .”

“Baldwin,” she said evenly.

“Ms. Baldwin,” he said slowly, as though tasting the sound of her name on his tongue. Then he dropped his eyes to her mouth as though wanting to taste more than the sound of her name.

Brooke swallowed and forced herself not to take
a step back. “What is it that I should know?” she prompted.

His eyes lifted back to hers, and despite their closeness, despite the heat between their bodies, there was no warmth in his eyes. This was a man who’d long ago mastered the art of perfect, icy control.

“You should know that I never do anything I don’t want to,” he said in that low, husky voice.

“Is that so?” Crap. Now
her
voice was husky.

“It is,” he said slowly. He moved even closer.

“And what is it that you want?” she asked.

His eyes drifted once more down to her mouth, and Brooke ordered herself firmly not to do anything ridiculous, say, like leaning into a man who was proving to be a pretentious ass.

Except . . .

Except, he smelled good. Really good. Like expensive cologne and man and sex, and despite the fact that Brooke was writing off the opposite sex for at least the next year, she wanted . . . she wanted . . .

Another chime at the door sounded, shattering the moment.

If it had even been a moment. A quick glance up at Seth Tyler showed that he didn’t look the least bit fazed by the sexually charged encounter.

She turned on her heel, ignoring the heat of his gaze on her back, and opened the door to Maya Tyler and a man who was almost as good-looking as Seth.

Almost.

“Hi, so wonderful to meet you! You must be Maya and Neil,” Brooke said, ushering them in with a warm smile as she felt her heart rate return to normal.

“I’m
so sorry we’re late,” Maya said. “I wish I could blame it on traffic, but the truth is, my hair appointment ran long.”

“It’s hard for us blondes, isn’t it?” Brooke said with a wink. “And it was totally worth it, by the way. You look fabulous.”

Brooke meant it. Maya Tyler was every bit as gorgeous as her brother. Her eyes were the same piercing light blue as Seth’s and a good deal more friendly, while her hair and skin were both lighter. Brooke could tell this was a woman who took full advantage of what must be an unlimited beauty budget—every detail, from the perfect highlights to the subtle eyelash extensions to the creamy complexion, was flawless and expensive-looking.

Brooke turned toward Maya’s fiancé. The man was extremely attractive in a vaguely exotic way. His skin was a dark bronze, his eyes dark brown with impossibly thick lashes. The smile was bright white and utterly charming.

It wasn’t hard to see why Maya was enamored. Everything about the man seemed likable.

Before Brooke could shake the groom’s hand, she was surprised to find that Seth Tyler had stepped forward and was standing beside her, all but edging her out as he stared down Neil Garrett.

“Hi, you must be Seth,” Neil said, extending a hand to Maya’s brother.

Brooke’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. The brother and the fiancé hadn’t met?

Interesting. Very interesting.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Maya
stepped forward, a hint of nervousness on her face as she looked between the two men. “Sethy, this is Neil.”

“Yeah. Got that,” Seth ground out.

Brooke winced at his sharp tone. Neil, however, did not. Maya’s fiancé apparently had a good deal more class than her brother, and he merely stood there, hand extended, until Seth relented and shook it.

Maya gave Brooke an apologetic smile, seemingly sensing her confusion. “Neil and my relationship has been sort of a whirlwind. This all happened so fast, and with Seth being so busy with work, he and Neil haven’t had a chance to, well, meet.”

“It happens like that sometimes,” Brooke said smoothly, hoping to temper some of the tension she felt radiating off Seth. “Why don’t we all have a seat in our consultation room, make sure everyone’s on the same page about expectations, and discuss vision?”

“Excellent idea,” Neil said, shooting Brooke a smile as he stepped closer to Maya and put a hand around her waist. “We can’t wait to get started on this.”

Brooke led the group into the conference room and pulled out a bottle of champagne from the mini-fridge as everyone sat around the conference room table.

Ignoring Seth’s disapproving glare, she caught Maya’s eye and held up the bottle. “Shall we celebrate?”

“Yes,” Maya said, a little too enthusiastically.

Brooke couldn’t blame her. There was way too much tension in the room for what should be a happy, joyous affair.

And
she knew exactly who was to blame.

Seth had seated himself across from the happy couple, long fingers tapping against the table as he studied his brother-in-law-to-be.

Brooke made a mental note for her first task of the Tyler-Garrett Wedding: get rid of the brother.

“Just water for you, I assume, Mr. Tyler?” she said sweetly.

His gaze flicked to hers, narrowing slightly.

She gave him a pretty smile. “It is, after all, before five.”

His gaze narrowed even further as it drifted over her, as though daring her to continue pushing his buttons. And she shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. Not if she wanted to get this account. But he was just so pompous.

“Oh, come on, Seth, have half a glass,” Neil said with a laugh.

Brooke realized then that she hadn’t even been getting the worst of Seth Tyler’s glares. Those he apparently reserved for Neil Garrett.

Brooke pulled four crystal champagne flutes off the shelf—whether he knew it or not, Seth Tyler needed a drink—and listened as Neil tried unsuccessfully to engage Seth in small talk. But despite Neil’s rather impressive charm, Seth hadn’t done much more than grunt at his sister’s fiancé.

By the time poor Neil had resorted to talking about the weather, Brooke was wishing she was skilled enough with a champagne cork to aim it at Seth’s head. Something needed to knock some sense into the man. His little sister was getting married, and
here he was acting like he was in a board meeting with a bitter rival.

Brooke frowned at the realization that not only was there no satisfying pop of the champagne cork, the damn thing wasn’t even budging. Just her luck that she’d get a stubborn cork on her first day.