To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 Read online

  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.

  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 t
ell 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?”