Fall For You: A Reverse Grump Romantic Comedy (A Season's Detour, Book 2)

by Hayleigh Sol

  “Unfortunately.”

  Shrugging her shoulders and spreading her hands, Tracie tilted her head on the cushion to face me. Her red canvas shoe jittered where she’d crossed an ankle over a knee. “Noah and I have talked about this. Several times, actually. We’re not starry‌–‌eyed kids jumping into anything with unrealistic, overly romantic expectations.”

  That sounded like a rehearsed response. Hmmm, why the nerves? “I thought you didn’t want to get married. To anyone. Ever.”

  Tracie sighed. “I didn’t. I still don’t think I need a piece of paper to tell the world I’m committed to this man. That was what I told Noah, and he even agreed.”

  “So what happened?” I was still baffled. This was the twenty‌–‌first century. Tracie and her guy weren’t religious, nor were either of them from particularly traditional families. She was successful on her own and so was Noah. When we’d become friends, we’d bonded over our refusal to conform to ancient societal standards for single women. I couldn’t help but feel a little‌…‌betrayed.

  “Do you remember when that gossip site ran that article about him and all the women he was photographed with all the time, speculating about who he was really dating, implying he was cheating on me?”

  I remembered it well. Our response was to find a bold red dress that hugged her curves as the slit up the side offered tantalizing but tasteful glimpses of her thigh. She’d worn the hell out of that dress to a charity shindig Noah’s company hosted annually and she’d later gleefully informed me that every photo of them together showed him ogling her. We’d both thought it would be her leave‌–‌him‌–‌wanting‌–‌more‌–‌before‌–‌dumping‌–‌him‌–‌on‌–‌his‌–‌ass dress. But the dumping part hadn’t happened.

  “That’s what got Noah thinking. He didn’t want me always seeing pictures of him with other women. Wondering. You know that was kind of a rocky time for us and it took me a while, but I told him I trusted him and knew the paparazzi were just trying to sell stories. But, then it turned into him wanting to make sure everyone knew we were together. Like, it was more about his own peace of mind.” She smiled to herself, lost in a memory. “It was really quite sweet. He’s a big softie, you know.”

  Noah Bedford had been dubbed “the next Elon Musk” for his work in renewable energy. He wasn’t as open and friendly with the press as Musk, but he took calculated risks‌—‌and had been quite successful with them so far‌—‌making a name for himself and his company. Nearly every week, he was mentioned in the local news, though he’d never been portrayed as the “softie” Tracie claimed.

  Either he was uncomfortable in the limelight, or he deliberately closed himself off to keep his private life private. I could understand and appreciate either. But it was still difficult to imagine the aloof mogul as the teddy bear Tracie insisted he was.

  Clearing my throat dragged Tracie’s attention back from where she’d been lost to her gooey girly thoughts. “You know the press will still speculate that he’s cheating if you two get married, right? They do it with celebrities all the time. And they’re usually right, by the way.”

  Tracie nodded and chuckled. “I said that, too. About the speculation part, not the actual cheating bit. But, Bailey, you should’ve seen how earnest, how nervous he was when he finally proposed. He said we could do this thing however I wanted ‌–‌ have a commitment ceremony, a party with our closest friends and family, an official license or not‌…‌he just hoped I’d wear his ring and”‌—‌she paused to gulp back the tears that were making her eyes shiny‌—‌“he wanted nothing more than to wear mine. For all the world to see.”

  Unbidden, the memory of a past conversation flashed through my mind.

  “Lots of men don’t wear rings. It’s no different than not wanting to wear a watch‌…‌or some gaudy gold chain.”

  I shook off the vision and admonished myself to be a good friend. “That’s very sweet, Trace.” It had been a wonderfully romantic thing for Noah to say. But words were just empty air. Especially when spoken by a man.

  And Tracie’s man had been paired with socialites and C‌–‌list celebrities, both before and since he’d met her. He often traveled and worked late hours‌—‌the calling card of the unfaithful everywhere. I didn’t trust him. And I definitely didn’t think Tracie should marry him.

  Not that I could say that to her at the moment.

  “Congratulations to Noah and best wishes to the bride.” I’d always found it rather telling that we wish the bride luck in her future plight while congratulating the groom on his coup.

  Tracie beamed. Like a damn bride. “Thank you. Does this mean you’ll be my maid of honor? Before you answer, please remember that I only have one other girlfriend out here and she’s going to be our wedding coordinator and a bridesmaid; it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to take on even more.” She batted her lashes at me, making me laugh. A little. “Am I laying on the guilt‌–‌trip heavily enough?”

  “I don’t know, Tracie. Are you sure you want me? You know I’m not the biggest fan of weddings or marital bliss. Plus, I’m generally acknowledged as a grumpy Gus. I’m not likely to ooh and ahh over flowers and menus with you or debate the merits of blush and bashful as your colors. I don’t even like pink.”

  Shaking her head, Tracie grinned over my objections. “That’s precisely why I want you. I’m not into all that girly shit, either. I was never the type to compile a wedding binder or put a pillowcase on my head and play bride when I was five. I’m honestly more worried about how much time planning this thing is going to take out of my busy schedule. I need someone who’s as grounded as I am. Someone who knows a wedding that lasts a few hours isn’t the most important event in life.”

  She had me there. While there might’ve been a time in my life that marrying the man of my dreams was a major goal, I’d long since realized I was more fulfilled by my personal accomplishments. Running a successful business, finding my niche in the fashion world, helping people feel good about themselves, those were the things that made me happy. Happier than any member of the opposite sex ever had.

  My friendships were the relationships that fulfilled me. Among my oldest group of friends, I was teasingly known as the grumpy old lady. But every one of those women knew I’d do anything for them. I was loyal‌—‌to my own detriment sometimes.

  Tracie and I hadn’t been friends nearly as long as the other five ladies in my life, but we’d become close and I couldn’t let her down. Especially if she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

  Being in the wedding party would give me a chance to observe the groom, a man I’d never actually met, interestingly enough. If I saw him acting sketchy, if he didn’t treat my friend the way she deserved to be treated, I’d kick his ass. Well, I’d at least talk to Tracie and help her see the truth in the most supportive way I could.

  When my friend, Maya, had been dating her last boyfriend, a total douche she was waaay too good for, I’d subtly pointed out his faults. Okay, Maya may not have thought I’d been all that subtle. But what was more important ‌–‌ being polite and biting your tongue or saving a friend from heartbreak?

  “Alright,” I sighed. “I’d be honored to keep your head out of the fluffy pink, glitter‌–‌lined clouds of wedding planning.” Tracie’s eyes lit up. “I’m going to maid of honor the shit out of this thing.”

  She didn’t know just how dedicated a maid of honor I’d be. I may not be dressing identically to the bride to confuse evil spirits, but I would keep a sharp eye trained on the groom.

  Standing, I pulled her to me for a hug. “Seriously, thank you for asking me. I won’t let you down.”

  And I wouldn’t. Even if it meant biting my tongue (for now) and stifling my natural inclinations to warn her about the groom’s inevitable personality change or urge her to do spot checks of his emails and texts for inappropriate conversations with other women.

  “Thank you, Bailey. I know you won’t.” She leaned a
way and gave me that hand‌–‌in‌–‌cookie‌–‌jar face again. “Even when I tell you we want to get married over Thanksgiving weekend?”

  My eyes widened, brows arched. “Not this Thanksgiving‌…‌the one in three months?”

  She nodded, the little brat, then rushed to circumvent my many obvious objections. “I know, I know, it’s soon. But we don’t want to drag out the planning process or do a big society splashy thing. We want to keep it family and close friends only, private and intimate. No media allowed.”

  I had a bad feeling Tracie was fooling herself if she thought they’d be able to keep the media from sniffing out that Noah Bedford was getting married. And to a woman who’d become such a big deal in the tech world in her own right. They were Arthur and Guinevere, and Silicon Valley their Camelot.

  Wait, Guinevere had an affair with Lancelot‌—‌

  “At least it’s not Halloween; that was my first suggestion, but Noah thought it’d be a better time for the engagement party or the combo bachelor‌–‌bachelorette party we want to do.”

  Uh‌–‌huh, there was her groom exerting his authority, overriding her wishes already. Freakin’ patriarchy.

  “Halloween is sooner than Thanksgiving, but we could make it happen if it’s what you’d prefer.”

  She shook her head thoughtfully. “No, I agree with Noah that the costumes and haunted house I want to create would be better for one of the other events.”

  Oh, Lord, there was a haunted house?

  “And, despite our best intentions, I know the paparazzi will manage to get their pictures. I don’t want our special day to be immortalized as kitsch or tacky.”

  I agreed that there was the potential for a Halloween‌–‌themed wedding to be seen that way. Thinking of my previous society‌–‌maven client that afternoon, I knew she would definitely have trash‌–‌talked that kind of event. Tracie said she liked the idea of fall colors in the background more than spiderwebs anyway, and it seemed like she was sincere.

  So maybe Noah hadn’t totally steamrolled her after all.

  “Oh, I totally forgot! I actually thought you’d be more resistant to being in the wedding and I had a very attractive incentive to offer. You should really work on your negotiating skills.” My lips flattened and I gave her the professorial look of censure I’d learned from Simone.

  “Well, you’ve got the face down, no worries there. Anyway, so I know you’ve been wanting to take your consulting business online, make your genius more accessible to people outside our little world here. Wouldn’t it be great to use some photos from all of this, and a glowing testimonial from me, of course, to help your launch? Noah and I can beat the media at their own game, getting pictures out there of our choosing so the ones they manage to capture are less valuable.”

  Tracie’s arms folded over her chest and her eyes glittered in triumph. She was probably a very badass negotiator. “And, as a thank you gift for being such an amazing, if reluctant, maid of honor, I think you should let my company create the app for your new site.”

  Holy crap, she was speaking my love language.

  “Seriously? Like, gratis?” She nodded and my heart soared. “I feel like you’re the wealthy older gentleman who just bought me an outrageously expensive piece of jewelry.” Her brow furrowed but she was smiling. “You know, I should refuse the gift on principle but it’s so damn tempting to just take it and run.”

  Tracie laughed. “Oh, you should definitely take it and run. Do you know how many companies are courting us to design an app for them right now?”

  I squealed‌—‌actually squealed‌—‌and threw my arms around her. There might’ve even been a bounce or two. “Okay then, yes, please, make my app.” I held her at arm’s length and assumed a serious mien. “But I want you to know that I meant it when I said I was honored to stand up with you. With or without your super sexy gift.”

  “And there’s another reason I knew you’d be perfect for the job.”

  We hugged it out again, then made a quick list of the major events she’d need styling help with: engagement party, bridal shower, post‌–‌wedding brunch, and, of course, the big day itself. The happy couple would nail down dates with their families this weekend, Tracie would talk to her friend and wedding coordinator, Ashley, and then we’d start shopping.

  Alterations for wedding dresses could take up to three months, so we were already cutting it close. Ordering a gown was probably out since that process could take several months alone. We’d have to find a dress that was already made and, hopefully, required very little in the way of alterations. Since the style of the dress often‌—‌usually‌—‌set the tone for the wedding, I knew we needed to schedule appointments at dress shops‌…‌yesterday.

  Joy, wedding dress shopping.

  Tracie left my little shop, looking less wide‌–‌eyed with shock than when she’d first told me her big news. Like I would’ve been in her place‌—‌not that I’d ever have been the one getting married‌—‌she was probably relieved to have a plan of attack. Because that’s what planning this wedding was going to be ‌–‌ a major battle.

  In more ways than one, for some of us.

  Chapter 2

  For some unholy reason, I was up before eight on a Saturday morning. That reason, I soon learned, was named Yulia Lebedev.

  It was Maya who’d told the rest of us about Emma’s scheduled press announcement, insisting we all watch it together before signing into our monthly video chat. Six months ago, fewer than that even, Maya would’ve been so fixated on her company’s problems that she’d have been totally oblivious to almost everything else. I didn’t fault her for it; as a business owner myself, I knew there were times your career consumed every breath you took.

  But, after cleaning house earlier in the summer, ousting the biggest problem she’d had‌—‌namely, a couple of rats‌—‌Maya’s stress level was way down, her company was doing great and, she claimed, so was her love life. It was nice to have our friend back, even if she did spend an inordinate amount of time wearing the Chesire‌–‌cat grin of the sexually satisfied.

  Like, all the freakin’ time.

  “Bay, you need some coffee? You’re looking a little‌…‌rough.”

  I scowled at Lisette, who smirked back at me on the seven‌–‌inch screen of my tablet. “Already had some. And you’d be looking rough, too, if you’d been to as many bridal boutiques as I have the past two weeks.”

  Holly’s eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. I’d have to remember to tell her later the fringe was a good look for her. “Excuse me, did you just say you’ve been going to bridal boutiques? Willingly?”

  “Shh, it’s starting.” That was Simone, commanding our attention without raising her voice a notch. It was a gift she’d had from the time she was in second grade, the rest of us in fourth. I suspected it was because Simone was silent so much of the time, perfectly happy to read quietly while the rest of us talked, until she had something to add and we’d all shut up to hear what had stirred her to speak.

  Unmuting my tv, I watched as Emma, with her typical relaxed smile and athlete’s poise, greeted the room of reporters. I wondered if the other ladies on the call detected the small signs of strain around her eyes or the way she seemed to be holding up the corners of her smile on sheer willpower alone.

  Back in July, Emma’s old tennis rival, Yulia Lebedev, had made some comment to a reporter during an interview at Wimbledon. At the time, it had seemed like an off‌–‌the‌–‌cuff remark about how she’d love a rematch without the rotator cuff tear that had taken Emma out of the game‌—‌and away from tennis‌—‌prematurely. But, we lived in the age of retweets and sharing and the press loved a good story. Especially a rivalry between two of the greatest players of women’s tennis in the past decade.

  That single comment had sparked the interest of every sports reporter covering the scene and Yulia had been asked about Emma over and over until she’d come right out and issued a dir
ect challenge that Emma could no longer ignore or laugh off.

  The press conference today was her answer.

  Even though I wanted to punch Yulia in her pert little nose, I was proud of the way my bestie was handling the situation. With a flick of straight, glossy black hair over a shoulder, she faced the cameras and announced she was in training again. She answered a few questions, then exited the room as serenely as she’d entered it.

  Well done, Em. Always leave ‘em wanting more.

  Back on the video chat with my friends‌—‌sans Emma, who was boarding a plane immediately following her announcement‌—‌we talked about how strong and determined she’d looked. And how none of us had known she was gearing up for a major detour in her life plan. That kind of secrecy wasn’t like our effusive best friend.

  Inevitably, the conversation shifted to our usual life recap and I told them all about my client, Tracie. The nondisclosure agreement, which Tracie had needlessly apologized for‌—‌as she and her fiancé were celebrities of a sort, I’d understood their need for an NDA and been happy to sign it‌—‌prevented me from revealing specific details. But the dress shopping experience from hell was highly entertaining. If you hadn’t been part of it.

  “So she really didn’t have any ideas about what she wanted before you went shopping?” Simone was always organized well in advance of any situation. She was also the most likely among us to strap on the ball and chain first. I’d been expecting a big announcement from her for years now, but she never seemed to find the right guy.

  Her words, not mine. In my opinion, there was no “right guy”, just a guy‌—‌several, in fact‌—‌who would do for right now.

  “I told Tracie to look around online before we went out but she said it was too overwhelming. Too many perfect models who looked good in every style of dress.” My client and friend had been right about that. I’d had the same problem when I’d been shopping for my own dress a million years ago.

  “But you’ve been helping this woman choose clothes for a while now, right? Weren’t you able to steer her toward the perfect princess‌–‌mermaid whatever?”