Wedding Bells and Wall Street Bros

by Alina Jacobs

  Mark

  Brea was grating on my every nerve.

  I need to quit weddings, I decided. They take up too much time. And now I have this dog. The puppy looked up at me hungrily as I ate a sandwich later that evening in my condo kitchen. I dropped a piece of chicken to the puppy, who pounced on it.

  “If you’re going to live here, I need to name you,” I told him. “Especially since you’re my ticket out of that fundraiser and that date. How about…Beowulf? That’s an auspicious name.”

  The puppy barked and pounced on my shoe, chewing on the lace.

  I felt slightly guilty that I was planning on standing up the Instagrammer but not bad enough to actually go with her to the fundraiser. Technically, Wes had invited her. If he wanted her there that badly, he could take her.

  Besides, surely I had maxed my quota of dealing with artistic women for today. I’d already had to deal with the short, hostile seamstress earlier. Someone who wanted to be charitable would describe her as feisty. She was also comfortably plump and brutally honest and said what was on her mind.

  “If she wasn’t so irritating,” I said to the dog as I took the last bite, “she would be intriguing.”

  We were interrupted by pounding on the door.

  “Mark!” my mother yelled. “Open up this door this instant.”

  “Showtime,” I whispered to the dog. I picked up the puppy, blotted his nose with a paper towel so it would feel dry, wrapped him in a blanket, and deposited him on the couch. Then I let my parents into my condo.

  “Mark,” my mother said. She was in a robe, her hair in rollers for the Holbrook Foundation charity event in a couple of hours. “Why on earth are you not coming to this fundraiser?”

  “You know we rely on you,” Jack, my father, said with a frown. He had the same dark hair and blue eyes that all the men of my family had, though his face bore a few more lines.

  “You’re supposed to be the responsible one,” my mother insisted. “Your brother, Carter, is supposed to be the flake. What is more important than this charity function?”

  “My dog is sick,” I lied.

  “You have a dog?” my father asked in surprise.

  “He’s a new addition,” I said smoothly. “He’s been ill, an unfortunate side effect from a life on the hostile streets of New York City.” The puppy did cut a pathetic image all bundled up on the couch.

  My mother’s face softened. “He’s so little!” she exclaimed, sitting down on the couch next to the puppy.

  Pretend to be sick. I sent mental thought waves to the dog. The puppy gave a pathetic little cough.

  “See?” I told my mom. “I have to stay here.”

  She and my father exchanged a glance.

  “It is nice to see you do something other than work,” my father said. He patted me on the shoulder. “Your mom and I were worried about you after…everything,” he said awkwardly. “A pet will be good for you. I think he can be off the hook tonight, Nancy,” Jack said to my mom. “We’ll save some food for you.”

  At the word “food,” the puppy barked and wriggled out of the blanket, tail wagging furiously.

  My mother raised an eyebrow. “Seems he’s made a miraculous recovery.”

  I picked up the dog, and he wriggled and made little whining noises.

  “He just perked up because of the promise of food,” I said. “But he is sick, honestly.”

  “I think he might have just needed to go out,” my father said, pointing. A little dribble of pee was coursing down my shirt.

  I cursed and ran the puppy to the balcony, where I’d had a patch of grass installed. He was still too young to be taken out to parks yet, as he hadn’t had all of his shots. I hastily unbuttoned my shirt as I came back inside.

  “Liz’s boots were delivered from the shoemaker,” my mother said, handing me a bag. “The package was labeled with our apartment number and not Wes’s. I was going to take them up, but now you can, since everyone here is healthy. I need to head over to the hotel for the fundraiser. I will see you there sharply at seven.”

  I let out a snarl after my parents left. “Just my luck.”

  I needed a shower, and I didn’t want to put on another shirt and dirty it too. Cursing the puppy, who was milling around the living room, I took the bag up. Besides, Wes was just one floor above me. I quickly took the stairs two at a time up to his apartment.

  The door was unlocked, so I let myself in, calling, “Liz? Wes? I have your shoes. I’m going to leave them in the—”

  “Oof!”

  Something soft and warm crashed into my bare chest.

  “Oh my gosh! Wes, I’m so embarrassed!” Brea looked up at me and swore.

  I smirked at her colorful language.

  “Why are you here?” she hissed.

  “Delivery for Liz.” I held out the bag.

  Brea looked at it, swore again, and wrapped her arms around herself. She was wearing a bra and panties but nothing else.

  “Is there something going on?” I asked.

  “I’m not standing here having a conversation with you while I’m not wearing any clothes and you’re not wearing any clothes!” she shrieked. She snatched the bag from me and ran back toward the bedrooms.

  What the hell is Brea doing here? I was momentarily stunned. I looked around the apartment. And why didn’t she have any clothes on? The image of her curvy figure in nothing but the sheer lingerie burned in my mind.

  The thought rose up unprovoked: What would she look like fully unclothed?

  17

  Brea

  I slammed the door of Liz’s bedroom behind me, breathing hard.

  Mark Holbrook is cut.

  No, brain, we are not going down that road.

  I opened the door a crack and cautiously peeked down the hall. Mark was still standing there, shirtless, with washboard abs and broad shoulders to make any girl drool, his pecs and biceps just hanging out there, saying, Yeah, I’m awesome, I’m just going to run around shirtless.

  He turned and peered down the hall. I slammed the door shut again.

  “Did you get my water?” Liz asked, fanning herself.

  “Uh—shoot.”

  That was what I had run to the kitchen to retrieve. I had been at her condo in the first place to do an emergency sewing session on her dress. I had been in the middle of trying on dresses when Liz had been convinced she was dying of thirst, was about to have a stroke, and desperately needed water. I had freaked out and run to the kitchen sans robe.

  “I’m—” Not thinking about Mark.

  Liz snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Are you all right?” she asked in concern.

  “I forgot your water, but I have your boots!”

  “Ooh, perfect!” she squealed. “I wanted to wear those tonight.”

  “Mark brought them,” I blurted.

  “Ah,” Liz said, taking the boots from me, “hence the thousand-yard stare.”

  “He wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

  Liz giggled. “He’s really cut, isn’t he?”

  I nodded and swallowed, or tried to. I really needed that water too. “He’s just standing there.” I gestured to the general vicinity of the kitchen.

  Liz peeked out. “I think he’s gone.” She smirked at me.

  I blushed.

  “I did always think there was something there between you,” Liz said thoughtfully.

  “What?” I sputtered, “Never! He and I? Our Venn diagrams do not overlap. At all, ever.”

  “But you’re so discombobulated.”

  “I am not!” I announced. “I am in control of my own person, and I am going to fetch your water.”

  I marched back out into the kitchen.

  “Holy shit!” Mark exclaimed.

  I screamed. “Why are you still here?”

  “Why are you still here?” he bellowed. “You don’t even live in this building.”

  “I’m tending to a pregnant woman!” I shrieked at him, running to the fridge and opening it so
I could peek around the door. “You’re the one who’s lurking in an apartment he doesn’t own.” I grabbed a glass bottle of fancy imported sparkling water.

  “I’m not lurking.”

  “You are!” I insisted. “You’re hulking and lurking and loitering and sneaking around.”

  Mark opened his mouth then shut it. “You are a real piece of work,” he snarled at me.

  I glared at him from around the fridge door. Well, half glared. The other part of my attention was carefully detailing the planes of his chest, because if I ignored the asshole that chest was attached to, I could admit that it was the nicest male chest I had ever seen by several orders of magnitude.

  “I cannot wait until this wedding is over so I don’t have to deal with you anymore,” he spat. He turned on his heel and left.

  As soon as the door slammed, I shut the fridge and sprinted back to Liz’s room. “Water,” I announced. “To quench your thirst.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow as she took the bottle from me. “I’m surprised you didn’t quench your thirst with Mark, so to speak.”

  I sputtered. “I don’t like him, and I especially don’t like him like that.”

  “You don’t have to like him to sleep with him.”

  “Isn’t he basically part of your family now?”

  Liz paused mid-chug of water. “Yeah, but that’s why he’s a good option, because I know he doesn’t have women over here at all hours of the night, so he’s not crawling with STDs. He’s got all the perks of fucking a virgin but all the experience of a man who knows what he’s doing.”

  “I refuse to even consider it,” I said, turning back to Liz’s dress. She wanted to wear a golden evening gown to the fundraiser. I had let out the waist earlier in the week, but Liz had called me in a panic because now she couldn’t zip the garment up.

  “Is it going to work?” Liz asked as I finished sewing the panel of black lace to the back. “I was able to suck it in and fit into it five days ago, I swear.”

  “You’ll look classy and elegant.”

  “I don’t look janky?” She made a face at her reflection.

  “Of course not,” I insisted as I pulled on my own gown. “Are you sure it’s okay if I come?”

  “Of course,” Liz said. “You saved my dress; you deserve an invitation. I think you and I are, or at least were,” she patted her growing belly, “the same size. There’s a black one in there you should try. It’s pretty forgiving.”

  The slinky black dress had lots of slits and cutouts. I looked at it in apprehension. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s got gathering and draping in all the right places.”

  I slipped on the dress then looked at myself in the mirror. Liz was right. The dress was very forgiving. It had a slit up the skirt on one side, but it wasn’t a gratuitous slit, just enough to give a peek when I walked. The dress had long sleeves and an asymmetrical dip down the front, giving a slight suggestion of cleavage.

  After borrowing a sparkly clutch and a pair of strappy, sparkly sandals, I was ready for a schmoozefest with the wealthy and powerful of Manhattan.

  “Hope you have your wedding-planning business cards,” Liz said as we walked to the elevator.

  “Wes isn’t coming?” I asked as she punched the down button.

  “He’s meeting us over there.”

  At my questioning look, Liz explained, “His aunt wanted him there first thing to greet the donors, and I like to arrive fashionably late. Plus she usually has a briefing session about who’s coming and who they are trying to convince to write a check. Also, I feel kind of bad. He’s been basically waiting on me hand and foot. Last night, I was craving calamari from that restaurant on 75th Street. Wes drove all the way over there to buy some for me before it closed. Then when he brought it home, something in my stomach was like, ‘Nope, I will barf if I eat this.’ So I made him buy me some caramel ice cream instead.”

  When we arrived at the venue, Wes seemed as if he would gladly not only drive all over Manhattan but fly anywhere in the world if it would make Liz happy. He kissed her softly when we walked into the glittering ballroom. I felt slightly—well, okay, a lot—jealous. As much as Liz complained, I knew she was happy with her perfect soon-to-be husband, her beautiful home, and her future addition to the family.

  I wished I had that. My traitorous brain served me an image on a silver platter of Mark Holbrook, shirtless, gaze smoldering. I ran over that image with a forklift and buried it for good measure. There was no way in wedding hell I was going to even entertain the notion that Mark might be desirable.

  He is desirable, I thought as he walked in, looking like a snack in his tux. I’m not admiring him, just admiring the craftsmanship on that tux. It was perfectly tailored, and the fabric was understated but of the highest quality.

  And he smells really good.

  I made a threatening gesture at my libido as Mark stood there, bored and unsmiling.

  “Cheer up!” Carter joked with his brother. “I hear you have a hot date tonight!”

  He brought a date? A part of me was hurt. No, I’m just befuddled.

  Clearly I was just confused that any woman would want anything to do with a man like Mark.

  That was until a tall woman with breasts I knew were fake and red hair that I knew wasn’t real because in reality we had the same color and lips slathered with red lipstick that I knew was even faker than all of the above slunk over like Jessica Rabbit and ran her hands up Mark’s side.

  “Are you jealous?” Liz whispered in my ear.

  Forget jealousy; I was fucking furious.

  What the fuck is my sister doing here?

  18

  Mark

  I stormed back down to my condo after seeing Brea half naked not once but twice.

  Why did she come back out?

  Why did I stand there like an idiot?

  And why was I refusing to admit to myself, even though I knew it was true, that I had actually been hoping she would reappear?

  Her tits looked amazing.

  I shook myself as I opened my front door. That was not happening.

  What, fucking her? Kissing her?

  “None of it,” I growled to myself. “None of it is happening ever.”

  I looked down at my pants; they had tented slightly.

  Never.

  I took a freezing shower while Beowulf tripped over the bath mat, picked a fight with it, then lost and cried for my help.

  “You need to grow into your name,” I told the small pup as I unwound the bath mat. “Now remember, I’m going to be gone tonight, so you need to be good.” Then I shook myself. I really did need to start putting myself out there if I thought it was perfectly acceptable to carry on a conversation with a dog.

  “This date will be good for me,” I said to my reflection.

  Beowulf barked in agreement then got freaked out that the dog in the mirror had barked at him. He rushed the mirror, banged into it, and bounced back on the floor.

  I picked up the puppy and put him on the bed while I fastened my cuff links and tied the bow tie. I shrugged on my tuxedo jacket and turned on the TV for Beowulf, who settled down on my pillow.

  “Don’t make a mess,” I warned the dog. “Also, you may have to move if I bring home company.”

  Company? You can’t just bring home some woman you only just met, I chastised myself as I climbed into the limo that would take me across town to the hotel.

  What if you took someone you did know?

  Like Brea.

  It was a clear signal of my wretched mental state if I was suddenly fantasizing about Brea.

  She was just wearing the equivalent of a swimsuit. You cannot be the type of man who has so little self-control that a woman in a perfectly reasonable amount of clothes makes you stupid and excited.

  I was satisfied that I did not have such a powerful reaction when my date walked out of the hotel. She resembled her Instagram photos at least.

  “Mark,” she all but purred, “I’
m Memphis Eve. It’s so nice to meet you in person.” Her eyes roamed over me appreciatively.

  Brea never would have done that in a million years. Instead, she would have crossed her arms and told me I looked like a tool.

  I held the door for Memphis Eve then helped her into the car.

  “Champagne?” I offered as the driver took us across town to the historic hotel where my parents hosted the annual charity fundraiser.

  On the ride over, Memphis Eve practically sat in my lap as she told obnoxious story after obnoxious story about hanging out with celebrities that I’d never even heard of. She scrolled through her Instagram feed, showing me pictures of herself that I was shocked that Instagram even let her post, as they were practically soft-core porn.

  “See anything you like?” she purred.

  But none of it was as titillating as Brea in her bra and panties, standing in the kitchen and yelling at me.

  You need to get a grip, I ordered myself as I escorted Memphis Eve into the ballroom.

  One of the servers offered her champagne, and she took it and sipped it.

  “Would you care for anything to eat?” I asked her.

  “Ugh, no,” she said. “I’m on a diet.” She gave that obnoxious, braying laugh. “My body is my money-making machine. Have to keep it in top form.”

  She drained the champagne then said, “Just need to go freshen up. Have to look my best with all these important people here.”

  I checked my watch. We’d only been here fifteen minutes. Maybe I could sneak out after the speeches.

  My family was gathered around Liz, and they waved to me.

  Just put in some face time and you can leave.

  “He made it!” Grant boomed, patting me on the back. “I had bet money that you weren’t going to show.”

  “Of course he’s going to be here; he had to bring his hot date,” Wes joked. “Mark’s the most desirable man in Manhattan!”

  Someone snorted next to Carter. I did a double take.

  “Brea? What are you doing here?”

  She swallowed the mini quiche Lorraine she was eating. “I was invited,” she said defensively. “Liz said I could come.”