To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1

by Lauren Layne

  Fuck no. He didn’t give a shit about his sister’s wedding dress.

  But he’d set himself up for this bullshit, so he forced himself to nod. “Yeah.”

  “All right,” she said slowly. “We can do dinner. But, Mr. Tyler, I really need you to understand . . . I’m not looking for anything . . . romantic. Or sexual. This thing between us—I’m not going to pretend it’s not there, but I’m also not going to act on it. My career with the Belles is too important to me to risk screwing it up over something like this.”

  His fist clenched harder, and he pulled his hand back at the rejection. He wasn’t surprised. Hell, he didn’t want anything, either; it was just . . . the straight-up dismissal burned. Not only because he was turned on as hell every time he looked at her, but because he got so much damned energy just from being around her.

  And the feeling, apparently, was not mutual.

  “It’ll just be a business dinner,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I have them all the time.”

  Which was true. Just not with people who looked like her. Not with people who made him feel the way she made him feel.

  “Perfect,” she said primly. “I’ll see you Friday at five thirty, then. Shall we meet at the restaurant?”

  “At my office, just in case I’m running late,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

  She nodded. “Okay, then. Have a nice night, Mr. Tyler.”

  “You too,” he said gruffly as she shut the door behind her.

  But he wouldn’t have a nice night.

  He’d be too busy trying to get her out of his damn head.

  Chapter Twelve

  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU got us an appointment at Blanche,” Maya said admiringly as they stepped out of her town car onto the sidewalk outside one of the city’s most elite bridal shops.

  “This is what you get when you hire the Belles,” Brooke said with a smile. “The best.”

  “I know, but I have friends—famous friends—who couldn’t even get in,” Maya said, sounding slightly awed.

  Brooke wasn’t surprised. Small, tony shops like Blanche very carefully cultivated their air of exclusivity. She knew they’d rather needlessly turn someone away than give them the impression that they were overly available.

  But that’s why people hired the Belles. Half of a wedding planner’s job was wooing not just the brides but the vendors.

  And lucky for Brooke, Alexis Morgan had gotten her stiletto-clad foot in the door of all the most elite vendors.

  Brooke smiled indulgently, proud of herself for clearly impressing her client. They’d had a great day so far, a complete one-eighty from the disastrous venue-scouting day. It turned out that spending time with Maya Tyler without the presence of her hovering fiancé or domineering big brother was actually quite fun.

  Brooke had liked the woman before. It was hard not to like someone who seemed so determined to be pleasant at every turn. But after the two of them had started their wedding dress consultation day with a Starbucks run, just the two of them, she was delighted to find signs of a sharp wit hiding beneath that angelic face. There was a tartness to Maya that had Brooke realizing that in addition to being an easy-to-work-with client, Maya was also the type of woman that could become a friend.

  “Look at these potted plants,” Maya crowed as the climbed the steps to the discreet brownstone that housed the dress shop. “Everything’s so white. The flowers, the pots. I’m surprised they didn’t spray paint the freaking stems. I mean, how dare they be green.”

  Brooke snickered. If she was being perfectly honest, she wasn’t overly excited about this particular appointment. The woman on the phone had been perfectly civil—ingratiating, even—but there was a fine line between exclusive and snobby, and her instincts told her that Blanche would be coming out on the latter side of the scale.

  Still, Maya was a hotel heiress who’d probably literally used silver spoons growing up—Brooke couldn’t not at least show her the place.

  Brooke rang the bell.

  “Hello?” The voice that answered managed to sound upscale and refined even through the intercom crackle.

  “Hi, Brooke Baldwin here with Maya Tyler for our two o’clock appointment?”

  “Let me check the books.”

  Brooke saw Maya roll her eyes and smiled. “By all means. Please check them,” she said sweetly.

  “Ah yes, here you are. Someone will be right down to greet you.”

  The door opened not two seconds later, and Brooke and Maya exchanged a glance at the ridiculous pretense of the whole thing. An attractive brunette dressed in a white pantsuit held a silver tray with two glasses of champagne and a plastic smile.

  “Welcome to Blanche,” she said, all but bowing as she extended the tray toward them. “I’m Marietta, assistant to Ms. Boulud, who graciously awaits your presence upstairs.”

  Brooke didn’t hesitate in grabbing for one of the glasses. She’d need a drink to get through this.

  Maya must have had the same thought, because she too gratefully snatched up one of the elegant flutes and didn’t hesitate to take a rather large sip. The two women’s eyes met and they smiled.

  Unsurprisingly, the entire foyer was white marble. As were the stairs. Brooke and Maya exchanged yet another skeptical glance as they followed Marietta’s curvy backside up the winding staircase.

  The upstairs was slightly less sterile-looking in that the hardwood floors had been left in their natural, dark wood state rather than being whitewashed like everything else.

  The woman that waited at the top of the stairs, however, was anything but natural. Her blond hair was platinum to the point of being nearly white. A perfect match for her blindingly white smile and her equally white wrap dress.

  Shoes? White. Manicure? White. Jewelry? White.

  The only part of her not white was her skin, which was a very unnatural orange shade.

  Brooke took a quick sip of her champagne to keep from giggling outright and saw Maya do the same.

  The white-and-orange woman approached. “Ms. Baldwin. Ms. Tyler. A pleasure. I’m Stacy Boulud, one of the lead sales specialists here at Blanche.”

  They did the requisite handshakes before Stacy glared at Marietta and shooed her away with a one-fingered wave.

  “This way, please. To the salon,” Stacy said, turning on her heel.

  “I feel like I need to confess that I’m terrified right now,” Maya whispered.

  “Me too,” Brooke whispered back.

  The salon was in fact a large circular living room that kept with the white theme right down to the coasters.

  “So, Ms. Tyler,” Stacy said the moment Brooke’s and Maya’s butts hit the white couch. “Have you given any thought to which designer you’ll be using?”

  “Hmm.” Maya furrowed her brow. “No, not quite.”

  “Because we have access to all of them,” Stacy interrupted. She held up her hands to gesture around at the Spartan room. “Do you see any dresses here?”

  “Well, no.”

  “No, you do not,” Stacy said proudly. “Because we would never display anything off the rack. We offer only custom confections.”

  Confections?

  Brooke had seen her share of uppity dress shops, but this was a whole new level. Still, if there was ever a bride that was at the top layer of society, it was certainly Maya Tyler, so Brooke kept her smile firmly in place lest this be exactly the kind of ass-kissing Maya was accustomed to.

  “At this point I’m not ready to commit to a dress shop, much less a designer,” Maya said sweetly.

  Brooke felt a little stab of appreciation. Nicely done, letting Stacy Boulud know that she was a long way off from having secured their business.

  The other woman gave a stiff smile. “Who else are you looking at? Because I can assure you we’re the best in the business.”

  “Brooke is taking care of managing all my options,” Maya said smoothly. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your process?”

 
; “Of course. Well, for starters, we have several brainstorming sessions on style and materials and vision before we even think about coming at you with a tape measure. We know that a wedding dress isn’t just a dress. It’s part of the decor.”

  Oh dear Lord.

  “Um. Wow,” Maya said. “That’s an interesting take on it.”

  Stacy’s phone rang, and she winced as she glanced down. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Tyler. This number has been calling constantly, and I really need to address it promptly, if you don’t mind?”

  “Sure, of course,” Maya said a little too readily.

  The second Stacy stepped away, Maya turned toward Brooke and mouthed, Yikes.

  Brooke bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and gestured with her chin toward the champagne chilling in the bucket in front of them. “More?”

  “God, yes,” Maya muttered.

  Brooke topped off both of their glasses, their gazes catching as snippets of Stacy’s conversation drifted toward them. The other woman was making no effort to keep her voice down, and she was clearly not pleased with whomever was on the other end of the call.

  “I’m sorry, who referred you to us?” Stacy said in an impatient tone and then paused. “Mmm. I see. Well, we only accept appointments from people who’ve been personally referred by past clients.”

  Stacy examined her manicure as she listened to the person on the other end. “Well, if you were able to give us a reference. Perhaps someone who could recommend your . . . connections?”

  This time she barely gave the person on the other end a chance to respond before cutting them off once more. “I’m sorry, but it seems we’re all booked up for the next couple of years. Best of luck finding a shop that fits your needs.”

  Brooke swallowed her anger. She’d seen this plenty of times—but while she was fine with vendors who were picky about finding the right clients, there was a cruelty to Stacy Boulud that was hard for her to stomach.

  “Sorry about that,” Stacy said, returning to her seat across from them. “Sometimes desperate brides can be so persistent.”

  “Mmm. Yes, shocking that they’d want access to the best dresses, just like the rest of us,” Maya said sarcastically.

  Stacy gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well . . . as I was saying, about our process—”

  “Actually.” Maya sat forward and set her champagne flute on the coffee table. “I don’t think your process is going to work for me.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Stacy looked so stunned, Brooke wished she had a camera.

  “Well, it’s just that you said you’re booked up for the next couple of years. My wedding is in just a few months,” Maya said in a sweet, anxious voice.

  Stacy’s made-up eyes widened as she realized she’d essentially just put her stiletto-clad foot in it. “No, I was just—”

  “And, you said you only take clients with referrals, and I don’t have any referrals, do I, Brooke?” Maya asked, turning toward Brooke with comically wide, innocent eyes.

  “No,” Brooke said, all too happy to play along. “I’m sorry, but I’m new in town. No referrals.”

  “Shoot,” Maya said, slapping her palms gently against her thighs in dismay before popping up. “Well, looks like we’ll have to find a shop that fits our needs.”

  Stacy shot upright. “Ms. Tyler, please, I’m sure that we can find you the perfect dress. Something beautiful and custom and befitting of your status.”

  “The only status I care about right now is my status as a bride. And that makes me no different from that woman on the phone who deserves to have her dream dress every bit as much as I do.”

  Maya had dropped the soft-and-sweet routine, looking outright fierce, and Stacy’s cheeks turned pink even beneath the orange of her fake tan. “But, Ms. Tyler—”

  “I think we’re done here,” Maya said to Brooke, ignoring Stacy altogether.

  Brooke had never really seen any similarities between Maya and her brother before, but she saw it now, as Maya’s straight spine and cool eyes mimicked her brother’s almost exactly. Brooke was positive this was what Seth Tyler must look like when doing business with someone who’d pissed him off.

  Which she was guessing was most people, knowing how difficult the man was to please.

  Brooke gave Stacy a little shrug as though to say, “What can you do?” and then followed Maya down the stairs, past a fascinated-looking Marietta and into the cold winter afternoon.

  Only when they’d descended the steps did Maya slow down and turn around. She put a hand over her mouth and let out a startled little laugh, and just like that, she was back to being sweet, pleasant Maya. But the fact that she had some steel beneath all those soft curves made Brooke like her all the more. Especially since Maya had used the ice-princess routine for all the right reasons: to put an outright snob in her place.

  “Can you believe her?” Maya said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brooke said. “I promise the others won’t be like that.”

  “Oh, stop.” Maya waved her hand as the driver opened the door for them. “You had to show it to me, of course. Blanche is the best, and I did say I want the best, just . . . not like that, you know?”

  Brooke slid in beside Maya. “You lied about not having referrals, didn’t you? I’m guessing you must have friends who got their dress there.”

  “Oh, dozens,” Maya said. “And their dresses were gorgeous, but the whole thing in there just didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like me.”

  “What does good feel like for you?” Brooke asked, hoping to finally be able to get a read on what Maya was looking for.

  Maya sighed. “I . . . is it weird that I don’t know?”

  Brooke smiled. “Not at all. Plenty of brides are surprised to realize that daydreaming about a hypothetical wedding is a lot different from planning an actual wedding.”

  “But it’s not just the wedding,” Maya said, sounding a bit tired. “It’s . . . everything.”

  “Explain?”

  Maya touched a hand to her forehead. “Do you think . . . do you think it’d be okay to skip the rest of the dress appointments? Or are we on a short timeline?”

  “No, of course that’s okay,” Brooke said. “We have plenty of time, and you haven’t even set a date yet, so everything can be as flexible as you need it to be.”

  “Not everything,” Maya muttered, staring down at her hands.

  Uh-oh. Brooke knew that voice, and it was not the voice of a bride with wedding stress. It was the voice of a woman who was feeling a bit lost.

  “Maya. Do you want to talk?” Brooke asked gently.

  Maya glanced up. “Yes, actually. I would love that. What do you say we exchange the wedding dress shopping for a glass of wine?”

  “A fabulous trade,” Brooke said.

  Maya rolled down the window of the partition between them and the driver and directed her chauffeur to a wine bar over on the Upper West Side.

  Twenty minutes later, Brooke and Maya were seated at a cozy high top near the window, armed with a glass of sauvignon blanc for Maya and a class of cabernet franc for Brooke.

  “So what’s going on with you and my brother?” Maya asked with a mischievous smile.

  The question was so unexpected that Brooke didn’t quite have a chance to come up with an evasion. “Hmm? Oh, um. Huh. Nothing, really. Why do you ask?”

  Maya laughed. “I knew it. You two totally have a thing.”

  “No, no thing,” Brooke said quickly.

  “Right. So you’re telling me you’re not seeing him later to report back on this meeting?”

  “He told you that?”

  Maya snorted. “Of course not. Grant did.”

  I’m sure he didn’t tell you I’m supposed to spy on your fiancé. Brooke tried to divert the conversation back to Maya. “Tell me about Grant.”

  Maya’s blue eyes narrowed just slightly. “What do you mean?”

  Brooke took a sip of her wine, keeping her face neutral. “I’
m just curious about him. He’s ridiculously likable.”

  “Oh?”

  Brooke didn’t think it was her imagination that Maya’s gaze went just slightly guarded at Brooke’s comment, and somehow she was very sure that this—Grant—was exactly what was causing Maya’s cold feet.

  “Did you two ever date?” Brooke asked casually.

  “No!” Maya looked horrified. “Why, did he tell you we had?”

  “Why would he tell me you had if you hadn’t?” Brooke asked, tilting her head in confusion.

  Maya pointed a finger in Brooke’s direction. “Oh, you’re good. You’re really good.”

  Brooke winked. “I know.”

  Maya heaved out a breath and took a sip of wine. “Okay, you want to know what went down with me and Grant?”

  Brooke didn’t respond. She just waited.

  “Nothing,” Maya said, slapping the table a little with her fingers. “Nothing went down. Not in the dirty way, not in the romantic way. It’s just he . . . we . . . I always thought that . . .”

  “That you’d be more than friends?”

  “Yes!” Maya said gratefully. “I mean, I had a crush on him for most of my life. He was my older brother’s best friend, you know?”

  Brooke nodded. “Classic.”

  “Exactly. It’s a classic, and I always waited for that moment where he’d do what he was supposed to do and wake up and see me differently. As a woman, instead of as Seth’s little sister.”

  Oh, he sees you, Brooke thought silently. He definitely sees you.

  It also hadn’t escaped Brooke’s notice that Maya had yet to utter her fiancé’s name once throughout this chat. In fact, the entire day, the word Neil had not passed Maya’s lips.

  And now, seeing how animated Maya got talking about a man she wasn’t going to marry, Brooke had to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Seth might be onto something about this impending wedding being bad news. But not for the reason he thought.

  “Did you ever tell Grant how you felt?” Brooke asked carefully.

  Maya studied her wine. “There were a couple of times where we had . . . moments, I guess you could call them. These tiny little heartbeats where I swear maybe he felt something, too, but then the moment was over, and I just . . . I don’t know. It’s cliché, but I don’t want to ruin a good thing, you know? He’s almost like family, in a way. And he means everything to Seth.” She shook her head. “If something were to go wrong between us, it could ruin their friendship, and I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to them.”