by Lauren Layne
The year-round sunshine in California had its benefits, certainly, but there was something lovely and quiet about a true winter. The short days and cozy nights curled up under a blanket were relaxing and reflective, allowing her a chance to sit and contemplate in a way that the long LA days and nights hadn’t really permitted. Not that Brooke allowed herself to do much of that lately. It had been hard enough to keep her feelings about the Clay situation at bay, and now there was Seth Tyler muddying things up even further.
For starters, the man was too damn serious. Yeah, he had a sense of humor lurking under that sharp gaze, but he also wasn’t easy. He’d demand more than she was willing to give just by being him, but he wouldn’t give anything back.
Pleasure, certainly. She was positive that they’d do just fine in bed.
But what about after that?
Seth didn’t want to get married. Hell, the man barely looked like he wanted to date.
And Brooke . . . Brooke did want that. She so desperately wanted a nice man who’d take her to dinner, buy her pretty things, and most of all, who’d hold her. Who’d pull her close, wrap his big arms around her, and just let her lean. Without plan or agenda.
A kind man, a gentle man, who wanted to build a life with her.
That’s all she wanted. Not so much to ask, really.
Seth Tyler was not that man.
But he could kiss. Holy hell, could he kiss.
Brooke’s phone rang, and she winced when she saw the caller ID. Nothing like seeing one’s mother’s name pop up on the screen to ruin what could have turned into a good X-rated daydream.
She flicked her finger lightly against her forehead, willing the filthy images of Seth Tyler to fade from her mind before she picked up the phone.
“Hey, Mom! You’re up early. Like, really early.”
“I started this new predawn yoga class,” her mother said in a voice that was far too energetic considering it was barely five a.m. in California. “And they have a juice bar connected to it featuring a really lovely collection of sea vegetables.”
Um, gag.
“Yummy,” Brooke managed in response.
Brooke considered herself to be a fairly health-conscious modern woman. She exercised regularly, tried to eat assorted salads for lunch most days. But Heidi Baldwin was a whole other level of health nut. Calorie counting, juice cleanses, clean eating, the whole deal.
“How’s New York, darling? Are you making sure to get plenty of fresh air?”
“You live in LA, Mom,” Brooke said, picking up her latte. “Not exactly known for being smog-free.”
“Well, tell me you’re at least carrying your pepper spray with you. That many people crammed into a tiny space, and you’re practically begging to get mugged.”
“I wonder which one will kill me first,” Brooke mused. “The pollution or the mugging?”
“Or a runaway cab,” her mother said. “I’ve heard some of them don’t even have their driver’s licenses.”
“Where?” Brooke challenged. “Where have you heard that?”
“At least tell me you’re happy,” her mom said, ignoring the question.
“Of course!” Brooke said, the response rolling off the tip of her tongue before she had a chance to even consider the question.
But it was true—she really was happy. She loved her apartment. Loved her job. Loved her clients, and her work colleagues, who were slowly but surely becoming her friends. She was even growing to love the city, which, while admittedly completely different from what she was used to, was a bit addictive.
So what if she was a little lonely sometimes? If she ached for the unmistakable caress or touch of a lover at the end of a long day, someone to listen to her stories and pour her a drink as she walked in the door and kicked off her shoes? Brooke firmly believed that happiness was a choice, and she was choosing to be happy, therefore . . . she was.
“I’m glad,” her mother said cautiously.
“I really like it here,” Brooke said, consciously quieting her voice so it didn’t come off quite so manic.
“Good,” her mother said with an audible sigh of relief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the selfish in me wants you to come back home so I can make you my homemade kale cakes while we watch Real Housewives of Orange County, but the part of me that’s a rather exceptionally well-adjusted parent is glad to see you thriving.”
Brooke laughed. “I miss you guys, Mom.”
“We miss you, too, sweetie. Did I tell you I found a package of Oreos in your father’s sock drawer?”
“No! Not Oreos,” Brooke said in an exaggeratedly scandalized tone. “What’s next? Cocaine?”
Brooke’s father went along with his wife’s health-nut crazes, but only to a point. He’d embraced meatless Mondays, developed a taste for quinoa, and could choke down a smoothie in the morning, but he refused to give up his Saturday-morning bacon, his Friday-night martini, or, apparently, his Oreos.
“He said he was stress eating,” Heidi said. “Because he missed you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Brooke said. “Good to know I can be replaced with chocolate wafers and fake sugary cream.”
“That’s what I said!”
Brooke smiled at the legitimate outrage in her mother’s voice. “So other than your new yoga place and Oreo-gate, how are you guys? Anything new?”
There was a moment of silence, and Brooke’s smile slipped. Her mother’s moments of silent were rare, and they almost always were a precursor to not-great news.
“Well, sweetie.”
Brooke closed her eyes. “Lay it on me, Mom. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
“It’s about Clay,” her mother said in a rush.
Brooke sucked in a breath, even though she’d known that that’s what any bad news must be about. It was just that she wasn’t used to hearing his name. Her friends and family went out of their way to avoid mentioning him, so if her mom was bringing it up now, it must be important.
“You know his trial’s coming up,” Heidi continued quietly.
Brooke said nothing. She’d known, of course, in the back of her mind, and had even started to prepare herself for hearing his name in the news again, maybe even hearing her own name. But she resented his intrusion on her life just as she was starting to get her feet back under her.
“Well, I guess we knew it was coming,” Brooke said, keeping her voice calm. She started to take a sip of her latte, but the sugary, foamy taste suddenly turned her stomach, and she set it aside.
“That’s not all, honey,” her mom said. “The thing is . . . well, we had a meeting with the prosecutor last week.”
Brooke tensed. “Why did the lawyer want to talk to you guys?”
Her mother fell silent again, and Brooke groaned. “Mom. Please. Rip off the Band-Aid.”
“Your father lost most of our retirement fund in one of Clay’s scams,” her mother blurted.
No.
Must breathe. Must get air.
There was no air in this office.
Brooke put a hand to her chest and forced herself to draw in a ragged breath.
“Sweetie, say something,” her mother begged.
“Tell me you’re joking,” she said when she was convinced she was no longer going to pass out.
“I wish. We didn’t want you to know. You’d already been through so much, and we both felt so foolish, but they want us—your father—to testify.”
Brooke let out a little manic laugh. Her dad was going to be testifying against her fiancé. Ex-fiancé.
Brooke’s father was the senior vice president of marketing for a major Hollywood studio. His income wasn’t insignificant, which meant that his retirement account likely hadn’t been, either. And Brooke’s mother had sold her organic bakery for some hefty sum a couple of years earlier, most of which they’d set aside . . .
For retirement. Which they’d now lost, thanks to Brooke’s stupidity.
“Oh my God,” Brooke breathed.
“I
n Clay’s defense, he did seem reluctant about taking your father’s money,” her mother said.
“Wait, I’m confused,” Brooke said sourly. “Are we defending Clay or testifying against him?”
There was a moment of silence, and Brooke knew why. It was the first time she’d expressed any kind of bitter emotion about what had gone down with her and Clay. She took a deep breath, pushing the anger back. Knowing that if she let it in, even a little, it would consume her.
“I just mean that I think he really did care about you,” Heidi said gently. “And by extension, I don’t think he wanted to hurt us.”
“And yet he took all your money.”
Okay, so maybe the anger was a little bit there. Lurking.
“I know. It’s just, we practically threw it at him,” Heidi grumbled. “We were so determined to support our new son-in-law, and . . .”
Heidi broke off, seeming to realize she was only making Brooke feel worse.
“Is Dad—is he going to testify?”
“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” her mom said.
“You mean to gauge my level of bitterness?” Brooke said. “Like on a scale of one to ten, how badly do I want him to rot in jail?”
Her mom laughed, but it was one of those sad, “this sucks” kind of laughs. “Pretty much.”
Brooke blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I mean, I want him to pay for what he did, obviously. But I’m trying to put it behind me.”
“I know you are, honey. I just sometimes wonder . . . have you thought about talking to someone?”
Brooke frowned. “I talk to people all the time.”
“About Clay?”
“Well . . . no. Not if I can help it. There’s no point in dwelling on the negative, Mom. You taught me that.”
“Sure, sweetie, but I never meant that you weren’t allowed to mourn. I worry that you—”
“I’m fine,” Brooke interrupted. “Really.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“So Ms. Farley hasn’t contacted you, then?” her mom asked.
“Who?”
“Irene Farley. The lead prosecutor.”
“No. Why would she?”
“We’ve just been worried that they might try to bring you on the stand.”
Brooke froze. “They wouldn’t. Would they? I mean, I didn’t know . . . I didn’t have anything to tell them. Why, did she say anything about me?”
“Just that they might be in touch,” Heidi said miserably. “Apparently Clay himself will be getting on the stand, and they’re worried about him being able to charm the jury. They think their best shot is to discredit him on a personal level. Make him seem not only a thief, but, well . . . a callous jerk.”
But he’s not.
Damn it.
Brooke hated that that was her first thought—to defend the man who’d broken her heart. It was just so damn hard to erase the memories she had of Clay. Of the man she’d known. Loved. That Clay might not have been real, but their time together was. Her memories were. Her happiness with Clay . . . that had been real to her, even if it had ultimately also been an illusion.
“I haven’t heard from her,” Brooke said quietly. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“So you wouldn’t testify?” Heidi pressed.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Brooke replied, spinning around the cup of her now-cold latte. “But if Dad wants to, I don’t have a problem with it.”
“You’re sure? Because, honey, you know that we did like Clay. It’s just . . .”
“He took all your money, Mom,” Brooke said, still trying to wrap her head around the betrayal. “I more than understand that he needs to face the consequences of that.”
Just leave me out of it.
“I know that your brain gets that. You’re a smart girl. It’s your heart I worry about.”
“Mom,” Brooke interrupted, trying to keep her voice gentle and patient. “This is why I moved to New York. So that I could get away from all of that.”
Brooke heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Alexis backing out of her office with an apologetic wave.
Sorry, Alexis mouthed.
Brooke waved her apology away. In fact, her boss’s interruption made for the perfect excuse.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. Work calls.”
“Okay, sweetie. Will you call me later? Your dad hasn’t committed to testifying yet, so if you change your mind, it’s really not a problem for either of us. We would completely understand.”
“I’m not going to change my mind. Tell Daddy to go for it. Really.”
“But, sweetie—”
“I love you, Mom. Tell Dad I love him, too.”
Brooke hung up, knowing by now that it was literally the only way to end a phone call with her mother, who seemed physically incapable of saying the word bye to her only daughter.
“Come in,” Brooke said in a bright tone to her boss. “Unless you’d prefer I come to your office?”
Alexis entered and sat down. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Well. So much for small talk.
“I’m sorry about the personal call,” Brooke blurted out, knowing she was stalling big-time. “It’s just . . . moms,” Brooke mumbled as she dug around in her drawer for the emergency Hershey’s Kisses she kept stashed.
“I understand. I’ve got one of those, too,” Alexis said, her voice uncharacteristically kind.
“Yes, but do you have a criminal ex-fiancé for your mother to fret over?”
Alexis let out a sharp laugh that hinted at hidden pain. “No. But honestly, I think my mother would prefer me to have a con man than no man.”
Brooke popped a Hershey’s Kiss in her mouth and held one out to Alexis, who shook her head. Of course not. No chocolate for this one.
Still, Alexis’s face looked happier than usual, her body language just a little more relaxed than Brooke was used to seeing. The result of spending time with a certain accountant, perhaps?
Excited to see another side of her boss, however slightly, Brooke smiled and kept up the small talk. “Is she one of those moms that sends you articles about freezing your eggs?”
“Oh, so you’ve met her?” Alexis said with a wry smile. She held out her hand, apparently having changed her mind about the candy. “My comfort food is usually Fritos, but I suppose this will work in a pinch.”
Brooke tilted her head to the side, and tried to picture the delicate-featured, classy brunette eating salty, greasy corn chips. “Nope. Can’t picture it.”
Alexis chewed her Hershey’s Kiss slowly and methodically, the way she did everything else. “Yes, well. Let’s just say that my chip breakdowns are few and far between, and I ensure they happen in private.”
“Do these breakdowns ever have anything to do with a certain sexy Brit?”
Alexis blinked. “What?”
Uh-oh. Too far.
Still, it was too late to backpedal.
“Oh, come on,” Brooke said lightly. “You can’t tell me you have private, early-morning meetings with your accountant and not notice that he’s the sexiest thing since Mr. Darcy?”
Again with the clueless blink. “Are you referring to Logan?” Alexis asked.
You poor, oblivious creature. “Please don’t tell me you’ve completely missed the fact that the man is gorgeous.”
Alexis pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I guess he’s always just been . . . Logan. We’re friends. And he’s my accountant. Not exactly fantasy material.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d forgive the pocket protector because, that accent though.”
Alexis’s smile faded as she chewed and swallowed the chocolate. “Is this what you wanted to speak of? My accountant?”
Brooke swallowed a sigh. Girl talk was apparently over before it even got started.
“Actually, no . . .” she admitted. “It’s about the Tyler wedding.”
Brooke took a deep breath. “I seem to be f
inding myself . . . attracted . . . to the bride’s brother.”
“Ah,” Alexis said, not looking the least bit surprised.
“You don’t seem . . . shocked,” Brooke said.
“Well, I know him.”
Brooke froze. “You know him.”
“I know of him,” Alexis amended. “I’m actually friendly with an ex-girlfriend of his.”
“Nadia?”
Alexis’s gaze sharpened. “He’s mentioned her?”
Brooke bit her tongue, feeling oddly disloyal to Seth for even going there. “In passing,” she said with a wave of her hand.
“Hmm, yes. They didn’t end well,” Alexis said.
Understatement.
“Well, regardless, I seem to find myself . . . attracted. I haven’t crossed any major lines,” Brooke said, deliberately omitting the fact that she’d crossed a minor one with that kiss, “but I’m embarrassed to say that I’m no longer certain I can be objective where he’s concerned.”
“I see,” Alexis said slowly. “Is he planning the wedding?”
“Well, no, but he’s financing it.”
“And you’re worried that you might comport yourself in a less-than-ideal manner because he’s attractive?”
“No. But I’m worried you might worry that.”
Alexis studied her for several long torturous moments that reminded Brooke uncomfortably of the time she’d brought home a particularly rough report card to her parents in the tenth grade when she’d been spending a whole lot more time on the cheerleading field than in the library.
“You’re a professional, Brooke. It’s why I hired you.”
“I am,” Brooke confirmed quickly. “It’s why I’m coming to you now. Preemptively.”
“Are you asking that the Tyler wedding be reassigned?”
“No.” Brooke was emphatic. “I simply thought it might be prudent to let you know of the situation. I’d love the opportunity to continue working with the bride and groom directly, but because Seth—Mr. Tyler—is very much involved, I was thinking that perhaps either you or Heather could take care of keeping him apprised of the necessary details.”
Alexis slowly reached out and helped herself to another Hershey’s Kiss. “No.”
“Thanks—wait, what?” Brooke said as her boss’s response registered.