To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1

by Lauren Layne

  “That’s not what I mean,” Tommy said, looking a little grimmer. “I’m saying that invading the privacy of a loved one, even if it’s in their best interest as it is here, can wreak emotional havoc.”

  The PI’s words struck a chord, but Seth kept his voice impassive. “I’d rather lose sleep over my own guilt than worry over my sister’s future.”

  Tommy studied him a bit longer, but he seemed to see the resolve on Seth’s face, because he nodded, clapped his hands against his legs, and then stood, hand outstretched. “We’re in business, then.”

  Seth hesitated only briefly before shaking Tommy Franklin’s hand.

  The moment he did, Seth became horribly aware he’d made a deal with the devil.

  Only in this case, the devil wasn’t the private detective so much as it was the cold chunk of ice that lived in Seth’s heart.

  Tommy had already explained his payment terms over email, but Seth listened as the other man explained them once more. Half up front. A quarter more with the first report, due in a month or shorter. The last quarter when the job was done.

  The men shook hands once more, and Seth showed Tommy to the door. Seth’s hand was just reaching for the door handle when the door burst open from the other side.

  “Yo, Tyler. Take me to lunch, and tell me every detail about what’s going on with your wedding planner hottie,” Grant said, striding into the office with the confidence of a man who’d done so a hundred times before without knocking.

  Seth’s best friend halted when he saw that Seth wasn’t alone. “Ah. Shit. Shit. Sorry, man. Etta said you didn’t have anything on your calendar when I called earlier this morning.”

  Fuck.

  Seth didn’t have anything on his calendar. He’d purposely asked Etta to keep his lunch hour free so he could catch up on email, and then insisted Etta take her dopey intern to some overpriced lunch so he could meet with the private detective in peace.

  A peace that was shot to hell now that Grant was studying the other man curiously.

  Tommy Franklin was no slob, but he also wasn’t wearing the usual Tyler Hotel Group business uniform that other men wore. There was no suit, no monochromatic tie. Grant would know immediately that this wasn’t a standard business meeting.

  Double fuck.

  Tommy gave a polite but bland smile and slipped out the door with little more than a nod to Seth and Grant. It was nicely done. A subtle way of escaping without introductions, and yet there was no sense of rudeness or awkwardness. Just a simple straightforward exit.

  Any other acquaintance of Seth’s would have dropped it without a second thought.

  Unfortunately for Seth, Grant was not any acquaintance.

  “Who was that?” Grant asked, curiosity shining through his brown eyes.

  “Nobody,” Seth muttered, shutting the door and heading back toward his desk.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Not only was Grant annoyingly inquisitive by nature, he also knew Seth too damned well. Knew when he was lying.

  “You would have put nobody on your calendar,” Grant said. “And nobody wouldn’t have required you sending Etta out to lunch when it’s not her birthday.”

  “Not true,” Seth muttered. “I send her out in the week before Christmas sometimes. She likes to go see the tree at Rockefeller.”

  “Right,” Grant said, crossing his arms. “You keep telling yourself whatever you need to, to avoid the guilt that’s written all over your ugly face right now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seth replied as he turned his attention toward his computer screen, even though his brain refused to register any of the hundreds of emails in his inbox.

  Grant ambled closer to the desk, his easy lope a contradiction to the ire on his face.

  “Tell me that man wasn’t who I think he was,” Grant demanded.

  Seth spread his hands to the side. “Hard to say. You’re the only aspiring mind reader in this room. Am I supposed to know what you’re rambling on about?”

  Grant’s light brown eyes glinted angrily. “Don’t bullshit me, Seth.”

  It was the seriousness in his usually lighthearted friend’s face that had Seth coming clean.

  He met Grant’s eye steadily. “That was Tommy Franklin. He’s a private investigator I hired to look into Maya’s fiancé.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Grant said, almost before Seth finished his sentence.

  “I told you I was going to do it,” Seth said, hating the note of defensiveness in his tone.

  “And I told you not to.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing you’re not the boss,” Seth said pointedly.

  “I’m not talking to you as one of your subordinates right now, and you fucking know it. I’m talking to you as a friend, although right now I’m seriously debating whether you’re worthy of the word.”

  Seth withheld the flinch, but barely.

  There were very few people in this world capable of wounding him, but Grant Miller was definitely one of them. And because pain was an unfamiliar sensation he’d never quite learned how to deal with, Seth lashed back.

  “This really isn’t any of your business, Grant.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” Grant slammed his palms on the desk. “This isn’t right, and you know it. Maya deserves our trust.”

  “There’s no ‘our,’ here, Grant. She’s my sister. You made your opinion clear and I noted it, but this is up to me. I’m the one that will have to call this man brother-in-law. I’m the one who will have to pick up the pieces if he hurts her. I’m the one who will have to sort out the financial aftermath if he’s after her money.”

  “That’s what this is all about,” Grant said coldly. “The money.”

  Okay, that was enough.

  Seth slammed his own hands on the desk, standing and glaring up at his slightly taller friend. “That’s not fucking fair. I care about Maya more than anything in the world, and you know that.”

  “Well, your brand of brotherly love sucks,” Grant snarled.

  “Back off,” Seth said, taking a breath and trying to cool his temper. “This isn’t your call.”

  “Well, it damn well should be.”

  “Why, because you’re in love with her?” Seth challenged, the words out of his mouth before he could think better of them.

  Grant’s chin knocked back as though Seth had dealt him a physical blow, and because Seth knew Grant every bit as well as Grant knew him, he knew what that reaction meant.

  It meant that Brooke had been right. Grant was in love with Maya.

  Seth swore softly, his head dipping forward. “You should have told me.”

  “It wasn’t yours to know,” Grant said, his tone rougher than Seth had ever heard it.

  “She’s my sister. You’re my best friend.”

  “Exactly. You would have tried to fix it. You’d have gotten all up in there,” Grant said.

  “And that would have been a bad thing?”

  Grant’s laugh held no humor. “This may come as a shock to you, but there are some things you can’t control, Seth. Your sister’s heart is one of them.”

  Seth met his friend’s eyes, hurting for him, even with the anger between them. “Does she know?”

  Grant shook his head miserably.

  “You know that my finding dirt on Garrett will work in your favor,” Seth said slowly. “If the man’s a fraud and she breaks up with him—”

  Grant was already shaking his head. “My love for her isn’t like that.”

  Seth’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that that’s not how I love,” his friend said. “I don’t risk other people’s happiness for my own peace of mind.”

  The quietly uttered statement was a direct hit, and this time it was Seth’s head that knocked back as though struck.

  “Seth.” Grant rubbed a hand over his face. “I know it was hard for you when Hank died. I know it was hard learning that he kept his heart condition a secret from you
.”

  “Which he didn’t from you,” Seth said bitterly.

  “You know I would have told you if he hadn’t made me promise to keep it quiet,” Grant replied. “And in the same way I begged him to tell you, to just be honest, I’m begging you now. Don’t do this to Maya. Don’t be dishonest with her.”

  “You don’t get it,” Seth said a little desperately. “If I have a chance to help someone I care about, I have to take it. If my dad would have told me, I could have done something. I could have saved him.”

  “Don’t do that, man,” Grant said. “Is that what’s driving you? You couldn’t save your dad, so now you’re thinking you’re saving Maya?”

  “I have to try,” Seth said.

  “That’s not love, Seth. Sticking your head into someone else’s business, not trusting them to do their life their way . . . that’s not love.”

  “It’s my kind of love,” Seth snarled.

  Grant made a disgusted sound and shook his head. “And that, my friend, is why you’re so goddamn alone.”

  The tightness in Seth’s chest constricted horribly, and for a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  “Get out,” Seth snapped. “Get the hell out.”

  “Happily,” Grant snapped back.

  It was the last word his best friend said before he stormed out of Seth’s office, the door slamming shut behind him.

  Leaving Seth as he’d always been.

  Alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  UGH. VALENTINE’S DAY IS the worst,” Jessie huffed as she carefully arranged fancy Levain Bomboloncini, the trendy bakery’s signature go-to snack, hand wrapped with pale pink paper, on a tray. It was four o’clock on a Friday, and a rare moment of calm in the Belles, with all four women in the same place, as Alexis had asked them to block off a couple of hours to add some classy Valentine’s Day decorations around headquarters.

  “Nuh-uh,” Heather said, helping herself to one of the miniature powder-dusted doughnuts and earning a glare from Alexis. “You don’t get to say that, what with your boyfriend and all.”

  “Um, I can totally have a boyfriend and still hate Valentine’s Day,” Jessie said.

  “Nope.” Heather’s mouth was full of raspberry jam. “That’s reserved for us single girls.”

  “Hear, hear,” Alexis muttered as she carefully placed handblown hearts into one of the hurricane vases on the reception table.

  Brooke glanced over at the Wedding Belles’ owner. “You too, Alexis? You hate Valentine’s Day?”

  “Not professionally,” Alexis said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “It gets people feeling all dreamy and spendy, which is good for business. But personally . . .” She shrugged. “Not my favorite.”

  “I take it from your scandalized expression that you do like the holiday, Brooke,” Heather said, reaching for a miniature Godiva from the small crystal bowl on the table and getting her hand slapped by Jessie.

  Brooke paused in the process of stuffing vellum valentines into fancy envelopes. All of their previous clients received handwritten notes from the Belles, unless, of course, they were on Alexis’s carefully maintained Divorce List That Wasn’t Spoken Of.

  “I do like Valentine’s Day,” she admitted, running a finger over the cupid stamp on the envelope.

  “That’s because she’s taken a luv-er,” Heather said in a singsong tone.

  Brooke’s insides warmed as she thought about Seth. Not that he was the romantic type. She certainly wasn’t holding her breath for flowers and candy when Valentine’s Day rolled around in another week. More likely he’d forget about the day altogether, and then make it up to her with his hands and mouth and sexy words late into the night . . .

  “Are you blushing?” Alexis asked, giving her a suspicious look.

  Jessie laughed. “No, that’s just good old-fashioned overheating. Her mind’s gone to The Gutter.”

  True. Super True.

  “Okay, but seriously,” Brooke said, changing the subject away from her sex life. “Even if I didn’t have a luv-er, I’d still love Valentine’s Day.”

  Heather pointed at her own face. “See this? Skepticism.”

  “Big surprise,” Alexis said. “You remind us almost daily that you doubt all things men and romance.”

  “As do you, dear,” Brooke heard herself say mildly.

  Her boss shot her a surprised look. “Excuse me?”

  Brooke’s eyes widened as she glanced around at the group of women. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were we not supposed to talk about the fact that you keep all men at a safe distance?”

  Heather let out a surprised laugh, and Jessie pointed toward the kitchen. “I’m just gonna go ahead and get us some wine.”

  The receptionist glanced at Alexis in question as she said this, and Alexis glanced at her watch, then shrugged at seeing the late afternoon hour. “Nobody has any last-minute appointments?”

  “Nope,” Heather and Brooke chorused.

  “Then what the hell,” Alexis muttered, going to the front door and pulling the silver Closed plaque from the door and carefully hanging it over the doorbell.

  Brooke silently cheered. If girl time, plentiful chocolate, and pretty pink hearts didn’t call for wine, she didn’t know what did.

  “I’m thinking champagne,” Jessie said, coming back with a bottle and four flutes. “The cheap stuff, so don’t freak, Alexis.”

  Alexis scoffed. “I never freak.”

  “’Tis true,” Heather said, flopping back onto a white love seat and patting the spot next to her for Brooke to come join. “I mean, I maybe saw her almost freak once when she found out that a bride was having an affair with the groom’s father and wanted to announce it at the rehearsal dinner, but even then she didn’t have a hair out of place.”

  “Of course not,” Alexis said primly, sitting in a chair and smoothing a hand over her dove-gray slacks as she accepted a glass of champagne from Jessie. “Because I’m not a complete heathen.”

  It was said jokingly, but as Brooke studied her boss in all her put-together glory, she realized that Heather was right. Alexis wasn’t just cool under pressure; she was downright rigid at times. Not in the cold, emotionless kind of way; it was just that the woman seemed to operate 100 percent from her head, and almost zero percent from her heart.

  Brooke, on the other hand, was a bundle of messy emotions.

  Always had been, probably always would be.

  But only the happy emotions. That was very important. If one was going to wear one’s heart on her sleeve, as Brooke tried to, it was important to keep sadness and anger at bay, giving in only to the giddy, good stuff in life.

  It was how she survived.

  Once all the women had champagne in hand, Jessie lifted a glass. “To Valentine’s Day.”

  “Which isn’t for another week,” Heather argued. “Plus, no way am I toasting to that. It’s not even a real holiday.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. “Well, what would you toast to?”

  Heather slid a sly glance toward Brooke. “How about to the newest addition to the Wedding Belles?”

  “We’ve already toasted to me,” Brooke said. “That first lunch at MOMA when you took me under your collective wing and were just . . . wonderful.”

  “Okay, don’t get weepy,” Heather said. “And I was thinking more like toasting to your new man.”

  “Oh, it’s a little early for that,” Brooke rushed to say. “We’re just . . . playing.”

  Alexis caught her eye and winked before lifting her glass. “Okay, then. To playing.”

  They all clinked glasses and took a sip of the delicious bubbly. It might have been “the cheap stuff” by Alexis’s shopping standards, but it was still darn yummy.

  “So things are going well, then?” Alexis asked. “With you and Seth?”

  “I guess so,” Brooke said, running a fingernail over the stem of her glass. “I mean, he’s not sending me texts by the hour confessing his love or anything, but we do dinne
r a couple times a week. Sometimes to discuss Maya’s wedding stuff, sometimes not, and it’s . . . I don’t know. It’s nice.”

  “Old-fashioned dating,” Heather said wistfully. “God, I miss that.”

  “Do you think it’s too soon?” Brooke blurted out.

  All three women looked at her in surprise. “Too soon for what?”

  Brooke twisted a lock of hair around her finger anxiously. “You know, to be seeing someone. I just got out of an engagement a few months ago, and I’ve only known Seth for a few weeks. I feel like I’m supposed to take time to heal, or something.”

  “If you feel ready, then you’re ready,” Jessie said confidently.

  Brooke noticed that Alexis avoided her gaze and didn’t chime in, and she sat up straighter, pointing at her friend. “There. That. What is that?”

  “What is what?” Alexis said, still not meeting her eyes.

  “You think it’s too soon!” Brooke accused. “You think I was supposed to wait longer to recover from Clay.”

  Alexis rolled her eyes, finally glancing at Brooke. “Not true. I’m the one who encouraged you to go to Seth that first night, remember?”

  “Oh. That’s true,” Brooke mused. “So what was with the Thinking Face?”

  “Uh-oh,” Heather said. “Alexis’s Thinking Face is never a good thing.”

  “I don’t have a thinking face,” Alexis said. “I just . . . I am happy for you, Brooke, of course. And I don’t believe that there’s any minimum amount of time required for the heart to heal. But—”

  Brooke sighed. “I knew there was going to be a but.”

  “I just want to make sure that you’ve let yourself heal,” Alexis finished, her voice gentle.

  “Of course I have,” Brooke said automatically. “That’s why I came out to New York instead of staying in LA licking my wounds.”

  “Running away isn’t the same thing as healing.”

  “Alexis!” Jessie said.

  “No, it’s okay,” Brooke said, her eyes never leaving Alexis’s. “I asked for her opinion.”

  “And it is just an opinion,” Alexis clarified. “But while I was all for you acting on instinct with Seth, owning your womanhood, or whatever, I just want to make sure you’ve had a chance to sort out what happened with Clay. Your heart suffered a pretty big shock.”