by Lauren Layne
“No chance in hell.”
“Then yes. Definitely,” he said as he began untying her halter top.
* * *
Eleven minutes later, the elevator began moving again, and they straightened their clothes as best as they could.
“Well, I guess I finally know your rate,” Gray said as he helped her retie her top. “I should have left a diamond ring on the dresser a year ago, and we could have skipped all the past few months and gotten straight to the good stuff.”
“But then we’d never have experienced the awkward family dinner, or The Castle, or the Blackwells…”
“Speaking of the Blackwells, what do you say to a honeymoon in Maui?” he asked.
“Will Alistair be there?”
“I can probably arrange it. Assuming he doesn’t have a mosquito convention.”
“Then absolutely. I’m in. Ugh, I don’t suppose you have a handkerchief,” she said, struggling to right her appearance.
He pulled one from his pocket, predictable as ever. “I thought you were supposed to save the one I gave you last time as a memento,” he said as she carefully removed her smeared lipstick.
“I believe what I said was that I wasn’t keeping it.”
“I thought you women were supposed to be attuned to romantic inklings.”
She snorted. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I didn’t set your handkerchief on fire.”
Gray grabbed her left hand and ran a thumb over the new diamond. “You’re sure about this, Sophie? You think I can be a good husband?”
“I’m sure about you,” she said confidently, smiling into his worried face. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life annoying the crap out of you.”
Gray’s lips closed over hers, and it took them several moments to realize that the elevator doors had opened, and that a crowd of people were staring at them. The same hotel manager from before came rushing over.
“Mr. Wyatt, I hope everything is—well, I mean—will your companion be joining you for dinner?” Mr. Clinksy finished awkwardly, clearly unsure how to handle the unusual situation.
Gray smiled down at his new fiancée. “Indeed she will.” Sophie and Gray walked away from the elevator lobby for the second time in the same year.
But this time, they were going in the same direction.
Will Thatcher is exactly the type of sexy bad boy that good girls like Brynn have always avoided.
But Will is out to show Brynn that this imperfect man might be the best mistake of her life…
Please see the next page for a preview of
Made for You.
CHAPTER ONE
Accept the aging process with grace and decorum.
—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an Exemplary Life, #32
Distributing toilet paper was not on Brynn Dalton’s life list.
Neither was crying in a public bathroom at her own birthday party.
But if there was one thing Brynn was starting to suspect, it was that life’s plans went to hell after thirty.
“Excuse me, um…ma’am? Would you mind passing some toilet paper? This roll is empty.”
The slightly embarrassed question from the neighboring bathroom stall caught Brynn on the verge of a sob, and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
“Oh. Sure.” She kept her voice composed. Her voice was always composed.
Brynn carefully tore off six squares of toilet paper and folded them neatly. She was about to pass them under the stall when she paused. The tidiness of the bundle annoyed her. So instead of handing it over, she set the folded squares on her knee and slapped at the toilet paper roll again until she had an enormous wad of tissue. Brynn very slowly, very intentionally crumbled the toilet paper into a ball.
Much better.
Plus, now the poor lady on the other side wouldn’t be in the awkward position of having to ask for some more toilet paper. And Brynn Dalton was very good about not putting people in awkward situations.
Brynn leaned down slightly and thrust the wad of tissue under the stall wall.
“Thanks,” came the relieved voice. “You’d think a classy place like this would have enough TP stocked, huh?”
“You’d think,” Brynn agreed politely. Not that she gave a hoot about the toilet paper stocking policies at SkyCity’s private event venue.
“You here for the party?” the voice asked.
“Mm hmm,” Brynn said, becoming aware that she was on the verge of entering full-on conversation from a toilet seat.
What kind of crassness was this? Weren’t bathroom stalls supposed to be sacred places?
“Do you know the birthday girl?” the voice persisted.
Brynn gave a grim smile at that. “Oh yes.”
“Never met her,” the other voice said. “I’m just tagging along as the date of one of her friends.”
“Oh, nice,” Brynn said, struggling to keep her voice polite.
Brynn heard Chatty Cathy’s toilet flush. Finally. “Well, see ya,” the voice said. “Good luck.”
Good luck? What exactly did the stranger think Brynn was doing in here that required “luck”?
Then again, she had been in here for the better part of twenty minutes. And come to think of it…what was Brynn doing in here?
She knew only that she couldn’t be out there. She’d rather be watching her dignity melt away while passing out toilet paper to strangers than face what awaited her:
Her thirty-first birthday, and a room full of people just itching to spot that first gray hair.
Brynn breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the sink faucet turn off, as the swish of the swinging door indicated that the talkative woman had returned to the party. Finally Brynn could commence what she’d come in to do in the first place.
Wallow. In private.
“Brynn! Brynn Dalton, are you in here?”
The door to the women’s restroom banged against the wall and the click of a fast-paced high-heeled walk echoed through the marble bathroom.
Crap. Caught.
In an uncharacteristic burst of cowardice, Brynn contemplated lifting her feet above the ground so that her sister wouldn’t be able to spot her shoes beneath the stall walls. She knew full well that Sophie Wyatt wouldn’t think twice about crawling around on hands and knees until she spotted her prey.
Then again, knowing Sophie, she also wouldn’t hesitate to look over the bathroom walls.
Resistance was futile.
The tap-tap of Sophie’s heels paused outside the stall where Brynn sat hiding.
“I know you’re in there, Brynn, I can see your boring brown shoes.”
Brynn glanced down at her designer pumps. “They’re not brown. They’re nude.”
“Seriously? Nude doesn’t even count as a color.”
Brynn’s brow furrowed. What did she mean, nude wasn’t a color? The saleswoman at Nordstrom had told her that nude heels would make her legs look “impossibly long.”
She tried to look at them through her more flamboyant sister’s eyes. Okay, maybe the shoes were a little boring.
Just like you.
She pushed the disparaging thought out of her head. Self-pity wasn’t Brynn’s normal style, but it had been steadily fighting for room in her brain ever since she’d learned that the birthday she’d been hoping to sweep under the carpet was turning into a damn circus.
Brynn heard the neighboring stall door swing open and the clatter of Sophie’s heels on the closed toilet seat. Warily, Brynn glanced up and saw her sister’s accusing blue eyes staring down at her.
“I knew it!” Sophie said. “You’re not even going. You’re hiding in there.”
“Well if I were going, I certainly wouldn’t appreciate the audience,” Brynn mumbled.
Sophie waved away this objection. Younger sisters didn’t put much stock in the value of privacy. Sophie folded her arms on top of the stall wall and rested her chin on her hands. “You okay?” she asked, her voice softening.
Brynn shifted uncomfo
rtably, increasingly aware that the toilet seat cover was not meant for long stays. Exactly how long had she been in here? She’d only meant to hide out for a minute or two to catch her breath, but if Sophie had sniffed her out, her absence must have been noted.
“I thought I specifically said no surprise parties,” Brynn said, trying to keep her voice calm as she addressed her sister.
Sophie’s brow furrowed. “When?”
Brynn’s fingers went to her temples. “When? How about every birthday for the past decade?”
“I thought all that fussing was about your thirtieth birthday. I didn’t know it applied to thirty-one as well.”
The tick in her temple increased and Brynn fought to keep from screaming at her sister. But the thing was, she knew that the warped logic made sense in Sophie’s bubbly, carefree head.
Just as she knew that Sophie would never have thrown this party if she’d suspected Brynn wouldn’t like it. Despite her occasional bouts with obliviousness, Sophie was one of the kindest, sweetest people Brynn knew.
But it didn’t change the fact that everyone in her acquaintance had seen the big fat 31 cake on the table, and now knew her precise age. And instead of looking at what she’d accomplished, they’d be looking at what she hadn’t accomplished.
No husband. No fiancé. No baby on the way…
All of which would have been fine if those things hadn’t been part of The Plan.
“I’m really sorry, Brynny,” her sister was saying. “It’s just that we haven’t really done anything for your birthday since you turned twenty-one. I thought you’d be sick of quietly toasting with Mom and Dad like we do every year.”
“Quietly is the operative word there, Soph.”
“But this is classy! It’s the Space Needle. It’s not like I dragged you to Cowgirls Inc.”
Brynn stifled a shudder at the very thought of straddling a mechanical bull or doing body shots, or whatever they did at Cowgirls Inc.
“It is a lovely party,” Brynn said, belatedly realizing that she might be hurting Sophie’s feelings. A party of this magnitude must have taken months to plan, and here Brynn was acting like it was an execution.
Get it together.
Taking a deep breath, Brynn stood and opened the stall door and walked calmly to the bathroom mirror. She heard Sophie noisily clamber to the ground and follow her.
“You look pretty,” Sophie said, looking at Brynn’s reflection.
“Even with my brown shoes?”
“I guess they’re not so bad,” Sophie said kindly. “They’re very you.”
“Gee, thanks.” But Brynn didn’t take offense. Not really. They were her. And normally she took pride in being consistently subdued.
But today…
“I’m thirty-one, Soph,” she blurted out.
“You always were good with numbers,” Sophie said. “You know what else we could go count? The huge number of presents, and even bigger number of people here to see you.”
“See me what, turn old and wrinkly right in front of their eyes?”
“Okay, stop,” Sophie said, planting her fist on her hip. “Do you have any idea how obnoxious you sound? Thirty-one isn’t even close to old, and you know perfectly well that you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
Her sister’s criticism chafed at Brynn’s raw nerves. “Give me a break, Soph. Like you’ve never had a sense of panic over an impending birthday?” Brynn snapped. “I distinctively remember you going on a rampage about how your eggs were going to turn into raisins when you turned twenty-nine and Gray refused to turn his office into a nursery just in case.”
“Yeah, but that’s me. You know perfectly well that I am the whiner of the family. You always rise above pity parties. I thought it went against your moral code, or whatever you call that notebook of yours.”
“It’s my life list, not a moral code.” She hated how snobbish her tone sounded.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. That’s what this is about. Your stupid list.”
Brynn began rummaging in her purse for her lipstick. Her nude lipstick. The same color she’d been using for almost a decade. “That’s not it,” she said primly.
Sophie snickered. “Oh it sooo is. Isn’t there a thirty-five before thirty-five clause or something in there? Or is that an entirely separate list, not unlike your Thirty Things to Do Before Thirty, and your Fifty Before Fifty list.”
“If you’re going to make fun of me, I’m not going to talk about this with you,” Brynn said as she applied a careful swipe of the lipstick.
But Sophie had already latched onto the topic. “Your hyperorganized little mind is running through all of the things you were supposed to have done by now. That’s why you want your birthdays to slink by unnoticed.”
Something squeezed in Brynn’s chest. “I just…I thought I’d be engaged by now.”
There.
She’d said it.
And she knew how it sounded. She’d practically delivered a death blow to feminism. Modern women didn’t need a husband. Brynn didn’t need a husband.
Except…it was on her plan. And what was the point of having a plan if you didn’t stick to it?
She didn’t bother looking at Sophie to gauge her reaction. She already knew her sister would be incredulous, and possibly a little outraged.
But Sophie wouldn’t get it. How could she? Her younger sister had married the man of her dreams before the age of thirty, and was happier than she’d ever been in her life.
“But Brynny, it’s just not your time,” Sophie said softly. “And I thought things with James were going great? He’s looking for you, by the way.”
James.
Right. She felt even more ridiculous for stressing about her marital status when she had a perfectly wonderful boyfriend. A boyfriend who was currently stuck making small talk with people he barely knew because she was lamenting the lack of a shiny ring on her fourth finger.
She was pathetic.
“Listen,” Sophie said, helping herself to the sugar-free gum from Brynn’s purse. “I know you probably have some grand plan of where you’re supposed to be by this exact date. But it doesn’t always work like that. Or you know, maybe marriage just isn’t in the cards for you.”
Again, that tightness in her chest. Dammit. “It is,” Brynn said firmly. “I know it is.”
“Okay,” Sophie said with strained patience. “Then it will happen. Someday. But hiding out in the bathroom isn’t going to get you there any faster. I hardly think James’s going to get marriage-minded with a woman who spends inordinate time in the restroom.”
True. So true.
Brynn gave her sister a spontaneous hug. “I love how you always say the right thing in the weirdest way.”
Sophie hugged her back before tugging at the hem of her flouncy blue cocktail dress and dropping into a small curtsy. “I do my best.”
“You know, you might have given me a hint about this party so I could have dressed accordingly.” Brynn looked her sister up and down. “You’re not supposed to outshine the birthday girl.”
Sophie waved her hand. “Please. Outshine perfect Brynn Dalton? Impossible.”
Brynn gave a forced smile. Because once upon a time it had been very possible to outshine Brynn Dalton. But now wasn’t the time to take a trip down memory lane. Although, come to think of it, the whole hiding-in-the bathroom thing was an all too familiar blast from the past.
A past that involved crying in the bathroom through most of second grade. And third…and pretty much every horrible day up until she’d finally begged her parents for braces, contacts, acne medication, and a regimented weight-loss program.
At fifteen, she’d finally figured out how to do it right. It had been the start of her lists. Lists that kept her from ever, ever being the one that stood out from the crowd to be pointed and laughed at.
Her lists and plans had kept her from ever having to sit alone at lunch, or hook up with a guy who was out of her league.
/> Her lists were her life. And she wasn’t about to fall off the wagon at age thirty-one.
Besides, coming in second place to Sophie was just fine with her. God knew she was used to it.
Her sister was especially sparkly tonight. Sophie’s blue dress was the perfect color to offset her bright blue eyes. And unlike Brynn’s own boring “brown” pumps, Sophie’s were a shocking orange. The look should have been garish, but instead was completely charming.
Charm was something the younger Dalton sister had in large doses. If Brynn was the smooth and reliable one, Sophie was the fun, alluring sister. Even Sophie’s hair was more fun. Despite the fact that their long blonde hair was almost identical in color and texture, Sophie’s was always styled in a mess of wild yellow curls. Brynn’s own long hair was kept perfectly straight. A style that suited Brynn perfectly even if it did feel a bit…boring.
“Not boring. Respectable,” Brynn reminded herself under her breath. And she’d learned early on that there were a lot worse things to be called than boring.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sophie said as she dragged Brynn toward the bathroom door. “You’re respectable, and you’re beautiful, rich, and successful. Everyone adores you. Blah blah. The only person who RSVPed no to your party was Aunt Philly, and that’s just as well because now we don’t have to hear about her hemorrhoids. But—”
“There’s a but?” Brynn interrupted.
Sophie paused at the door and spun back around. “You have to promise me to loosen up. Forget that damn list for once. Drink too much champagne and have drunk sex with James back at his place.”
Brynn carefully kept her face blank. She and James hadn’t been having much of any sex lately, but there were some things even one’s sister didn’t need to know.
“Fine,” Brynn said reluctantly, “but if Mom starts on one of her rampages about how I’m not getting any younger…”
“I’ll handle Mom,” Sophie said as she shoved Brynn through the door. “You just get yourself some bubbly booze, and embrace another fabulous year in the life of Seattle’s most gorgeous orthodontist.”
“Yeah, because the competition is pretty stiff in that category,” Brynn said as she plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray.