by Lori Foster
“Asked me what?”
Caroline bit her lip, an old nervous habit. “Would you do my makeup?”
The question stopped Chloe dead. “What?”
“I want you to do my makeup. Like old times.”
She used to practice on Caroline constantly. At first, she’d done it against her little sister’s will, bribing her to play guinea pig with sweets or toys or money. Then later, she’d done it at Caroline’s behest, for dances and dates and parties. But all that had been many years ago.
“You want… I mean, didn’t you hire a professional makeup artist?”
“You’re a professional makeup artist. That’s what you do at work, right? And on YouTube?”
Chloe blinked. “You’ve seen my videos?”
“Of course! And don’t try to wuss out on me and say you don’t have your stuff, because I’m sure that giant purse of yours is full of every color and cosmetic known to man.”
It was true, so Chloe didn’t bother to deny it.
“You’re sure?”
At Caroline’s nod, she walked over and set her purse on the vanity, ignoring the way her sister’s eyes lit up as she began unpacking her stuff.
Chloe’s hand was shaking as she pumped some foundation onto a makeup sponge, and she forced herself to take a deep breath to still the tremor. She was just about to start the application when Caroline held out her hand to stop her.
Chloe raised her eyebrows.
“Listen, you’re not going to do my makeup exactly the way you do yours, right? I mean, you won’t use green or anything? And less eyeliner, okay? I’m not going to a rock concert. I’m getting married.”
Chloe laughed at that, and the overwhelming tension that had been tying knots into her shoulders since she’d stepped in the room lessened. “Shut up and trust me, brat.”
Caroline smiled and did just that.
Twenty minutes later, Chloe was pretty damn impressed with her handiwork. Her sister was glowing in soft shades of nudes and pinks, looking every inch the blushing bride. A second coat of mascara and she’d be ready for her big moment.
Chloe twisted the cap off the tube and leaned in to apply the finishing touch.
“I wanted to ask you to be a bridesmaid.”
Chloe’s hand jerked at the admission, and the brush touched her sister’s eyebrow. “Oh, God. Hold on, I can fix that!” She jammed the wand back into the tube with undue haste and started digging through her bag for her makeup remover. She didn’t notice her hands were shaking until Caroline touched her forearm and she froze.
“Don’t worry about the mascara.” The soft, understanding note in her sister’s voice gave Chloe the courage to look at her. “I just wanted you to know that I wanted you here.”
Why was it hard to breathe?
“Mom kyboshed the bridesmaid idea pretty quick, I’m sure.” She was joking, so she hoped Caroline had missed the note of hurt that stained the words.
Her little sister shook her head, staring at her lap. “I—I decided not to ask you.” Caroline looked up, and once again, Chloe saw the woman she’d grown into. Nothing like the spoiled brat of her memories. “I figured the only way I’d get you here was to make you as anonymous as possible.”
“Really good guess,” Chloe managed to say.
“I needed you to be part of this, Chloe. I miss you. I know we didn’t used to get along well, but I was a stupid teenager. I was jealous of my big sister, the rebel! Doing what she wanted, being who she wanted. And then you just left,” she said, voice trembling.
“Oh, God, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup,” Chloe warned, but they were both far past being able to obey.
“I’m sure you’ve always thought of me as a goody two-shoes, doing what Mom and Dad wanted. And a lot of the time, you were right. I was. But not today. I’m not getting married to show you up. Or because Mom is friends with his mother. I don’t care that he’s going to be a doctor. I love Dalton. I love him and he loves me. I just wanted to tell you that. I’m going to be Mrs. Van Allen because I want to be.”
Chloe nodded, grabbing a tissue from the vanity for her sister, and one for herself. “I’m happy for you, Caro.” They both daubed under their eyes for stray tears. “Now stop bawling and let’s fix your face.”
A cotton swab’s worth of makeup remover and a few more swipes of mascara, and Caroline looked perfectly perfect.
“Oh, my gosh, Chloe. This is amazing! I never… I never thought I could look like this. I’m blown away.”
There was a knock on the door a moment before six girls in matching ice-blue dresses came rushing in, chattering like happy little birds, oohing and aahing over the beautiful bride.
That was her cue to leave. Chloe shoved all her stuff back in her bag, and headed for the door. She managed to catch her sister’s eye through the crowd, and gave her a nod. Caroline managed a little wave before being swept toward the massive white garment bag hanging beside the window.
So far, today had not turned out anything like she’d expected. And as she stepped into the hallway, Chloe could honestly say that she’d never been happier to be wrong.
* * *
BEN STEPPED INTO Edward Burke’s richly-furnished office and adjusted his suit jacket. As he mentally reviewed his pitch, he drummed a beat against his thigh and took in his surroundings.
You could tell a lot about a client by where they held their business meetings. Unlike the chrome-and-glass austerity of the Carson and McLeod offices, Burke’s home base was a blend of warm colors, dark wood and surprising homey touches—he’d lay bets the colorful Afghan blankets that hung on the backs of the leather visitors’ chairs were hand-knit.
Ben sauntered over to the far wall and was perusing the framed crayon drawings that hung there when Burke entered the suite. He pointed at the art. “Early Picasso?”
Burke smiled, drawing Ben’s attention to his bushy white mustache. “Picasso would have sold his soul to be as prolific as my grandkids.”
Ben shook his proffered hand.
“Mr. Masterson, it’s nice to finally meet you in person. Take a seat.”
“Call me Ben, please,” he insisted, accepting the offer to sit. “It’s an honor to be in the room with you as well, sir.”
Burke undid the button on his brown tweed suit jacket before he took a seat behind his desk. He pushed a folder full of papers toward Ben. Judging from the bits he could see, many of them sported the gray-and-black Carson and McLeod letterhead.
“Frankly, Ben, I’m a little surprised you’re here. I was expecting the firm to send a family man to try to pull the wool over my eyes—someone who could better understand my brand.”
Guess the niceties are over. “Mr. Burke, I assure you, I am the man for this job.”
“I’m not denying that you’re talented. Your campaigns are catchy, memorable and well put together. But they’ve all targeted young, single men. Hotel Burke is a luxury experience for the whole family. Traditional, not trendy.”
“I understand your concerns. But I’ve done massive amounts of research in preparation for this meeting. I know what you’re looking for, and I wouldn’t have flown all the way here if I didn’t believe I could deliver it. Carson and McLeod will take Hotel Burke to the next level.”
There it was. That jolt, the excitement that came from figuring out a client, not what they wanted, but what they needed—and being confident that he was the one who could help them get it. This. This moment was the part of the job Ben loved. The rest was all white noise.
“I understand that tradition is important to you. It’s obvious from the way you run your brand and the way you live your life. But as important as the past is, you have to ensure your future, as well. It’s crucial that you reach the next generation of Hotel Burke guests. Let me show you what I’ve got in mind�
�”
* * *
THE ROOM WAS empty when she got back, and Chloe used the opportunity to shower and dry her hair. For the wedding, she livened up her brown bob with some messy, rocker-chick curls. She also decided to forgo her usual smoky eye for something a little less dramatic. If her sister wanted less eyeliner, Chloe figured she could handle that for one night.
“Chloe?”
“In here,” she called, and Ben stuck his head into the bathroom.
“Hey. You’re back! And your hair looks amazing.” He held up the garment bag slung over his shoulder. “Got my suit pressed, so I just need to jump in the shower and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Okay. I’m almost done in here.” She grabbed a tube of lipstick and painted her lips a deep, luscious red.
There was something intimate and domestic about getting ready with a man—having him ducking in and out, hanging up his suit and laying out his shoes and socks as she put the final touches on her makeup.
“Okay, all yours,” she announced.
Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead as they traded spaces, and as Chloe stepped back into the room to finish getting ready, she found she was feeling pretty optimistic. Like maybe she was going to make it through this wedding after all.
By the time she’d pulled on her dress and buckled up her shoes, though, she wasn’t so sure. Her reunion with Caroline might have exceeded expectations, but the hard part was still ahead of her.
The shower had gone silent, and that meant Ben would be ready to go in a matter of minutes.
Her stomach lurched with a stampede of butterflies at the realization that she’d be facing all those people imminently. People who’d been there four years ago.
It seemed like only seconds until Ben stepped out of the bathroom, showered and shaved and looking far too handsome for her own good. He was adjusting a cuff link as he walked toward her, but he froze when he glanced up.
“Wow.” Ben dropped his hand to his side. “Just…wow.”
Chloe gazed down at herself, self-conscious and pleased at Ben’s assessment. “You think?”
“You look incredible. Like a warrior princess. The belle of the battlefield.”
Ben had no idea just how apt his description was, because she’d expected this event to be akin to warfare. In fact, it was part of the reason she’d chosen the shimmering gray dress.
Strapless and knee-length, she’d loved that the bodice’s seams had vaguely reminded her of armor. The dress was edgy enough to make her feel like herself, but elegant enough that her mother shouldn’t have too much to say about it. And then there were the shoes—strappy, studded gladiator stilettos.
“You look ready to kick ass and take names,” he said. “Or at least drink lots and avoid the chicken dance.”
Chloe smiled. “You’re pretty wow yourself.” And he was. His classic black suit, pristine white shirt and skinny black tie were classy and sophisticated. And the jacket fit his broad shoulders to perfection.
She stepped closer to his big body, walked her fingers up the placket of his shirt and under his tie. “But not quite as wow as last night,” she confessed, teasing a button out of its hole. “Maybe we should stay here and I can strip you down to your most spectacular.”
Ben stopped the progress of her questing fingers, grabbing her hands in his. “Nice try, coward. We’ve got nuptials to witness and dancing to evade.”
Chloe leaned closer, raising her lips to his ear, hoping she could make his resolve wane with proximity. “What if I leave the shoes on?”
The groan that tore from his throat was wickedly sexy, and he ducked his head to capture her lips in a scorching kiss. His body was totally on board with her naughty plans, too. Chloe pressed her hips into his, encouraging him to take what he wanted. Instead, he swore and stepped back from her.
Even through her disappointment, she kind of respected him for it.
“All right,” she conceded, linking her arm through his. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ben nodded his approval. “That’s the spirit.”
But as they ascended in the elevator, she could feel her bravado slipping away with every new number that lit up on their way to the twenty-fifth floor. Her grip on Ben’s arm tightened when the door dinged open, and he gave her an odd look as he tugged her out into the hallway. Her trepidation grew with every formally dressed person they came upon. She kept her gaze forward to avoid making unintentional eye contact with anyone she knew.
Then they rounded the last corner, and Chloe came face-to-face with an ornate gold easel holding a placard that assured her that her time had run out.
Welcome to the Masterson–Van Allen Ceremony.
She looked up at the handsome man standing beside her who was clueless to her crimes. “There’s something I should tell you.”
“There’s lipstick on my face, isn’t there? I knew I shouldn’t have kissed you, but that dress… And those goddamn shoes.” He started wiping his mouth and she batted his hand away.
“There’s no lipstick on you.” She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Ben,” she said, and his eyes grew serious at her use of his first name. “I haven’t been to a wedding in four years.”
His brow smoothed at the confession, and that damned crooked smirk he gave made it harder to breathe. “It’s not like heart surgery, Chloe. Attending a wedding doesn’t actually require any training. Amateurs and professionals can co-mingle freely.”
Funny he should mention heart surgery, because right now her heart felt like someone had jabbed a couple of scalpels in it—lacerated and raw.
“That’s not what I meant.” She stared into his amber-colored eyes, searching for the calming influence he usually had on her. “What I’m trying to say is, that wedding I was at? Four years ago?”
Just say it.
“It was mine.”
CHAPTER 6
“YOU’RE MARRIED?”
He looked like she’d punched him in the solar plexus. She supposed she sort of had.
Chloe shook her head. “I bolted.”
“Sorry?”
“I ran. He said ‘I do.’ I said ‘I can’t’ and took off back down the aisle.”
“Okay. Well, that’s pretty big. So you’re dealing with something pretty big right now.”
“Oh, it gets bigger,” she assured him. “He’s in there.”
“What?”
“Patrick. My ex. He’s in there.”
“Are you serious? Why?”
“He’s the son of my dad’s law partner. Our families are inextricably linked by binding contracts, forever and ever amen.”
“Why would he—”
“Come? Because etiquette dictates he should. The same reason he was invited in the first place.”
Ben shook his head. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know that you’re about to walk into this room with a pariah. People will stare and they will talk. And as my ‘boyfriend,’ you might not get out of this night unscathed.”
“You’re worried about me? Chloe, if ever there was a moment to think about yourself, this is it.”
She hadn’t even realized she was chewing at her thumbnail until Ben reached up and took her hand.
“Now c’mon. Let’s get this party started, Masterson.”
His support in this moment meant more than he realized. She tightened her grip on his hand, allowing herself to pretend, just for tonight, that Ben was actually more than a two-night-stand.
They were barely through the door when the onslaught began.
“Hey, Chloe!”
“Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were an usher.” She exchanged air kisses with the stocky, redheaded son of her father’s sister.
> “Yep. I clean up pretty good, huh?”
“Ben, this is my cousin Keith. Keith, this is Ben. My boyfriend,” she added as an afterthought.
“Well, I knew he wasn’t your husband!” Keith laughed uproariously at his own joke.
But it was only the first salvo, a preview of what she’d have to endure all evening. Even though she’d been expecting it, it stung. The reassuring warmth of Ben’s hand reminded her she didn’t have to weather it alone. She managed a wan smile at her prick of a cousin.
“Come on, you two. Bride’s family is in the first row.” He looked up at Ben, then down at their clasped hands. “You’re gonna wanna hold on tight the closer we get to the front, isn’t that right, Chloe?”
Chloe was relieved to find that the second shot didn’t hurt as much. They followed Keith past a human-size vase of flowers and into the gorgeous, glass-walled room that would house her sister’s evening ceremony, with the city of Buffalo all lit up and blanketed in snow as a backdrop.
Everything was beautiful. Her mother would have made sure of that. From the shimmering blue ribbons on the chairs to the string quartet playing Pachelbel, Fiona Masterson’s style was stamped all over this wedding. Unfortunately, Chloe couldn’t appreciate the details, because from the moment they’d stepped foot in the aisle, the bride’s side of the room had erupted in whispers and covert glances, like a tsunami of gossip moving toward the front of the room.
Chloe’s steps stuttered.
She shouldn’t have come.
This was a huge mistake.
Ben gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze—which was incredibly sweet considering her skin had gone from zero to sweaty in two seconds flat.
Then he let go of her hand.
Her heart banged painfully against her ribs and her scalp prickled with sweat. The whispers around her swelled into a deafening roar. Startled at the betrayal, Chloe’s glance shot to his.
He winked at her and put his hands in his pockets.
And that small act of faith that she wasn’t going to run again, that she was strong enough to face the viper pit on her own, steeled her resolve. The roiling nausea that had overtaken her stomach calmed to a simmer.