No One Like You

by Heather McGovern

  “Yes?”

  “See?” He looked back at his brother. “But Jolie is Brooke’s hotel. That’s her baby the same way Honeywilde is yours. Plus, she’s more than capable, and she wants to be lead on the event without me stepping all over her toes. Right?” Another darted glance her way.

  “Right,” she agreed.

  “Good. See? Brooke will head things up and I’ll help out. We’re all on the same page.” Trevor gave his brother a narrow-eyed glare.

  “Are we?” Roark scowled.

  Brooke met Roark’s stare. “We are now.”

  God, she was something.

  Since he was fifteen, he knew who Brooke Sargent was. She’d been a senior, and so far out of his league they weren’t even playing the same sport, but even then, she’d fascinated him.

  Studious, serious, pretty, and perfect.

  Until a couple of years ago, she’d been MIA somewhere. Probably living the high life. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was he’d made her laugh so hard at Dev’s wedding, he’d felt like a king.

  They’d laughed and talked and dined. Even danced.

  But when the clock struck midnight, and he’d asked her out for coffee or lunch sometime, her answer had been a carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin, gut-punching no.

  He still couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong, or how the hell he’d screwed things up.

  Roark’s surly expression remained firmly in place until his phone trilled with an incoming call. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” He left the table and walked toward the kitchen.

  With a sigh of relief, Trevor scooted his chair back up to the table. “Good, he’s gone. Look, I understand your concern, but you’ve got to work with me, not against me. You keep arguing with Roark, and he’ll argue right back ’til the cows come home.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be argumentative.”

  “Really? You might want to try harder.”

  “I know, but I—”

  “Look, I’m not going to get in your way or try to call the shots at your hotel. I know how you manager types like to run the show. Have you met my boss, Roark? I’ve learned to help out without being a hindrance. Trust me, I’m not in this to take over the event or, like, I don’t know, take your hotel.”

  Brooke fidgeted with her napkin before folding it neatly to lie next to her plate. “I should go.” She pushed her chair out and grabbed her purse.

  “You’re leaving? You haven’t eaten. You barely tried your biscuit.”

  Her gaze darted around the restaurant. “I’m not hungry.”

  She started for the door like someone had pulled the fire alarm.

  Whatever was going on with her, this was about more than a prom.

  “Hey.” He hurried to catch up, following her into the great room. “Don’t stress about it. I’ll help you with the prom. Roark’s not going to pull out our money or anything like that. As for the rest, you run a hotel and winery. This is a prom. No big deal.”

  She came to a full stop. “That’s easy for you to say. Your family throws events bigger than this on a weekly basis.”

  “I meant that as a compliment.”

  The corner of her mouth pulled down and she walked away again.

  “Hang on.” He was right behind her. “Hold up for a second.”

  She finally stopped at the front doors.

  “If you’re worried about the event happening on such short notice, I’m here for that. Like Roark said, I’m good under pressure. Great, actually. We can work together.”

  Brooke didn’t respond. She stared. And stared some more. The silence stretched out until it was painful. “I’m not worried. But why would you help me?”

  Trevor grinned. “Because my brother told me to?”

  “You know what I mean. After Dev’s wedding, why would you ever want to help me?”

  “Because I want to and it’s my job.”

  She studied him, her eyes fathomless, revealing nothing.

  But he could render a guess. “Yes, I asked you out before, and you said no. Yes, that kind of took the wind out of my sails, but I’m a big boy. And yes, I find you attractive, but that’s not why I’m offering to help.”

  Her stare remained steady.

  “Fine. That is not the only reason I’m offering. I admit, hearing your name and Chateau Jolie made me pay attention in Roark’s meeting, but hearing about the canceled prom is what made me want to help.”

  One dark eyebrow of disbelief crept up.

  Trust issues much?

  “I meant what I said about those kids. They deserve a prom, and I happen to know more about that school and teenagers than probably you or anyone else around here. I’ve volunteered there before and—”

  “You have?” She blinked.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I make good use of my free time.”

  Brooke shook her head, one hand still on the door. “After Dev’s wedding and…I don’t know…using you feels wrong.”

  Her saying things like “using you” felt pretty good to him.

  She bit at her bottom lip, clearly debating with herself. She released it, redder and plumper than before, and a fire lit inside him.

  “It wouldn’t be some kind of conflict of interest?”

  “No.” He’d gone for months wishing he could talk to her again, hoping he’d get another chance. Now the perfect opportunity stood before him, and all because he’d paid attention in a morning meeting.

  Somehow, some way, he was going to help her with this prom and help those kids to boot.

  But clearly, Brooke wasn’t a woman to be pressured. She needed time to process.

  He stepped away, hands up in resignation. “Look, I’m not going to badger you. I told you this would be your show, and it is. The prom is coming up soon, and I’m here for you.”

  Again, she went still and quiet. The woman would make a ridiculously good ninja.

  Then she straightened and spoke, her voice firmer than before. “Seems your brother won’t have it any other way.”

  “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

  She was halfway out the door before he could catch it. Her long dark hair swung over her shoulders as she hurried through the portico. “I guess so,” she called out.

  Chapter 3

  “It’s a good thing you’re here.” The Tavern’s bartender chuckled and shook his head. “She’s not too far gone, but I’m cutting her off.”

  Brooke searched the bar for her sister Reagan. “Good call. And thanks for calling the chateau.”

  “No problem. Seeing as how she never sets foot in here and now this.

  This being preppy, self-proclaimed high-class Reagan, in a trucker hat, ratty jean shorts, and a T-shirt, clearly intoxicated and scream-singing “You Never Even Called Me by My Name” along with the jukebox.

  “Reagan,” Brooke called across the Tavern’s makeshift dance floor at a normal volume.

  Nothing.

  “Reagan!”

  Her sister gave her a sloppy grin and waved, but didn’t stop dancing. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I came to give you a ride home.”

  “Pfffft.” Reagan flapped her hands and lolled to the side. “I’m not ready to go.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  With her chin jutted out, Reagan threw her shoulders back, radiating the kind of indignation that only a middle sister could muster.

  “I am not ready to go.” The words came out so perfect and razor sharp, she almost appeared sober.

  Except for the leaning.

  “Reagan Sargent, it’s been a long day. I know you’re upset, but do not start with me right now.”

  A familiar deep voice filled Brooke’s ears. “Maybe more honey, less vinegar. That is, if you want her to go with you. If you’re trying to start a bar fight then, b
y all means, continue.”

  Brooke spun around.

  Trevor, and his dimples, right there. Again. Inescapable. “What are you doing here?”

  He thumbed to the chalkboard on the bar. “Buy one, get one free wing night. Everyone comes here on Tuesdays.”

  She shook off his logical explanation. A universal conspiracy against her made more sense.

  Trevor rocked back and crossed his arms, his skin golden brown against the white T-shirt. “You should try being nice if you want to get her home. You yell at her, and I guarantee she’s going to stay right there to spite you.”

  “Why, because it’s what you’d do?”

  “No, I’d go home with you the first time you asked. But I ain’t your sister.”

  She tried glaring at him, though it’d do no good. “I don’t have time to be nice.”

  “Suit yourself.” Trevor shrugged and moved to the side to lean against the bar. “This should be entertaining.”

  Brooke pulled herself away from his bright blue eyes and studied her sister, now attempting to cha-cha slide with a bunch of strangers.

  Reagan could stay here, have fun with bar patrons, enjoy dancing and singing, or she could go home—where she’d continue to wallow over her breakup and be subjected to Brooke stressing over this stupid prom and her attorney’s fees.

  Mmmm. Tough call.

  Trevor and his dimples might be right. Honey instead of vinegar.

  “Reagan?” She softened her voice as much as she could. “How about we go home? I’ll make tea.”

  Reagan’s face strained with a look of disgust. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “You love tea.”

  “I don’t want to go home. I told you to leave me alone.”

  “You can’t drive like this. I have to take you home.”

  “Would you stop mothering me. I’ll call a cab.”

  “A cab?” Brooke tried breathing through her nose and counting to five. “There are no cabs in Windamere, Reagan. Get your stuff and let’s go. Now!”

  Trevor pushed off from the bar. “Yeah, you suck at this.”

  She slapped her hands down at her sides and turned on him. “And what would you suggest?”

  “Not tea. Hey, Reagan!” Trevor shouted over the music. “We’re going to get pizza. You in?”

  Brooke could see the suggestion take hold of her sister. The subliminal magic of melted cheese, pepperoni, sauce, and a crispy crust cut through the haze of her drowned sorrows.

  Long Island Ice Teas and bar music lost their allure when competing with piping hot pizza.

  Reagan wet her lips as she slowly moved toward them. “Zita’s Pizzeria pizza?”

  “Is there any other kind?” Trevor pulled out his wallet as Reagan joined them. He handed the bartender some folded-up twenties.

  There was no way he’d had that many wings.

  “You don’t have to pay my sister’s tab,” Brooke told him.

  He waved her off and headed to the door. “This is faster. We’ve got her attention and you have to reel in the intoxicated family member while they’re on the line or you lose them.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

  “Something like that.”

  Reagan followed them to the exit without argument.

  They made it outside and to the parking lot before he added, “Plus, you’re paying for the pizza. And I’m starving.”

  He’d gotten her sister all the way outside without so much as a hint of an argument. That act alone could qualify him for knighthood. The least she could do was buy pizza.

  “Deal. But I get final call on the toppings.”

  “Ugh, no,” Reagan shouted. “You’ll have us eating ham and pineapple. Gross.”

  Trevor slowed his pace to match Reagan’s. “Agreed. No pineapple on pizza.”

  They walked the three blocks to Zita’s, not one complaint from Reagan. Brooke would’ve fallen over from shock except she was too busy trying to figure out how, and why, Trevor did it.

  “Are you a veggie-lover kind of pizza person? Or I bet you’re a meat lover.”

  Brooke took the lead and had to stop every half block to let them catch up. She had absolutely no grounds to object, but surely Trevor wasn’t flirting with her sister.

  Reagan made a face. “Supreme or don’t bother. Extra sauce.”

  “I like your thinking.”

  Not that Brooke could be jealous if he was. Still, it’d be in bad taste. You didn’t hit on one sister and then the other, unless you were some hound dog looking to get lucky.

  Trevor didn’t strike her as the type.

  Once they reached the pizzeria, he caught up with Brooke, opening the door as he whispered, “I actually love pineapple on pizza, but if you play along with what she wants, the rest of the night will go a lot smoother. Trust me on this.”

  Brooke stepped into an almost empty restaurant, the coin dropping.

  Trevor was right.

  If she didn’t run opposition for Reagan, there’d be nothing to argue about.

  Trevor was entertaining Reagan to keep the peace, which meant he wasn’t flirting with her.

  Not that Brooke cared.

  Her sister picked a booth halfway down the wall, she and Brooke on one side and Trevor across from them.

  “I feel like deep dish,” Reagan announced.

  Brooke’s thin-crust-loving heart broke, but she didn’t say a word.

  “One large deep-dish supreme?” Trevor put down the menu he’d barely picked up.

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t like green peppers,” she reminded Reagan.

  Beneath the table, something bumped Brooke’s knee.

  As soon as she met Trevor’s pointed look, his eyes relayed a thousand different messages without saying a word.

  That was his knee banging into hers. So she did what any mature woman would do. She bumped him back, with an equally pointed look.

  Reagan propped her elbows on the table, and her voice kicked up a notch. “Heaven forbid you get a little heartburn from green peppers. Can’t you pick them off?”

  She wanted an argument, Brooke reminded herself. Over something stupid that had nothing to do with why she was really upset.

  “Or”—Trevor nudged Brooke’s knee again, gently this time—“we could do half the pizza with peppers, half without.”

  She and her sister stared at one another.

  “Good idea,” Brooke agreed.

  That, neither she nor her sister was reasonable enough to consider.

  When the waiter came over, Trevor placed the order, along with three large waters all around. Once the waiter left, Reagan turned, waggling her finger back and forth between Brooke and Trevor. “So, how do you two know each other?”

  Brooke pulled a napkin from the dispenser to have something to do. “I was at his brother’s wedding. Do you want to talk about why you were drinking alone in a bar?”

  “Oh, my God.” Her sister’s face flushed. “I don’t want to talk about that in front of him.”

  “Really?” Brooke glared. “I can’t imagine what that feels like.”

  Trevor leaned back in his booth. “I don’t mind if y’all talk. Go ahead.”

  Reagan squinted back. “Were you his date?”

  “No.”

  “Not for lack of me trying,” Trevor interjected.

  Reagan’s grin was slow and wide, not unlike the Grinch’s. “I knew it!”

  “I wasn’t his date.” Brooke kept her voice even. “And I want to know what made you go drink too much in a bar, alone, on a Tuesday night. Was it this thing with Rex? Because so help me God, if that guy—”

  “I told you. There is no Rex.” Regan scooped up her water glass, sloshing it before she took a sip. “Not anymore. He dumped me. He dumped
me.”

  Brooke tried to measure her reaction, because she’d been as shocked as her sister.

  She meant to say something reassuring. Something sympathetic and inspirational to remind Reagan she was the kind of person anyone would be lucky to have.

  What came out was “You should’ve dumped his ass months ago.”

  Beneath the table, she got another bump from Trevor’s knee.

  Her sister slumped back, rough enough to shake the booth. “That’s all you have to say? I told you so?”

  Trevor grimaced. “I think what your sister is trying to say is that she knew you could do better, and now you can, because Rex isn’t holding you back anymore.”

  “That.” Brooke pointed to Trevor. “That is what I’m trying to say.”

  Reagan shook her head. “Whatever.”

  They sipped their water and Brooke’s glass was empty before anyone spoke again.

  Reagan’s voice was soft and more than a little sad. “But what if I can’t do better? What if Rex is as good as it gets for me?”

  Brooke glanced up, her gaze locking with Trevor’s. If she had a desperate look in her eyes, then there was good reason.

  She had an idea what to say, but more often than not, when it came to consoling her sisters or being sweet, she lacked the finesse. Even if she meant well, her most firmly held opinions had edge.

  The only reason she’d been able to help Trevor’s sister, Sophie, was because Sophie needed the direct approach.

  Reagan was a softer touch, and the defeat in her voice was too much. Brooke couldn’t say the wrong thing, and lately, everything she did was wrong. The possibility of flubbing had her lips frozen shut.

  “You can do better,” Trevor spoke up. “Without a doubt. I happen to know who Rex is. The guy’s an ass, like your sister said. He doesn’t deserve you. Not even when you have on the ugliest trucker hat I’ve ever seen.”

  Reagan laughed, sniffing back the tears threatening to fall as she took the hat off.

  Trevor picked it up, turning it around for inspection. “To think, you actually went through the trouble of taking this thing away from someone else.”