To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(31)

But he wouldn’t have a nice night.

He’d be too busy trying to get her out of his damn head.





Chapter Twelve





I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU got us an appointment at Blanche,” Maya said admiringly as they stepped out of her town car onto the sidewalk outside one of the city’s most elite bridal shops.

“This is what you get when you hire the Belles,” Brooke said with a smile. “The best.”

“I know, but I have friends—famous friends—who couldn’t even get in,” Maya said, sounding slightly awed.

Brooke wasn’t surprised. Small, tony shops like Blanche very carefully cultivated their air of exclusivity. She knew they’d rather needlessly turn someone away than give them the impression that they were overly available.

But that’s why people hired the Belles. Half of a wedding planner’s job was wooing not just the brides but the vendors.

And lucky for Brooke, Alexis Morgan had gotten her stiletto-clad foot in the door of all the most elite vendors.

Brooke smiled indulgently, proud of herself for clearly impressing her client. They’d had a great day so far, a complete one-eighty from the disastrous venue-scouting day. It turned out that spending time with Maya Tyler without the presence of her hovering fiancé or domineering big brother was actually quite fun.

Brooke had liked the woman before. It was hard not to like someone who seemed so determined to be pleasant at every turn. But after the two of them had started their wedding dress consultation day with a Starbucks run, just the two of them, she was delighted to find signs of a sharp wit hiding beneath that angelic face. There was a tartness to Maya that had Brooke realizing that in addition to being an easy-to-work-with client, Maya was also the type of woman that could become a friend.

“Look at these potted plants,” Maya crowed as the climbed the steps to the discreet brownstone that housed the dress shop. “Everything’s so white. The flowers, the pots. I’m surprised they didn’t spray paint the freaking stems. I mean, how dare they be green.”

Brooke snickered. If she was being perfectly honest, she wasn’t overly excited about this particular appointment. The woman on the phone had been perfectly civil—ingratiating, even—but there was a fine line between exclusive and snobby, and her instincts told her that Blanche would be coming out on the latter side of the scale.

Still, Maya was a hotel heiress who’d probably literally used silver spoons growing up—Brooke couldn’t not at least show her the place.

Brooke rang the bell.

“Hello?” The voice that answered managed to sound upscale and refined even through the intercom crackle.

“Hi, Brooke Baldwin here with Maya Tyler for our two o’clock appointment?”

“Let me check the books.”

Brooke saw Maya roll her eyes and smiled. “By all means. Please check them,” she said sweetly.

“Ah yes, here you are. Someone will be right down to greet you.”

The door opened not two seconds later, and Brooke and Maya exchanged a glance at the ridiculous pretense of the whole thing. An attractive brunette dressed in a white pantsuit held a silver tray with two glasses of champagne and a plastic smile.

“Welcome to Blanche,” she said, all but bowing as she extended the tray toward them. “I’m Marietta, assistant to Ms. Boulud, who graciously awaits your presence upstairs.”

Brooke didn’t hesitate in grabbing for one of the glasses. She’d need a drink to get through this.

Maya must have had the same thought, because she too gratefully snatched up one of the elegant flutes and didn’t hesitate to take a rather large sip. The two women’s eyes met and they smiled.

Unsurprisingly, the entire foyer was white marble. As were the stairs. Brooke and Maya exchanged yet another skeptical glance as they followed Marietta’s curvy backside up the winding staircase.

The upstairs was slightly less sterile-looking in that the hardwood floors had been left in their natural, dark wood state rather than being whitewashed like everything else.

The woman that waited at the top of the stairs, however, was anything but natural. Her blond hair was platinum to the point of being nearly white. A perfect match for her blindingly white smile and her equally white wrap dress.

Shoes? White. Manicure? White. Jewelry? White.

The only part of her not white was her skin, which was a very unnatural orange shade.

Brooke took a quick sip of her champagne to keep from giggling outright and saw Maya do the same.

The white-and-orange woman approached. “Ms. Baldwin. Ms. Tyler. A pleasure. I’m Stacy Boulud, one of the lead sales specialists here at Blanche.”

They did the requisite handshakes before Stacy glared at Marietta and shooed her away with a one-fingered wave.

“This way, please. To the salon,” Stacy said, turning on her heel.

“I feel like I need to confess that I’m terrified right now,” Maya whispered.

“Me too,” Brooke whispered back.

The salon was in fact a large circular living room that kept with the white theme right down to the coasters.

“So, Ms. Tyler,” Stacy said the moment Brooke’s and Maya’s butts hit the white couch. “Have you given any thought to which designer you’ll be using?”