To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(5)

Nope. The numbers hadn’t changed. Twenty-four degrees freaking Fahrenheit, but “feels like twelve.” Really? Once it got below freezing, did it even matter what the “feels like” temperature was?

Brooke wouldn’t know. She could count the times she’d been in subfreezing temperatures on one hand. A hand that was likely to turn into a Popsicle the second she got outside because she didn’t own a pair of gloves.

Reason number 412 why moving to New York City from Los Angeles on a whim had been . . . an adjustment.

So many learning experiences. Wearing stilettos on the subway. Trying to find a taxi in the rain. Finding out that having a washer and dryer in your unit was a Manhattan rarity.

Brooke cast a look downward at the professional-yet-fashion-forward ensemble she had painstakingly assembled for her first day on the job and sighed resignedly. The freeze-your-butt-off weather definitely required a last-minute wardrobe change. Off went the sexy but paper-thin wrap dress, on went the blue turtleneck sweater and leggings. She opted for gray platform boots instead of the pink Louboutins she’d splurged on for Christmas last year. Not her trendiest attire, but it was the warmest thing she owned.

Just like her cute ivory peacoat was the warmest jacket she owned.

Not warm enough, it turned out.

The bite of the cold January air took her breath away the moment she stepped outside, and Brooke wanted desperately to turn right back around.

But there was something else she wanted more. She forged ahead.

She burrowed her face in her scarf and lifted her hand for a taxi. In spring and summer, the restaurant would probably qualify as being within walking distance.

But in the dead of winter? No. Just no.

Miraculously, a cab took pity on her, and five minutes later she was standing inside MOMA, one of the most famous museums in the country, as well as the upscale eatery where she was about to meet her new colleagues.

Or, as Brooke liked to think about it: Step Two of Life After Clay.

Step one had been getting the hell out of LA.

Step two commenced today, and involved accepting a job with the uber-elite Wedding Belles.

Brooke wasn’t entirely sure what step three would be, but she was pretty sure it would involve wine and Celine Dion sing-alongs à la Bridget Jones.

In better news, swanky as the restaurant was, it was also very LA. The modern decor, efficient waitstaff, and surplus of designer handbags reminded her of the upscale haunts she used to frequent back home, and she felt her shoulders relax as she blew out a breath she did not even know she had been holding. Brooke had been one of the top wedding planners on the West Coast—fancy working lunches were her jam.

Still, her hands might have been just a tiny bit clammy as the hostess led her to her table. She might have been a wedding planner in California, but she was a long way from the Pacific.

Now she’d be coming face-to-face with the top wedding planners on the East Coast. If Brooke was at the bottom of her game, courtesy of The Wedding That Didn’t Happen, the Wedding Belles were at the top of theirs.

And yet, they wanted you. Buck up, Baldwin. You’ve got this.

A curly-haired blonde spotted her first, smiling in welcome as Brooke approached the table. Brooke had practically memorized the Wedding Belles’ website, so she immediately recognized the woman as Heather Fowler, one of the assistant wedding planners.

Actually, the only assistant wedding planner.

The Belles were a tiny company, managing to climb to the top of the Manhattan wedding scene with only two wedding planners, an assistant wedding planner, and a receptionist.

In recent months they’d been running even leaner, as one of the wedding planners had left the company to raise a family in Connecticut.

That’s where Brooke came in.

Her gaze shifted to the other woman at the table, already knowing what she’d see, and yet somehow surprised that Alexis Morgan looked exactly like every picture Brooke had ever seen of her.

In fact, for all the expression on the other woman’s face at the moment, Brooke might as well be looking at a photograph now, too, instead of the real thing. A cool customer, this one.

“Brooke,” Alexis said, standing and extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Alexis’s voice was very much like the woman herself. Smooth, polished, and pretty. Very pretty, Brooke amended. She was shorter than Brooke’s own five eight by a few inches, but had that sort of exceptional posture that made her look a good deal taller than she was. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled into a sleek chignon, her eyes wide and brown with just enough perfectly applied makeup to look put together without being obvious. The outfit was also spot-on. Gray slacks and a white blouse, simple pieces but perfectly tailored to cast a sleek appeal.

“It’s so nice to meet you, too!” Brooke said, hoping her voice didn’t sound too gushing. It wasn’t that Brooke was bubbly. Not really. But she was aware of the fact that she was quick to laugh, even quicker to smile, and eager to see the best in people.

Not so long ago, the ready smiles and optimism had been genuine. She hadn’t even been aware of them.

Lately, though . . .

Well, fake it till you make it, right?

She shook Heather’s hand as well, and the three of them sat down at the low granite tabletop. “We ordered champagne,” Heather said with a little wink. “Hope that’s okay.”

“Definitely. I wouldn’t be in this job if I didn’t love champagne.”