To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(6)

“Have you taken any classes?” Alexis said, leaning forward.

Brooke blinked. “Um. Classes?”

“Champagne classes.”

“Maybe we should let her drink a glass before we send her to school, hmm, boss?” Heather asked.

“Yes, of course,” Alexis said, sitting back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, please,” Brooke said as Heather motioned for a server to pour their champagne. “I’m on your turf now. If you want me to go to bubbly school, I’m all for it.”

“It’s actually a blast,” Heather said. “They let you drink the stuff, and plenty of it.”

“They also have a spit bucket,” Alexis said mildly.

Heather waved this away. “Please. Who spits French champagne? Crazy talk.”

Brooke smiled, warming to the younger woman. Heather was every bit as pretty as Alexis, although where Alexis looked like she held the world’s secrets in some vaulted part of her enormous brain, Heather gave off a friendly what-you-see-is-what-you-get vibe. Her hazel eyes were sharp and intelligent, but there were no pretenses there.

She seemed like the type of friend who’d tell you when your haircut sucked, but only after you’d asked, and the one who’d go on a doughnut binge with you after a breakup and wouldn’t breathe a word about the calories.

Not that Heather was a friend. Yet. They’d just met. But Brooke had every intention of making her one. Alexis, too.

“So, Brooke,” Heather said. “Tell me honestly. Was your adjustment to New York as rough as mine?”

“If by rough you mean trying to get to Brooklyn and ending up in the Bronx and nearly freezing my face off . . .”

Nodding, Heather picked up a roll from the basket in the center of the table and pointed it in Brooke’s direction. “I hear you on the subway bit. Nobody ever really tells you that the entrance to the uptown and downtown trains are rarely on the same side of the street.”

“The guidebooks tell you. And the Internet,” Alexis said.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Ignore her.”

Brooke gave Alexis a nervous glance, curious if the other woman took issue with Heather’s informal tone—they were, after all, boss and assistant. But to her surprise, Alexis was smiling. She was not, however, touching the bread basket.

Impressive self-control on Alexis’s part, but Brooke had never met a carb she didn’t like and followed Heather’s lead, grabbing one of the crusty, still-warm rolls and spreading a bit of aioli-infused butter on it.

Before she could dig in, though, Alexis lifted her champagne flute. “Shall we toast?”

“Hells yes,” Heather said, lifting her glass. “To the newest Belle.”

Belle. I like that, Brooke thought as she picked up her champagne. For the past two years, Brooke had thrown every bit of energy into starting her own wedding-planning company, determined to work for herself.

And while being the boss had come with plenty of perks, it had also been . . . lonely. She wondered if this was maybe the way to do it—to belong to something.

“To the newest Belle,” Alexis said, echoing Heather. “And to new beginnings.”

Brooke met her new boss’s gaze, wondering exactly how much Alexis Morgan knew about Brooke’s past. Wondered if the other woman knew how true her words were.

She hadn’t hid what happened from Alexis during their several phone interviews, she just . . . hadn’t volunteered it. Still, it was hardly a national secret. Alexis, and Heather, for that matter, could have found out every sordid detail with a quick visit to everyone’s BFF, Google.

Looking at Alexis’s face certainly didn’t tell her one way or the other whether her boss knew. The woman was like 007 with the unreadable.

“So, Brooke,” Heather said, reaching for yet another roll. “You’ve heard that we East Coasters are known to be a bit more blunt than you West Coasters, right?”

“You’re from Michigan,” Alexis told Heather. “That’s more Midwest than anything.”

“I became a New Yorker about five minutes after moving here,” Heather said. “We all do. Anyway, what I want to know is—and you can totally tell me to shut my trap, by the way—your, um, spicy past . . . are we talking about it, or not talking about it? I’m fine either way.”

“Heather!” For once Alexis’s voice was anything but calm, and Brooke sensed she’d like nothing more than to kick her assistant under the table.

“I’m sorry,” Heather said, going a little bit pale. “Was that rude? I just thought that if we’re going to be spending, like, every minute of every day together, we should know what’s off-limits and what’s fair game.”

“Yes, of course it was rude,” Alexis said.

Heather gave Brooke a contrite look. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s totally not a secret, and if I’m supposed to tiptoe, I have to know now, you know?”

“Good Lord,” Alexis murmured, taking a sip of her champagne. “Have you ever tiptoed?”

The women’s exchange gave Brooke a second to gather her thoughts—to recover from the shock of hearing it mentioned, only to realize that Heather was right.

They would be spending a hell of a lot of time together, and as far as Brooke was concerned, the only thing worse than talking about it was not talking about it.