To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(8)
Chapter Four
AFTER LUNCH, BROOKE WAS feeling the lightest she had in months, although she wasn’t quite sure whether it was because of the champagne or the fact that she’d just spilled her guts to two practical strangers.
She hadn’t gotten all personal and weepy or anything, but she’d filled them in on the facts—the actual facts, not the tabloid facts—and getting it all out in the open went a long way to making her feel as though she was working with a clean slate.
But the unexpected girl talk, while important for her fresh start, had nothing on the euphoria of the moment she first saw the Wedding Belles headquarters. Other than a delicate silver plaque inscribed with The Wedding Belles above the doorbell, it looked exactly like every other house on Seventy-Third Street, which made it all the more charming in its discreetness.
After lunch, Heather and Alexis had headed down to SoHo for a small evening wedding, but Brooke had wanted to get settled at the main office. Her breath whooshed out in a happy sigh as she tentatively opened the front door and poked her head in. If the outside was charming, the inside was perfect—absolutely perfect.
The main reception area had plenty of white, of course. Smart branding, given that the entirety of their clientele was of the bride-to-be variety. But whereas most wedding-related vendors tended toward frilly and formal, Alexis Morgan had taken the opposite direction, opting for clean lines and bright, unabashed pops of color.
The black-and-white-striped wallpaper gave the place an Old Hollywood vibe, and the sleek furniture was made approachable by fun Tiffany-blue throw pillows. Michael Bublé’s swoony voice was crooning away from some unseen speaker, the perfect choice for what the Wedding Belles were best known for: a tantalizing blend of the classic and the modern.
It was this sterling reputation that had caused Brooke to consider Alexis Morgan’s job offer when she’d brushed off everyone else’s. There were hundreds of wedding planners out there and thousands more that wanted to be wedding planners.
But for as many women who imagined it to be their dream job, the truth was that getting wedding planning right was hard. Really hard. The key was finding that nearly impossible balance between ensuring the details were taken care of and not being so rigid that you zapped all the romance out of the event. What brides were really after, but never knew how to ask for, was organized magic. The best weddings were the ones that went off without a hitch but also had room for spontaneity.
Not only did Alexis get it, she’d figured out how to turn it into a formula. There wasn’t a single blight on the Wedding Belles’ resume.
Not something Brooke could say about her own now-defunct company.
She swallowed, pushing aside the dark thoughts, which was relatively easy. She’d had plenty of practice over the past four months, after all.
Even when her friends had been pushing comfort wine into her hand, even when her dad was threatening to “show that bastard a thing or two,” even when her mom had insisted on crying “on Brooke’s behalf,” she’d known that she hadn’t needed to cry or scream.
She needed to start over. And here she was.
“Hi there!” a perky voice chirped as a petite redhead came into the lobby. “So sorry to keep you waiting. I didn’t have anything on the schedule, and I was just eating a late lunch.”
“Oh, I’m not a bride,” Brooke explained. Not anymore. “I’m Brooke Baldwin. I—”
“Oh. My. Gosh!” The redhead came around the side of the desk, and when Brooke extended a hand, the other woman ignored it and went in for a hug. “I am such an airhead. I’ve seen your picture, like, a million times, and Alexis totes just told me you were coming by today. I’m Jessie, the receptionist!”
Brooke blinked in surprise at the hug. Not that she minded hugs, but Jessie was just about as different from her colleagues as could be. Like the others, she was attractive, but where Alexis was elegantly refined and Heather was confidently pretty, Jessie was freaking adorable. She had chin-length orange curls, huge green eyes, and slightly elfish features.
“Tell me that’s not all your stuff,” Jessie said, gesturing at the large tote bag slung over Brooke’s shoulder. “When Mel moved out last month, she had, like, ten boxes.”
Mel. That would be Melissa Thompson. Brooke had done her homework. Melissa was nearly as famous in the New York wedding scene as Alexis herself and had become pregnant with twin girls less than a year after giving birth to her first child, a son.
She had, in Heather’s words, moved to the burbs.
Brooke couldn’t blame her. Being a wedding planner was a full-time job. Nights and weekends weren’t just normal, they were necessary.
Brooke continued holding out hope that she’d figure out how to fit a dog into her crazy schedule, but a baby? She couldn’t imagine. And three? No—not possible. Even for a glass-half-full kind of girl like Brooke.
“I wasn’t sure how much space I’d have, or what the office would be like,” Brooke said, patting her bag. “I just brought the essentials.”
“Ohmigod, you’re going to love. Your. Office,” she said, punctuating each word in a way that was, Brooke was quickly realizing, Jessie’s default rhythm of speaking. “It’s got these big old windows, a ton of amazing natural light,” Jessie gushed. “Come on up, I’ll show you. In the meantime, tell me everything. You’re from California, right? Can I call you that? California? It suits you!”