“Yikes,” Brooke murmured. “Let’s hope she’s not there.”
“Right? Talk about an OMG sitch,” Jessie said, pulling her curly red hair into a stubby ponytail. “Wish me luck that I don’t find her. Not there, at least. Maybe she decided to get a last-minute Brazilian, you know? For the honeymoon? But you’re good here?”
“Absolutely,” Brooke said.
And surprisingly, she meant it. This may be her first New York wedding consultation, but she felt 100 percent in her element.
There was nothing Brooke couldn’t handle. She’d seen it all. Experienced it all.
She was going to own this.
Not two minutes after Jessie left the office, there was a chiming sound at the main door. What better way to demonstrate top-tier service than to open it herself and dazzle the clients from the get-go? Brooke sashayed over to the door and swung it open, then promptly realized that there was one element to wedding planning that she’d never experienced, and it was a bad one.
A really bad one:
Wild, instant attraction to the groom.
The man standing on the other side of the door made Brooke’s stomach flip in a way she hadn’t felt since . . . ever.
Her mouth went dry. Her palms grew sweaty. Her breath drew up short.
It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous in the stop-and-stare kind of way, although he was certainly good-looking. His light brown hair was just slightly windblown, with just the subtlest amount of curl.
The long wool coat was perfectly tailored to his lean body, and the navy color made his light blue eyes look all the more piercing. The nose was just a touch long, the brow just a bit intense, and the mouth unsmiling and sexy as hell. His skin was the vaguely gold tone of someone who tanned easily.
But it wasn’t his good looks that had her feeling a bit short of breath. It was the look in his eyes—the look of surprise that she knew mirrored her own. Surprise that a perfect stranger could cause such a fierce stab of want.
And he was someone else’s fiancé.
No, her client’s fiancé.
Crap.
Even Brooke’s “look on the bright side” mantra couldn’t fix this.
“Hi, you must be Neil,” Brooke said, forcing a smile and extending a hand.
“No.” His voice was low, his enunciation precise.
“Sorry?”
“I’m not Neil.”
Brooke blew out a slow relieved sigh, then quickly tried to cover it up with a little cough.
He wasn’t Neil Garrett.
Which meant he wasn’t getting married. Which meant . . .
Knock it off. You’re so not in a place to be man-hunting right now.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I thought you were my two o’clock appointment,” she said.
“I am your two o’clock,” he snapped.
The man was literally staring down his nose at her as though she were the ultimate nuisance. Clearly, Brooke had been wrong about their attraction being mutual.
He started to brush past her, but Brooke shifted to block his way. “I don’t think so. Not if your name isn’t Neil Garrett, and not if you’re not marrying a Maya—”
“Maya Tyler,” he finished for her.
Brooke’s eyes narrowed, but she moved to let him inside, ignoring the way his closeness made her heartbeat quicken.
She shut the door and turned to find him holding out his jacket to her.
Seriously?
Brooke had no problem taking her clients’ jackets. Or making them coffee, or pouring them champagne, or frankly, jumping through whatever hoops they wanted her to as long as it related to the wedding.
But something about this man’s entitled attitude set her on edge. No, scratch that. Everything about him set her on edge.
She ignored the jacket. “And you are?”
Their eyes locked and held for several moments. God, he was good-looking, in a pretentious, head-of-the-boardroom kind of way.
He tilted his head just slightly, a knowing look on his face as though reading her thoughts. Brooke finally grabbed at his jacket, needing an excuse to turn away from him.
“I’m Seth Tyler,” he said quietly as he watched her hang the jacket on a hook near the door. “Maya’s brother.”
Ah. That explained his sense of entitlement. The man was one of the richest people in the country.
And actually, Brooke was a little surprised she hadn’t recognized him. She followed the social scene fairly closely—there was plenty of crossover between the New York and Los Angeles social elite.
But then again, while Maya Tyler made frequent appearances at all the big-name events and dated a handful of celebs, her brother kept a relatively low profile, at least on the social scene. She’d heard his name, certainly, but never seen a picture. Brooke was certain if she had seen a picture, she would have remembered.
“A bride’s brother,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s a new one. I’ve had sisters tag along before. Mothers are almost a given. Dads, too, given the whole father-of-the-bride thing. But a brother . . . that’s a definite first.”
Seth’s eyes never left Brooke’s. “Maya doesn’t have a sister. Or a mother. And as of eight months ago, she doesn’t have a father, either.”