It wasn’t hard to see why Maya was enamored. Everything about the man seemed likable.
Before Brooke could shake the groom’s hand, she was surprised to find that Seth Tyler had stepped forward and was standing beside her, all but edging her out as he stared down Neil Garrett.
“Hi, you must be Seth,” Neil said, extending a hand to Maya’s brother.
Brooke’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. The brother and the fiancé hadn’t met?
Interesting. Very interesting.
Her suspicions were confirmed when Maya stepped forward, a hint of nervousness on her face as she looked between the two men. “Sethy, this is Neil.”
“Yeah. Got that,” Seth ground out.
Brooke winced at his sharp tone. Neil, however, did not. Maya’s fiancé apparently had a good deal more class than her brother, and he merely stood there, hand extended, until Seth relented and shook it.
Maya gave Brooke an apologetic smile, seemingly sensing her confusion. “Neil and my relationship has been sort of a whirlwind. This all happened so fast, and with Seth being so busy with work, he and Neil haven’t had a chance to, well, meet.”
“It happens like that sometimes,” Brooke said smoothly, hoping to temper some of the tension she felt radiating off Seth. “Why don’t we all have a seat in our consultation room, make sure everyone’s on the same page about expectations, and discuss vision?”
“Excellent idea,” Neil said, shooting Brooke a smile as he stepped closer to Maya and put a hand around her waist. “We can’t wait to get started on this.”
Brooke led the group into the conference room and pulled out a bottle of champagne from the mini-fridge as everyone sat around the conference room table.
Ignoring Seth’s disapproving glare, she caught Maya’s eye and held up the bottle. “Shall we celebrate?”
“Yes,” Maya said, a little too enthusiastically.
Brooke couldn’t blame her. There was way too much tension in the room for what should be a happy, joyous affair.
And she knew exactly who was to blame.
Seth had seated himself across from the happy couple, long fingers tapping against the table as he studied his brother-in-law-to-be.
Brooke made a mental note for her first task of the Tyler-Garrett Wedding: get rid of the brother.
“Just water for you, I assume, Mr. Tyler?” she said sweetly.
His gaze flicked to hers, narrowing slightly.
She gave him a pretty smile. “It is, after all, before five.”
His gaze narrowed even further as it drifted over her, as though daring her to continue pushing his buttons. And she shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. Not if she wanted to get this account. But he was just so pompous.
“Oh, come on, Seth, have half a glass,” Neil said with a laugh.
Brooke realized then that she hadn’t even been getting the worst of Seth Tyler’s glares. Those he apparently reserved for Neil Garrett.
Brooke pulled four crystal champagne flutes off the shelf—whether he knew it or not, Seth Tyler needed a drink—and listened as Neil tried unsuccessfully to engage Seth in small talk. But despite Neil’s rather impressive charm, Seth hadn’t done much more than grunt at his sister’s fiancé.
By the time poor Neil had resorted to talking about the weather, Brooke was wishing she was skilled enough with a champagne cork to aim it at Seth’s head. Something needed to knock some sense into the man. His little sister was getting married, and here he was acting like he was in a board meeting with a bitter rival.
Brooke frowned at the realization that not only was there no satisfying pop of the champagne cork, the damn thing wasn’t even budging. Just her luck that she’d get a stubborn cork on her first day.
“Pardon me, I’ll be just a moment,” Brooke murmured before carrying the bottle into the kitchen Jessie had pointed out earlier.
She needn’t have bothered excusing herself. The men were too busy wading through a thick fog of tension and discomfort to notice her departure.
Or so she thought.
Brooke had just wrapped a towel around the cork and started to tug with renewed vigor when the bottle was pulled out of her hands.
She looked up to find herself staring into the unsmiling face of Seth Tyler. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out, tugging the towel out of her hand before tossing it aside.
He stepped even closer, gently pulling the bottle from her grip, and with a quick twist of his large hands, the cork obediently popped off, the sharp sound it made doing nothing to defuse the tension in the room.
He wordlessly held out the bottle, and Brooke took it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The words were polite, but the glare was hostile, and Brooke rolled her eyes.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Tyler?”
“I saw you struggling with the cork. Thought I might be of assistance.”
“No, I don’t mean what are you doing here in this kitchen,” she clarified, lifting her eyes to his. “I mean here, at the Wedding Belles. It’s obvious you and your sister aren’t close.”