“Brooke. Stop,” he said, reaching for her. “Just because I’m offering you something to eat doesn’t mean I’m going to start ring shopping.”
She jerked away from his outstretched hand. “It starts with breakfast, but then what?”
He only stared at her.
“I don’t want this,” she said, gesturing at the breakfast cart. “Last night was great, but I don’t want anything more.”
Seth felt like he’d been poleaxed in the abdomen.
I don’t want anything more.
Brooke couldn’t have known, of course, that her softly uttered statement was an exact echo of what Nadia had said to him that night as she’d stared down at his pathetic self on bended knee.
I’ve liked spending time with you, Seth. But I don’t want anything more.
Him. She hadn’t wanted him.
And Brooke didn’t want him, either. And objectively, rationally, he knew that was okay. But some long-silenced part of him was roaring in pain of a not-quite-forgotten memory.
“Got it,” he snapped after the silence had stretched too long. “So next time, I just leave a fifty on the dresser, right?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” she said as she began pulling on her clothes.
“Yeah, I’m the asshole here,” he said. “You’re the one losing your shit over a few eggs.”
She brushed past him. “I can’t do this.”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her back around. “Nobody’s asking you to do anything. You’re the one who came over here last night, remember? For someone who’s so rah, rah happily ever afters, seems to me there’s only one kind of happy ending you’re after.”
Her lips parted at his crassness, and she looked like she wanted to slap him. He almost wished she would.
“You know what I just realized?” she said, her voice low and vibrating with anger. “You’re a lot like your hotels. Polished, attractive, efficient, and cold. Cold and soulless.”
He said nothing. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Nothing that wasn’t true.
“Have a good day, Mr. Tyler. I can see myself out.”
Seth didn’t move. Not until he heard his front door close.
And then his arm lashed out, swiping several of the room-service plates off the cart and sending them crashing to the floor.
As he stared blindly down at the mess, he realized that only twice in his life had he really truly lost his temper to the point of lashing out. Once the other night with the fucking takeout in his office, and again just now with the damn room service.
Both could be owed to a certain Brooke Baldwin.
So much for not getting complicated.
Chapter Twenty-One
I HANDLED IT BADLY. Do you think I handled it badly?” Brooke asked as she nibbled on a fingernail and followed Heather around City Winery as her friend placed a gold-wrapped chocolate truffle by each name tag set around the square table. Heather reached out to adjust the silver ribbon of the centerpiece so that it curled just-so around the base of the white pillar candle.
The bride had gone for a metallic theme, which Brooke had secretly wondered might be a bit cold, but she had to admit that the combination of sparkle and monochromatic tones of silver and gold was stunning. Especially given the oncoming February storm, which promised to be just enough to provide some picturesque snowflakes without being heavy enough to cause transportation issues.
“You’re sure I can’t help?” Brooke asked as she followed Heather to the next table, watching her friend repeat the same process with the favors, the fussing with the ribbon. Heather hesitated, and Brooke had been part of the Belles just long enough to have a sense of what was going on.
“Hey,” she said, touching Heather’s arm. “It looks really good.”
“Does it?” Heather asked, glancing around. “Are you sure the little snowflake lights aren’t cheesy? They were my idea, but I’ve never seen Alexis use them, and maybe they’re tacky.”
Brooke snapped a finger in Heather’s face, waiting for the usually confident blond girl’s eyes to come back to hers. “None of that. Alexis trusts you.”
“But—”
“Nope.” Brooke held up a finger. “You’re her assistant for a reason. She trusts you to make spectacular weddings.”
Heather’s wide green eyes flitted away nervously, still scanning the breathtakingly beautiful scene before her as though looking for flaws. “I know, it’s just rare that I tackle the setup on my own.”
The experienced wedding planner in Brooke knew that the wedding Heather was carefully crafting was sheer perfection. Brooke had met the bride of this particular wedding—a graphic designer for a major advertising agency—only once, but she knew that Heather had nailed her client’s style. The reception hall was elegant and a little bit playful, classic, but with enough personality to keep it from being generic.