“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 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.
And so, after taking a sip of champagne for courage, Brooke took a deep breath, folded her hands in her lap, leaned forward slightly, and told her new colleagues all about the guy she’d fallen in love with. The one she’d almost married.
Right up until the moment the FBI had arrested him.
At the altar.