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!”
“Ah—”
“No, of course not,” Jessie chattered on. “It’s not like I’d want to be called Louisiana. That’s where I’m from.”
“You don’t have much of an accent.”
“I know, right? It just sort of started fading on me this past year. ’Bout all I have left of the South is the occasional ‘y’all’ and an affinity for fried food. You’re not, like, vegan, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Gluten-free?”
“Definitely not.”
“Thank gawd. I mean, we could still be friends if you were, but food’s kind of like my thing, and everything that tastes good has gluten—that’s what Heather and I are always saying. You met her at lunch, right?”
Brooke opened her mouth to confirm, but Jessie kept right on talking. “Anyway, you just let me know if you need anything. Since I moved to New York I’ve pretty much done nothing but work and tour the city. And eat, of course.”
Of course.
“Okay, so up here, this is where the offices are,” Jessie said, pausing at the top of the stairs and gesturing around.
The upper level of the Wedding Belles office was mostly just hallways and doors, reminding Brooke of the little house she’d grown up in before her dad had gotten his big break in the Hollywood production world and moved them all to a bigger house in Beverly Hills.
“What’s on the third floor?” she asked as Jessie led her to the end of the hall to the left.
“That’s Alexis’s place.”
“She lives here?”
“Yup. And if you’re wondering how she manages to separate work and personal life, she doesn’t. I just didn’t get how a woman who deals with weddings all day long doesn’t even seem to want a boyfriend, but then I saw her in action and realized the woman doesn’t have time for a hamster, much less a lover.”
“What about you?” Brooke asked. “Boyfriend?”
“Eh, yeah. Dean. It’s new yet, but I’m feeling good about it. He makes good waffles.”
Brooke held a smile. Had to like a woman that could be wooed by waffles.
“What about you?” Jessie glanced over her shoulder as she asked it. “Boyfriend?”