phone, like, never shuts up, and sometimes we get walk-ins. But let me know if you need anything. And we should for sure grab drinks later. If you’re not busy?”
“Not unless you count unpacking my kitchen,” Brooke said.
Jessie waved her hand. “Oh, honey. That can wait for weeks. We New Yorkers don’t cook much.”
“Thank goodness. My fridge is the size of a toaster, and I’m pretty sure the stove doesn’t turn on,” Brooke said.
“Yeah, well, welcome to New York. Alexis said you found an apartment in Yorkville?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Brooke said. “I haven’t quite wrapped my brain around all the neighborhoods yet.”
“Well, like I said, ask me anytime. I dated a broker when I first got here, so I know, like, everything. And mark your calendar for Friday-night martinis. Heather knows all the best places, and I’m her aspiring apprentice in all things slightly dirty.”
“I’d like that,” Brooke said, meaning it. Jessie was slightly exhausting but fairly impossible not to like.
Jessie left with instructions to make herself at home so she’d never ever want to leave, and Brooke started unpacking the few belongings she’d brought with her.
Her MacBook Pro. Her favorite polka-dot mug. A couple of framed photos, one of her parents, and one of her sorority sisters at the beach house they’d rented for her bachelorette party.
It was one of the few wedding-related items that had made it with her on the move from California to New York. One of the few that didn’t make her cringe.
It burned a little. No, it burned a lot that the wedding planner had finally gotten the chance to plan her own wedding to the love of her life, and it had ended with the groom in handcuffs, and not the sexy, kinky variety.
Because Brooke had planned the hell out of her wedding.
It had been her best work because it was her most important work. The wedding to top all weddings, even in the land of celebrity nuptials, where one pop star recently gave out purebred puppies as her wedding favor. Brooke was well aware that her own nuptials would be her most telling calling card, and she had been determined to put on the wedding of the century.
Brooke shook her head to clear thoughts of Clay from her mind and continued unpacking the rest of her meager belongings.
It took all of five minutes, and short of trying to guess the Wi-Fi code by trial and error, there wasn’t much she could do until Alexis got there and explained how the on-boarding process would work.
Brooke was on the verge of going downstairs to chat up Jessie, or rather have Jessie chat her up, when her cell rang.
Thank God. A distraction.
Brooke picked up. “Hey, Alexis!”
“Brooke, hi.”
Alexis’s voice had the same low, calm tone that Brooke had gotten used to hearing on the other end of the phone, but there was just a slight edge to it this time, and Brooke sat up straighter. “Everything okay?”
There was a rapid click-click-click that Brooke guessed was high heels walking across a hardwood floor—quickly.
“Well . . . no, actually,” Alexis replied. “Not okay.”
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got a wedding tomorrow—Senator Marlow’s daughter—and let’s just say as far as wedding crises go, it’s the big one.”
“Oh crap. Missing groom?” Brooke asked knowingly.
“Worse.”
Brooke’s mouth dropped open. “The bride?”
“Yup. She disappeared sometime between her manicure appointment and final dress fitting. All we have to go on is a text to the maid of honor saying she needed time to think.”
Oh crap. Not good.
Although, Brooke wished she’d taken time to think before her own wedding. Maybe had she slowed down, she might have seen warning signs—
Not the time, Baldwin.
“What can I do?” Brooke asked.
“Well, I hate to do this to you on your first day, but I wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t amazing, and—”
“Alexis,” Brooke said in a soothing voice. “Lay it on me. Tell me what you need.”
Her new boss blew out a long breath, and the clicking stopped as though Alexis had come to a halt. “I’ve got a new client coming in for her initial consultation. Jessie can give you the full file, but CliffsNotes version: the bride is the Tyler heiress, and—”
“As in the Tyler Hotels?” Brooke interrupted, unable to stop herself. To think she’d worried her days of big-name clients were behind her. The Tylers were huge. Hilton huge.
“Yep. Maya Tyler. I don’t know much about the groom other than his name’s Neil. At this point, I’m not even sure what they’re looking for, but