“Well.” I’m not quite sure where to go from here. The standard response would be to go in for a goodbye kiss, one of those lingering see-you-never Hollywood acts. Seeing as he did me the courtesy of putting his lips everywhere, I take a shot at it, but I chicken out at the last second, my newfound knowledge putting a cork in any further attempts at intimacy. I pucker up, miss his lips, and press an awkward kiss to the tip of his nose instead.
“Thanks again,” I stammer. “For the wine and…that thing you do with your tongue…you’ve got great abs…keep up the good work.”
Braxton looks, if possible, even more confused. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, totally. See you around.” His eyes flicker over mine with genuine concern. I don’t have the fortitude to try to explain our twisted situation to him, so I take the coward’s way out.
I bolt. I grab my bag and fly out the door, down the hall, and don’t stop until I’m in the elevator and the twin metal doors slide closed.
The fluorescent light flickers, and I see my own shame reflected back at me in the mirrored walls. I’m in complete disarray, my makeup smudged, my hair insane, and my clothes crookedly buttoned. My eyes are Scream Queen wide and I’m panting like I’ve just outrun the nightmare king himself.
“Okay.” I catch my breath, close my eyes, and find a quiet place inside my head. “Pull yourself together, Susie.”
After all, my mind reminds me, you just had dirty, filthy sex with the bride’s brother right before the most important wedding of your career. I mean, really.
What can go wrong?
4
Braxton
I’m not a bad fuck.
I’m a lot of things. A control freak. Possessive. Stubborn. Narcissistic.
But I’m not a bad fuck. So when my Ritz-Carlton mystery girl pulls a vanishing act on me, questions ping-pong through my mind the next the day. Did I hurt her? Did I scare her off? Did I come on too strong? I’m a wolf in the woods—I’m aware of that—all long teeth and carnal fantasies, and I should know better than to get close to pretty, sweet butterflies like her. The possibilities brew darkly inside my skull and distract me. Which is irritating because I’m supposed to have hawk-eyed focus on…
…whatever my sister is doing with her hair.
“What do you think?” Cora asks. She has inexplicably bleached the tips of her mane of dark hair—to impress her new fiancé, I imagine—and wrapped it all up in a bandana. Ever since she started dating Ray Dalton last year, she’s really gotten into this whole cowgirl act. Never mind that we’re currently about as anti-country as you can get, lounging around in her white-walled Upper West Side apartment as she makes up her face with top-dollar cosmetics. On the walls are framed photospreads of models showing off Cora W. Couture, her line of high-end runway fashion. The whole apartment smells like hair spray and baby powder.
“You look like Honey Boo Boo all grown up,” I tell her. “Since when do you wear bandanas?”
Her reflection pouts back at me from her vanity mirror. “Try to be nice, Braxton. Just once. Pretty please with Splenda on top. What’s up your a-hole?”
I could tell her that I’m all worked up and worried about the little bunny rabbit that hopped straight out of my den last night, but I spare her that detail. Instead I retort, “This is me being nice.”
Cora rolls her eyes.
“Hell, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Ray’s booming twang hits my eardrums like pennies rattling around a tin cup. His heavy boots caked in mud and muck clomp around Cora’s polished hardwood floors as he bends his giant frame to embrace her from behind.
“You like?” Cora smiles at her fiancé.
“I could eat you up, darling.” He snorts against the crook of her neck, and she breaks into a pitchy peel of giggles.
I’ve never been very receptive to the men who put their hands on my little sister, but she has a long history of picking the worst apples in the barrel, and Ray is far from any exception. I quietly retract the urge to kill. I turn back to my phone instead and refresh my email. No new messages. Disappointing. I silently pray that a disaster at the vineyard sends a flood of messages my way coupled with a brilliant excuse to leave. I need someone to need me.
The doorbell rings, interrupting Ray’s bizarre bovine-esque mating call. I’m on my feet in seconds flat. I need to remove myself from this situation before I remove Ray’s Stetson-adorned head from his neck. “I’ve got it,” I say.
“You’re a pal, Braxo,” Ray says.
Braxo. I wince. I smooth out the wrinkles in my slacks in a desperate attempt to rein in my temper and make it to the intercom in a couple of long-legged steps. I press the button to connect to the speaker downstairs. “West residence.”
“Hi!” the thin voice chirps and crackles over the speaker. “It’s me…the wedding planner…?”
“Top floor.” I buzz her in and ring the elevator. The elevator whirls up and churns as it picks up our guest, and I wait before it comes to a jerky stop in front of the door. She’s short and I only see the top of her head in the circle cutout window. It’s blonde, tied up in a bun, and adorned with a black bow.
The elevator door slides open into Cora’s apartment, and I come face-to-face with my one-night-stand. Her eyes meet mine and then go wide. Deer in headlights doesn’t quite describe the expression on her face. Deer witnessing its first UFO landing, perhaps.
“Well,” I begin. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She erases the shock from her face in an instant. I’m impressed. “Hello.” Her tone is curt and biting, and that one single word says plenty more. As in, Hello, we don’t know each other. She juts her hand out. “Susie Posy. Wedding planner. Is Miss Cora West here—?”
Cora materializes at the sound of her name. She squeaks and throws her arms around Susie, squeezing her tight. “Thank God, you’re here! I’m drowning. I’m literally drowning. I go to sleep and I have nightmares about my bust size.”
Susie, to her credit, grounds my sister’s frenetic energy, a near impossible feat. “Help is here,” she says and grips my sister’s shoulders. “I’m your girl. Tell me what you need.”
“You’re an actual saint,” Cora says and drags Susie inside. “This is Ray, my hubby-to-be.”
“Howdy, darling,” Ray says and brushes away her extended hand to give Susie a big hug. “We’re a hugging family,” he explains.
“I shake hands.” I extend my hand once Ray releases her from his grip. “Braxton West. Cora’s brother and the best man.”
I can see the visible relief in her eyes when I play by her rules. She reaches out to take my hand and shakes it politely. “It’s a pleasure,” she says.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” I lock eyes with her, and I swear I can feel her shudder. I can’t help it. I want to make her shudder like that again.
Susie pulls away from me and turns her attention quickly to the starry-eyed couple. Good move. My palm is tingling where she touched it. “Okay,” she says with enough authority in her voice to get everyone to shut up. “I read through your file, and I’ve got a lot of ideas I think we can work with. I’m thinking rustic, for starters. I know that you have a location in South Carolina?”