For Better or Worse

by Lauren Layne

  She reached across the table, her fingers stopping just short of touching his hand, and he had a fierce and strange wish that she’d complete the gesture and make contact.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He winked. “I’m always okay.”

  She merely stared back at him with a steady gaze that quietly called bullshit.

  “I like your voice, you know.”

  His wineglass froze halfway to his lips. “Why, thank you, 4C.”

  “No, I mean . . . I really like it. Better than your lead singer’s voice.”

  Josh studied her. “Trevor’s voice is perfectly suited for the songs I write.”

  “Only some of the songs you write,” she argued. “The loud, bang-the-drum noisy ones.”

  He laughed. “Such high praise.”

  “The ballads. Those are better suited to your voice.”

  Josh winced. “I don’t write ballads.”

  “Well, what would you call them?” she asked softly. “The quieter ones like I heard you singing last night. They’re slow. Pretty.”

  “Okay,” he said, pointing at her with his wineglass. “We can call them ballads, but we’re not calling them pretty.”

  She smiled. “I think you like those songs best, too.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, picking up his menu and holding it in front of his face to block her prying gaze.

  Heather snatched it away. “Why’d you cancel band practice last night?”

  “Because I had a woman come over,” he snapped, the lie rolling off his tongue before he could think better of it. He instantly felt like shit. Lying to the guys about this was one thing. It was what guys did.

  But lying to Heather . . . it didn’t feel right.

  Especially not when she blinked and looked away. Almost as though she were hurt.

  Nah. Their relationship wasn’t like that.

  And yet, now that he thought about it, the thought of Heather bringing a guy home . . . the thought of some guy running his hands all over those slim curves, plunging his fingers into all that glorious hair . . .

  Shit. Shit!

  Their server came over, saving both of them from going any further down a path that he was positive neither wanted to. After he’d ordered a steak and she’d opted for some mussels, he gratefully let her change the topic toward safer territory:

  Danica.

  Never in his life would he have thought that his most toxic ex would be a safe topic, but compared to crossing a line with his neighbor, perhaps destroying the first good thing he’d had in years, it was definitely the lesser of the two evils.

  “So tell me more about why you guys broke up,” Heather said, helping herself to a bit more wine.

  Josh shrugged. “The usual reasons, I guess. We outgrew each other. We were fighting more often than we were getting along. I found myself coming up with reasons not to pick up the phone when she called. I no longer had a clue how to make her happy, and she certainly wasn’t making me happy.”

  He skipped the part about her telling him his sickness was “too much.”

  Heather fiddled with her glass. “I’ve met Danica. I’ll admit, I’m trying to figure out—”

  “What I saw in her?” he asked with a grin.

  She winced. “I know I’m not supposed to talk badly about my client, but you’re a . . . a friend, sort of, I guess, and I just . . . I don’t get it.”

  “I was a different person back then,” he said quietly. “And trust me, that version of Josh Tanner was exactly the type of douche bag that would get involved with a social-climbing diva.”

  “Is this back when you were a hedge fund manager?” she asked.

  He winced. “Not my favorite topic, 4C. You’re usually pretty good about not prying.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited, because I’m totally going to pry right now. Why did you quit?”

  Tell her, his subconscious urged. Tell her you got sick and your life turned upside down.

  But the words didn’t come. He knew it was irrational, but he just didn’t want to be known as the sick guy. He’d been there. Done that. Spent a year of his life being the guy who people felt sorry for, and he was just . . . over it.

  He didn’t want Heather looking at him with all that pity and concern, analyzing every cough and yawn.

  He already had a mother for that.

  “The corporate client in my old company was brutal,” he said, trying to find a way to tell her the truth without telling her the whole truth. “The money was good. Really good. But the hours were long, and the lifestyle was something straight out of the movies.”

  “How so?”

  “Drinking way too much, way too often. Recreational drugs. Workdays that transitioned straight to happy hour, and then to a late dinner, and then to a party that went all night long until you got to the office, where you kept a spare suit and did it all over again.”

  “This is when you and Danica were dating?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Her dad was one of my company’s clients. Not my client. I was too junior for that. But we met at some fund-raising thing, and I guess we figured we could use each other. She was new to the scene, barely out of college. I showed her the ropes, and in return, I got access to one of the richest men in the city.”

  Josh glanced at her, braced for censure or disdain, but instead saw only curiosity.

  “You guys broke up after you quit?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He knew he was being terse, but he didn’t want to go there. Hadn’t gone there in a long time.

  “I know it’s been a while,” Heather said as she grabbed another piece of bread, “but since you knew her, don’t you think it’s odd the way she’s so hands-off about this wedding?”

  “Honestly, yeah,” Josh said thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s possible that she’s changed, but the Danica I knew was a control freak. I still remember when she decided to redecorate her bathroom. She went through a half dozen interior designers because she was too up in their business about the precise shade of sea foam green or whatever.”

  Heather’s fingernails tapped on the table. “That’s what I expected when she hired me. I was prepared for it. So it just doesn’t make sense that she’d be the most hands-off bride I ever had.”

  “Like I said, maybe she changed?” Josh asked.

  “Perhaps,” Heather said, although she didn’t sound like she believed it, and he didn’t know that he did, either. Danica had always been deliberate in everything she did. Hell, conniving might be a better word for it.

  “Keep your eyes open, 4C,” he said, feeling the need to warn her, even though he didn’t know about what. He hadn’t spoken to Danica in years.

  “Oh, I am,” she said with a firmness to her voice. “There’s definitely something going on with her, but until I figure out what it is, all I can do is plan the best wedding I know how.”

  “You always wanted to be a wedding planner?” he asked.

  “Ah—”

  His eyes narrowed at the embarrassment in her tone. “Confess.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Fine. But it’s embarrassing.”

  “The good stuff always is.”

  Heather fiddled with her napkin. “So my mom is sort of . . . a romantic. And back when I was little, she had a boyfriend—lots of boyfriends—and even though they never stuck around for more than a couple months, she never stopped believing that one of them would. ‘This is The One, sweetie. I’m going to marry this one,’ she’d say. And back before I wisened up, knew how relationships really worked, I let myself dream. I let myself plan.”

  Josh’s heart twisted a little. “You planned your mother’s wedding.”

  “Weddings,” she corrected with a sad smile. “There were plenty of boyfriends, and with each one, I’d come up with a new color scheme, a new
theme, a new location, each one more perfect than the last.”

  “Did any of the weddings ever happen?” he asked gently.

  “Nah,” she said with a casualness that was too forced. “But hey, it was good practice, right?”

  “You know, having a sister, I know that most little girls plan their own weddings.”

  She shrugged. “The ones who already had happily married parents, maybe.”

  There was no bitterness in her voice. Just tired resignation.

  “You’ve never thought about your own?” he asked, not really sure why he was asking.

  “From time to time,” she said. “I just don’t really see much of a point in spending that much thought on it. I get paid to think about other people’s. And I love it. I really do.”

  “So you’re living the dream.”

  “I am,” she said, idly twisting her wineglass around on the table. “I always wanted to live in New York. I always wanted to be a wedding planner.”

  “And look at you now,” he said.

  She met his eyes and smiled. “And look at me now.”

  “So what’s next on your bucket list now that you’re on track for domination of your professional life?”

  “Domination of my personal life, I guess,” she said with a little shrug. “I know. It’s pathetic that I have to schedule it in, but it’s not happening naturally, so . . .”

  “What’s the plan?” he asked, feeling suddenly irritated even as he couldn’t put his finger on why. “If you want, we could put together a little sign for you to wear around your neck that says ‘available and looking.’ ”

  “Actually, that’s not far off,” she said. “I’m thinking it’s time to wade into the world of dating sites or apps, or what not.”

  “Oh, 4C. No.”

  “What!” she exclaimed. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of! Plenty of people meet their soul mates that way.”

  “Yeah, but not you.”

  She glared. “Why not me?”

  Josh opened his mouth only to realize that he didn’t have a good answer for that.

  “Exactly,” she said with no small amount of smugness. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into putting together my profile? Despite your piglike tendencies, you do seem to have a good grasp of the dating world.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, leaning forward. “You’ve already recruited me to be your professional sidekick for Danica’s wedding, and now you’re wanting me to help you date as well? What’s next? You want me to breathe for you, too?”

  She leaned forward, matching his posture. “Well, why not live my life? God knows you’re not living yours, are you, Tanner?”

  Josh’s head snapped back in surprise. That was bullshit. Utter bullshit. He was living. Hell, that’s why he hadn’t gone back to his old job. Why he was pursuing his dreams, why he was refusing to go back to being a destructive workaholic . . .

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said quietly. “Maybe I’m wrong, it just seems that beneath all the quips and winks, you seem a tiny bit . . . lost.”

  What the fuck.

  His burst of temper was suppressed by the appearance of their server, and neither said a word as the obliviously cheerful man put their entrees in front of them.

  Then they were alone again, and Josh took a deep breath.

  “Just because I don’t have every minute of every day mapped out as part of some grand life plan doesn’t mean I’m lost,” he said quietly.

  “Hey!” she said, her voice wounded. “I was just trying to help you the way you’ve helped me.”

  “Well, don’t,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Let’s just drop it.”

  “Josh—”

  “I said drop it, Heather.”

  “Look, I obviously struck a nerve, and I’m sorry. I just think—”

  “I don’t care what you think. We clear?”

  Her mouth clamped shut, and he saw from the tension in her jaw that she was gritting her teeth.

  “Yeah,” she said after several tense moments of silence. “We’re clear.”

  “Good,” he said quietly, picking up his knife and fork.

  They began eating in awkward silence, Heather shooting him death glares from over the top of her water glass, and Josh waited for the sense of relief that she was backing off from interfering in his life.

  But the relief never came.

  His life was exactly as he wanted it—exactly as he’d carefully shaped it to be.

  So why did it feel like it no longer fit?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’M JUST SAYING, THE man stuck around for brunch with your friends. He made brunch for your friends. Are you really telling me there’s nothing there?” Brooke took a demure sip of her Veuve Clicquot, nailing Heather with that dead-on look that pulled the truth out of her like magic.

  It was Friday night, and they were out on the town for a belated celebration of Alexis’s birthday, but in classic Alexis style, there were no shots, no nightclubs, no too-short skirts. Instead it was a quiet night at a classy Midtown champagne bar.

  A handful of Alexis’s nonwork friends had shown up as well, but after making the requisite small talk, Heather found herself huddled around a small table with Brooke, who, in between sexting with Seth, seemed determined to talk about the one thing Heather didn’t want to talk about:

  Josh Tanner.

  Heather sighed and sipped the delicious sparkling rosé she’d ordered. “I’m positive. I’m not crazy enough to get involved with my neighbor. Then we’d break up, and I’d have to move because it’d be awkward.”

  “What makes you think you’d break up?” This was from the woman sitting on the other side of Brooke: Leah McHale, a stunning redhead and one of the Belles’ go-to wedding photographers. Heather had known Leah and her boyfriend, fellow photographer Jason Rhodes, for years. Had actually helped them get together, if she wanted to get braggy.

  Heather gave Leah a look. “You’d understand if you saw him. He is not the type of guy who sticks around. Brooke? Back me up here.”

  Brooke pursed her glossy lips as she pulled her long blond hair into a messy knot atop her head. “He did kind of look the part of an overgrown frat boy.”

  “Trust me, he acts the part, too,” Heather said.

  “Still doing the loud music thing, huh?”

  “Yeah, although we’ve set up some boundaries,” Heather admitted as she pulled the bowl of spiced nuts toward her, shaking it around until she found another almond.

  “And he’s respecting them?”

  Heather lifted a shoulder. In truth, she hadn’t heard Josh’s music at all in the four days and nights since their near fight on Monday. Either he was playing when she wasn’t around, or he wasn’t playing at all.

  She hoped it wasn’t the latter. Any fool could see that he loved music. Needed it. Maybe she’d been imagining things when she’d thought the music wasn’t enough for him, but she didn’t think so. She suspected he was hiding behind his music, using it as an excuse to avoid something.

  She just didn’t know what that something was.

  Should she have backed off her prying? Maybe. But damn it, she’d spilled her guts to him. She’d never told anyone where she’d gotten her interest in wedding planning, and she’d told him.

  Heather had put herself out there in a way she hadn’t in a very, very long time and had gotten nothing back. And she was feeling a little . . . pissed.

  “How’s the Robinson wedding going?” Leah asked. “Should I be offended you haven’t asked me to work it?”

  Heather sighed. “Trust me, I checked your and Jason’s schedules first. You’re all booked up, seeing as she wants this to go down in a couple months.”

  “Is she still clinging to the Plaza dream?” Brooke asked.

  “Yup. No luck
there, but I did make some headway with getting her to commit to a cake company that has an opening.”

  “Let me guess, she wants something huge and gaudy?”

  “Pretty much. I asked her about flavors, and she told me it doesn’t matter because nobody in her circle eats cake anyway.”

  “Her circle sounds like one of the layers of hell, then,” Brooke replied.

  Heather snorted. This was why she loved Brooke. The other woman looked like an adorable beach bunny in her short shimmery black dress and perfect makeup, but she knew how to appreciate a good dessert.

  “I can’t believe Josh dated her,” Brooke said, taking another sip of her champagne. “They seem so different.”

  “Apparently, he was different back then,” Heather said. “He used to be some big-firm hedge fund manager. I’m not even sure I know what that means.”

  “It means money,” Brooke said.

  Heather wanted to ask more questions—wanted to understand more about what Josh did and who he was back then, but Brooke wasn’t the person to ask.

  Brooke’s ex-fiancé had been an integral part of the Wall Street scene up until he’d moved to Los Angeles and met Brooke.

  And then the guy had been accused of just about every single white-collar crime in the book. His arrest had happened just seconds before he and Brooke had exchanged vows.

  Heather supposed it was a good thing the cops had come after him before the vows rather than after, but for Brooke’s sake, she couldn’t help but wish they’d gotten their shit together just a little bit earlier.

  The scandal had destroyed Brooke’s West Coast wedding-planning career.

  But it hadn’t destroyed Brooke. Her friend was too strong for that. And now she’d found a man who treated her like a queen. Heather couldn’t have been happier for her friend, but if she was being honest, a teeny tiny part of her was also green with envy, too. When would Heather find someone to love her so intensely and unconditionally like that? Would she ever?

  “What changed?” Brooke asked.

  Heather’s attention snapped back to the conversation at hand. “Hmm?”

  “You said he was different back then, and I believe it if he was a hedge fund manager who dated a society princess. But that’s not who he is now. Right? He couldn’t have seemed further from that when we all met him at brunch.”