Asking for Trouble (17 page)

“Who
are
you?”

Matt shrugged, not answering.

“How do you know so much about what women want to hear?”

A beat passed. For the first time since Brent had known Matt, his unruffled demeanor slipped and something akin to pain shone through. “Sometimes we find out these things too late. Don’t make that mistake.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, signaling the end of that particular topic. Brent reined in his curiosity and let it go without comment.

“All right. Any other advice, oh wise one?”

“Beg like hell.” Matt gave a quick shake of his head. “I don’t have a lot of experience with girls like Hayden. She’s an incredibly sexy girl—”

“Bro.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t worry, my tastes are…different. However, she’s the only girl I’ve come across who is remotely capable of putting up with your bullshit. No offense. I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“None taken.” Brent crossed his arms. “You’re right. I’m a dick.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Matt sighed. “Actually, I take it back. I would go that far.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time.” They both turned as Daniel walked into Quincy’s. Looking highly preoccupied, he didn’t see them until Brent put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. He leaned against the wall beside Brent and nodded at them, but didn’t speak. Just stood there, twisting the engagement ring on his finger. Brent and Matt shared a look.

“Hey Danny, you missed it. Matt here just broke his record for consecutively spoken words. Giving advice, no less.”

No response from Daniel.

“Seriously, if I’d closed my eyes, it would have been like Dr. Phil was standing right next to me.”

Still nothing.

“All right, what’s up with you, man?”

Daniel blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Something was off with Story this morning. Have you spoken to Hayden?”

“Nope. And thanks for rubbing it in.”

“She wouldn’t even look at me before she left for work and now she’s not answering her phone.”

“It’s nothing,” Matt insisted. “You guys are solid. Stop overanalyzing.”

Brent smiled. “See? Dr. Phil without the goofy accent.”

Daniel grabbed Brent’s Coke and took a healthy swallow. “Yeah…yeah, you’re probably right.” Before the words left his mouth, a phone rang and Daniel all but gave himself whiplash trying to extricate the source of the noise from his pocket. “It’s her.”

Matt and Brent rolled their eyes.

“Hey, sunshine.” He listened silently for long moments, his skin growing pale. Brent could practically hear Story’s frantic voice through the phone and frowned. Something was definitely wrong. His whole body tensed as Daniel met his eyes. Whatever had gone wrong, Hayden was involved. Jesus. How bad could it be? When Story finally paused, Daniel’s responded very quietly. “Okay, listen to me, baby. You need to stall. Do whatever you have to do. Just don’t let it happen.” He hung up.

Brent swallowed. “What is it?”

“We need to get down to City Hall.”

A moment later, Brent burst through the front entrance of Quincy’s and ran full speed for the ESU truck, Daniel and Matt right behind him.

Chapter Seventeen

Hayden and Story sat side-by-side on a hard wooden bench outside the city clerk’s chamber, waiting for Hayden’s turn to get married. She’d gone with a simple navy pencil skirt and white blouse. Her mother’s pearl earrings. In clear protest of her decision, Story had shown up in frayed, cutoff jean shorts and moccasins. Last night, amid a sea of Chinese food containers and empty wine bottles, with
Troop Beverly Hills
playing in the background, she’d confessed everything to Story. Her friend’s reaction had been as expected, simultaneously sympathetic and outraged, but she’d managed to exact her promise to keep quiet about Hayden’s impromptu wedding.

After speaking with her father, she’d rushed to Stuart’s apartment before any more damage could be done, negotiating his reinstatement of the loan payment in exchange for her promise to marry him the following day. To his credit, he hadn’t made her grovel, even though he’d been decidedly smug. Just before she’d left, he’d asked her about Brent.

He’s a nonissue
, she’d said, nearly choking as she said the words.

Stuart, who stood several feet away, wore a perfectly tailored suit. Unfortunately, it only made her think of the king-size suit she’d rented for Brent. How amazing it had looked on him. And off of him. With a gulp, she tried to think of something—anything—else besides the man who’d barged his way past her defenses. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been in bed with him. Hope burgeoning in her chest, along with a sense of rightness. Yesterday morning felt like it had taken place a decade ago, even if the pain of walking away from him was still horribly fresh.

Her fiancé laughed into his cell phone and checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He had a meeting to get to, after all.

Whoever said romance is dead?

“You don’t have to do this,” Story whispered to Hayden, blue-green glare fixed on Stuart. Having just met Hayden’s future husband for the first time, Story had taken an immediate dislike to him. A rarity for her amiable best friend. Hayden didn’t blame her. “There has to be another solution. I mean, my God, you’re not some…sacrificial lamb. This is archaic.”

“Did you come up with that line in the bathroom just now?”

“Yes. Did it work?”

Hayden patted her hand. “Sorry, Shakespeare.”

Story sighed. “I know you were in no mood to discuss the elephant in the room last night”—she dropped her voice—“but
come on
. What about Brent?”

“He’s more of an ape. And I’m still in no mood.”

“Too bad,” Story snapped, making Hayden’s eyes widen. “There is something between you two. What do you think he would say if he was standing right here? If he knew you were about to marry someone else?”

She swallowed hard.
Don’t think about it.
“He’d probably say ‘What are you doing
here
? The shoe sale is two blocks over!’ Then he’d walk away, knuckles dragging on the ground.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“The knuckles part?”

“All of it.” Story pushed to her feet and started to pace just as a happy-looking couple emerged from the clerk’s chamber. Their parents followed behind them taking pictures. Tears pricked Hayden’s eyelids. Her parents wouldn’t even be at her wedding. When she’d gone to Stuart yesterday afternoon and agreed to marry him, she’d done it on the condition that he leave her father in the dark. She didn’t want him finding out before it was finished or he’d try to stop it. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed satisfied with this turn of events and was presently making sure her father stayed occupied until the deed was done.

“Stuart Nevin and Hayden Winstead,” a court officer called from the chamber door, signaling their time had come. For a moment, she felt rooted to her seat, the pit in her stomach too heavy for her to move. Breathing steadily in and out through her nose, she stood on shaky legs and approached the chamber. She glanced over at Story, who chewed her lip as she followed them inside.

“Last chance, Hay,” she whispered. “Say the word and we’re out of here. I’ll have us riding donkeys in Mexico by tomorrow morning.”

Hayden gave a sad laugh. “I know you would, sweetie, and I love you for it.” When Story barely bit back a sob, the pit in her stomach yawned wider. She attempted a brave face even though she felt her world caving in around her. “Hey, none of that. We can still ride donkeys in Mexico. This isn’t going to change anything.”

Story looked her square in the eye. “It’s going to change
you
, Hayden.”

Hayden’s mouth dropped open, but no response came out. What could she say? Story was 100 percent right. A loveless marriage, a lifetime spent putting on a happy face, would kill her emotionally. She’d become just like every other bored and miserable high-society mama in Manhattan. Trying to fill the void with possessions.

Brent. What would become of him? He’d meet some spunky, outdoorsy-type with cute freckles she secretly hated. The kind of girl who would wear a Mets jersey and cheer like her life depended on every game’s outcome. She’d probably say things like, “Let’s grill out,” and “Grab me a beer, hon?” She’d probably love camping and
The Three Stooges
. He’d have her knocked up with Brent Junior before the icing dried on their wedding cake. Her name would be Becky or Beth or Betsy and she’d wear his shirts to sleep at night.

Not fair! I want to wear his stupid, bigfoot-size shirts to sleep.
Just thinking about Becky/Beth/Betsy and their Brent Brood made her so depressed, she was surprised to find herself still standing. Just as surprising, the clerk was already halfway through the marriage vows. Panic set in. Oh God. It suddenly hit her what a huge step she’d agreed to take. Hayden’s frantic gaze flew to Stuart, who was asking the clerk if he could speed along the process. Marry
this
guy and forgo any chance with Brent? She couldn’t do it. Could she?

What about her parents? Without their dozen or so charities to run, she could put her college degree to use and find a job. They might not have the life they were accustomed to anymore, but they could be comfortable. She would make sure of it.

“Hayden Winstead, do you take Stuart Nevin to be your husband?”

She opened her mouth,
hell no
perched on the tip of her tongue, when everything happened at once. Story, after darting a nervous glance toward the closed chamber door, squeezed her eyes shut. And flashed her breasts at the clerk.

Then the pounding on the door began.

…

This can’t be happening. I’m just having a nightmare. The nightmare of the century. No, it’s real. Too real. Oh my God, please tell me I made it. Please. She’s
my
girl.
Mine.
No, no, no. I need her.

Brent left his ESU truck parked haphazardly against the curb and sprinted up the steps to City Hall, lights flashing behind him and thunder roaring in his ears. He didn’t remember much about the last ten minutes. The high-speed race to Lower Manhattan. He’d managed to process most of Daniel’s rapid explanation of Hayden’s reasons for getting married, courtesy of Story’s phone call.

At first, he’d thought the whole thing was some horrible mistake. She wouldn’t marry someone else. They’d had a fight, yes, but shit, when were they
not
fighting? He’d made it very clear yesterday morning that she belonged to him and no amount of fighting would change that. However, marriage to some slimy corporate prick would. Legally. The more words that had come out of Daniel’s mouth from the passenger seat, the more Brent knew Hayden was
actually
getting married at that very moment.

Her halted speech on the boardwalk in Atlantic City had come back to him in startling clarity.
He didn’t have to take me in. I kind of owe him for everything, you know? Even if it sometimes means I have to do things that are…difficult.

Not this. Never this. His Hayden married to the man who’d refused to take no for an answer that night in the kitchen? His vision went red all over again. He needed to get to her. No matter what it took, he wouldn’t let it happen. Jesus, if he’d even made it on time.

Matt and Daniel caught up with him at the entrance, thankfully having the presence of mind to flash their badges at the security guard. The guard eyed Brent warily and he knew he had to look like a man possessed. He felt like it, too. His heart pounded so loudly, he couldn’t think straight. All he could see was Hayden with someone else’s ring on her finger. In someone else’s bed. Having someone else’s children.

That thought chilled him to the bone. He increased the pace of his run, somehow processing the room number Matt shouted behind him. He rounded the corner and saw the massive, wooden double doors with the words
City Clerk
stenciled above them. They were closed. When he reached them, he yanked on the knob, shaking the doors on their hinges, but they were locked. Keeping him from Hayden. He searched around, frantically looking for a security guard.

“Open it!” all three men shouted at the same time, badges out, when they spotted one.

The tall, skinny guard went white, as if he’d just glimpsed hell. “I-I’m supposed to leave it locked during ceremonies.” He dropped his key ring on the ground with a clatter and stooped to retrieve them, hands shaking. “They’re almost done, though. Just another few minutes…”

Brent roared Hayden’s name and began pounding on the door with heavy fists. A few minutes left? At this very moment, Hayden could already be gone from him forever. No, she couldn’t be. He wouldn’t accept it. Knowing Daniel and Matt were working on getting the guard to open the door, he did the only thing he could do. He tried to stop the wedding
through
the door.

“Hayden Winstead! Don’t you dare! Don’t you
dare
marry someone else. We will fix this, do you understand me? If it means I have to work ten jobs. Your family will be fine. You don’t have to do this. Please,
please
don’t do this.” He banged his head against the door, grateful for the pain somewhere besides his heart. “I know I’m an asshole but I’m working on it. I’m sorry for what I said. So sorry. Hurting you…it might be the worst thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t deserve this.
You
don’t deserve this. If you marry him, Hayden, I won’t recover. I only got to spend one night holding you, but it was enough to know I have to hold you every single night.”

Brent waited for a moment, to see if he could hear anything on the other side of the door, but only silence greeted him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Couldn’t focus on anything but getting through to her. “What do I need to do, baby? Do you want me to sing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’? I’ll do it. I’ll deafen everyone in this building if that’s what you want.” When the silence remained, Brent’s head dropped against the door with a curse. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

Then he gave Bette Midler a run for her money.

…

Hayden stood stock-still, flanked by her mother and father, watching in fascination as Brent belted out the
Beaches
classic at the city clerk’s door. The one she’d ran out of five minutes ago. Halfway through his impassioned speech, from which her pulse still raced like crazy, the security guard had relented and stepped forward to unlock the door. Matt, however, finally noticing her standing ten yards away, had held him off with a look, allowing her to stand there while Brent poured his heart out.

Seconds after Story’s needless, yet effective, intervention, her father had come bursting through the chamber door. He’d actually managed to pull off a deal with a foreign investor to keep the company afloat. Her mother, realizing Hayden’s marriage to Stuart was now unnecessary, had fessed up to her father and told him about Hayden’s plan for the afternoon. Thank goodness she’d already decided not to marry Stuart or they might have been too late with the news. And she would be hearing this perfectly, beautifully, uniquely Brent speech from the wrong side of the door.

Her heart thumped so hard, she put her hands on her chest as though she could keep it from bursting free. This rough-edged, dirty-talking, wisecracking giant was singing to her as though his life depended on it and she’d almost given up the chance to be with him. Relief, powerful and encompassing, rolled through her in waves, accompanied by regret. If she’d believed for one minute that Brent had married someone else, she’d be devastated. Hayden could only imagine how he felt at that moment, thinking she’d discarded him without a word. Guilt poked holes in her relief. She needed his arms around her. It’s the only thing that would calm the riot of emotions. Reassure her that she’d avoided catastrophe.

“Brent.” Her voice came out sounding like a croak, so she tried again. “
Brent.
”

He spun around, eyes moving over her in a panic. “Oh God. I’m too late,” he said dazedly, then slumped hard against the door.

Pain twisted in her chest, her throat constricted. “No, you’re not too late. I couldn’t do it.”

Brent’s head jerked up. He looked as though he wanted to believe her, but was unable to see past his fear just yet. “Why? Why couldn’t you do it?”

“You know why,” Hayden whispered.

“I just sang the theme song from
Beaches
. Tell me anyway.”

She swallowed hard, words eluding her. Nothing she said could compare to the heartfelt speech he’d delivered moments before. So she closed her eyes and spoke from the heart. “I want you to leave your socks on my floor.” A breath shuddered out. “Not on Beth or Betsy or Becky’s floor. I want you to teach me how to grill. That’s something you do, right? In parking lots before sporting events or…or something?” She shook her head, knowing she rambled. “I want to…I want to be the one who worries about you. When you’re at work. I want to zone out while you talk about baseball.”

When she opened her eyes, Brent stood right in front of her, throat working with emotion. “Duchess—”

She rushed to finish before his nearness overwhelmed her. “I know the money bothers you, but I can’t do anything about it. It’s not who I am, though. Just try and remember that.”