Chapter 5
Brooke
I fumble with the smart lock on the office door. Entering the code incorrectly twice before I can get into the old colonial home-turned-office that Spencer Soirees occupies off the Post Road. The door makes its usual squeak.
I’ve been all out of sorts since I saw Caleb last night. He was so cool and collected, acting like we’d seen each other a few days ago and not several years. I tossed and turned all night replaying our encounter in my head.
Of course, he had to come back looking all California with a tan and sun streaks in his brown wavy hair. And the muscles—I bet he spent all his time going to the gym. Isn’t that what assholes like him do?
Why didn’t I leave as soon as I saw him across the room? Then maybe I’d never have to see him. If he’s back to work for his dad, our paths won’t have to cross at all.
I need to focus and be at my best for whatever Mom dragged me in here for, but I can’t get that smirk out of my thoughts.
The one he flashed before he finally left me to wait for my Uber in peace.
It’s probably that fucking dimple that I once thought was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Well, not anymore, Caleb. I shake my head, trying to push out any and all thoughts of him.
I walk over to my desk near the large bay window that fills the office with light on sunny days.
There’s a lot to be desired when you’re the boss’s daughter, especially when the boss is Judy Spencer, but I got my pick of desks when we moved the offices here.
I drop my bag on my chair—Mom doesn’t like clutter on the desks.
All of the sleek white desks, each adorned with a large Mac computer display and identical desk blotters, are empty. It’s officially wedding season, so every single planner and assistant worked this weekend. They’re enjoying their day off. And for some reason, I’m here.
Time to find out why.
Mom’s office is a small room in the back, in the opposite corner of my desk.
(The beautiful bay window wasn’t the only factor in my decision.) I can hear the click clack of her slow typing from here.
Despite my attempts to teach her proper typing, she insists there’s nothing wrong with using only her index fingers and how dare I try to correct her.
Catching a glimpse of myself in the large decorative mirror on the wall—I’m almost certain Mom had it put there so she can keep an eye on us from her office—I realize I need to put lipstick on or risk being chastised for not looking put together.
You need lips, she’s constantly telling me.
Lips applied, I tuck my hair behind my ears and dust off my sundress. Here we go.
Before I even cross the threshold into her office, Mom, still staring at her computer, holds up one finger telling me to wait before speaking.
As if she herself didn’t train me not to speak unless spoken to as a child.
I sit in one of the matching pink chairs across from her.
Finished with whatever she was typing, she finally looks at me.
“Good morning, my dear,” she says with a tight smile.
“Hi, Mom.”
She frowns. “Brooke…”
“Mom,” I say, gesturing to her office door.
“There isn’t anyone here.” Inside these physical walls—and the metaphorical ones when I’m working—she isn’t Mom, she’s Judy.
It doesn’t matter that everyone knows she’s my mother.
I’m to call her Judy. It’s more professional, according to her.
It’s also ridiculous, but like many things when it comes to my mom, I pick my battles.
“There isn’t anyone here…yet,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me about last night, any drama I need to be made aware of?”
Dodging the question.
“Nope, no drama.”
“Oh?” She purses her lips as her dark brown eyes peer into the depths of my soul, and I swear she can tell I’m thinking about Caleb and the waves of his hair peeking out from under that stupid old Whalers hat.
Get it together, Brooke. This has been Mom’s tactic since I was little: Stare me down until the guilt of whatever secret I’m trying to keep takes over and I spill it.
If that doesn’t work, she finds the right words to guilt me.
It’s why there are rarely secrets between us.
Not for lack of trying on my part, but because she can guilt me into a confession every single time.
“Well…” I give in. She’ll find out soon or later. “I did see Caleb Foley.”
“Oh, is that so?” she says without the hint of surprise I was expecting.
“Yes, that is so.” I sit up in my seat. “What do you know, Mother?
“Oh, don’t you mother me.” She shoos a hand in my direction. “I did indeed hear that Caleb was coming back. He’s working for his dad again.”
It takes every fiber of my being not to ask why she didn’t tell me. But why would she think to tell me? It’s the one secret I’ve managed to keep from Mom: the friendship Caleb and I once had. Only because she’d never suspect it. We may not be friends anymore, but she can’t know about our history.
“So, he’s freeloading off his parents this summer?” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I take it you haven’t been keeping up with him on all those app things on your phone?”
Nope. I blocked Caleb Foley and never looked back. Fine, Maddie blocked him for me. And whenever I even consider looking, I think of how disappointed she’d be. And that she might physically harm me if she found out.
“Have you?” She barely knows how to text. I can’t imagine she’s figured out social media.
“Of course not, Brooke,” she says, clasping her hands together on her desk.
Unlike the simple modern white desks for the staff, her desk is a small vintage dining room table.
“But I do know that Caleb finally finished culinary school and was the head chef at a notable wedding venue outside San Francisco. And now he’s back, I imagine to eventually take over Foley’s like his father always wanted him to. ”
That can’t be true. And how would she even know? Caleb always said he didn’t want to take over Foley’s. He wanted to do something on his own, he just hadn’t figured out what that was yet. I told him he’d be amazing at whatever he decided to do. I once told him a lot of things.
But she knows everyone around here and they know the best way to spread information is to share it with Judy. Even without having social media, she’s the influencer many strive to be.
“Wow,” I say. It’s all I can manage.
“You seem awfully surprised, dear. Caleb was always going to take over Foley’s.”
No, he wasn’t. But she doesn’t know that.
“Right, of course.” I say. “I guess I thought he’d stay in California longer, that’s all.”
Something occurs to me. If Caleb was head chef at a wedding venue, he has actual experience now.
This should genuinely concern Mom. It concerns me, that’s for sure.
Foley’s Market & Fine Catering has been our biggest obstacle for years.
They have a hard rule of never working with outside wedding planners.
Ever. Zero exceptions. Not since the falling out Mom had with Paul Foley two decades ago.
The details of which Mom refuses to share.
It keeps us from booking several weddings a year, but I’m happy for it now.
“Mom…” I need to tread carefully here. Questioning her isn’t always the best idea. “Should we be worried about Foley’s? Caleb probably thinks he knows every fucking thing about weddings now—”
“Language, Brooke!”
Oops, Judy hates cussing. Very unbecoming.
“Sorry, Mo–Judy! They refuse to work with planners and now they can use Caleb’s experience to poach prospective clients. I thought you’d be a little more worried?”
“About that,” she says.
“About what…” I stand up from the chair.
Frantic energy coursing through my body.
Something isn’t right here. Caleb is back.
Mom isn’t acting like herself. None of this was part of my plan for this wedding season.
My plan was to focus solely on work. Give all of my attention to my clients.
Manage and mentor the newer planners. Prove to Mom that I can take over Spencer Soirees—and soon.
Like, the end of this season soon. She’s been dangling the prospect of her retirement in front of me for the last three years.
My plan for this season is to get her to finally do it.
It’s stifling in here. I open a window, hoping an early summer breeze will calm my nerves. “They hate working with planners. Mr. Foley may be one of the best caterers in the area, but he’s a prick. You’ve said so yourself! And now Caleb probably is, too. He was acting pretty prickish last night.”
He was acting exactly the way he did the last time I saw him.
“I don’t disagree with you, Brooke, but—”
I turn from the window and raise my brows. But?
“It’s about the Quincy wedding. We have a shot at it.”
The Quincy wedding.
If we could land Hannah Quincy’s wedding, who the hell cares what Caleb, his dad, and Foley’s Fine Catering are up to?
New plan: Land the Quincy wedding. That would prove to Mom exactly how capable I am, and she’d finally feel comfortable passing the torch. This is the year she won’t be able to say just one more year at the end of the season.
When news of Hannah Quincy and Preston Redbank’s New Year’s Eve engagement began to spread, the local industry was buzzing in a way it hadn’t in years.
Every Fairfield County vendor wants that wedding and the clout that will come with it.
The Quincy wedding could be career-changing for the planner who lands it.
The Quincys are one of the wealthiest families in the county and Hannah has made a name for herself as a social media influencer.
The kind followers and locals both genuinely love.
And believe me, there are other influencers in town that can’t say the same.
Her fiancé Preston, a tech startup CEO, also comes from family money.
If Instagram is to be believed, they’re absolutely smitten with one another, and all signs point to a classic New England wedding next summer.
Landing this wedding could mean truly making a name for myself and proving to Mom that I’m ready to take over the business.
That is, if she even assigns me as lead planner.
There’s a good chance she’ll want to hold on to this one.
But if she were to assign it to me, I’d prove to her that Spencer Soirees is in extremely capable hands.
She’s built an amazing agency, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that a change is needed.
“Mom, you’re kidding me!” I shriek. “I thought they might hire someone from the city?”
“Hannah wants to keep it authentic and use local vendors. Which brings us to the Foleys.”
No, no, no.
Not the Foleys.
The only thing worse than not booking this wedding would be not booking it because we lost it to Paul and Caleb Foley.
“What about them?” I’m afraid to hear the answer.
“The Quincys have already hired them.”
Fuck.
“Oh.” I slouch against the windowsill. My mom has done some questionable things over the years, but sucker punching her own daughter? Ouch. “Well, then our chance is zero.”
“Brooke, let me finish,” she says, calmly. “They’ve hired Foley’s, but they also want to hire us. Paul wasn’t able to convince them that they don’t need an outside planner. Hannah is set on having a real planner to manage the entire wedding weekend.”
Mom’s never considered the wedding coordinators at Foley’s to be real planners. Glorified servers, she once called them. A few have applied for jobs here and she prints out their resumes only to tear them up.
“Okay…?”
“She’s set on…” she says slowly, like the words are difficult to get out. “Hannah’s set on having you as her wedding planner.”
Hannah Quincy knows who I am? Knows my work? I try hard, but I fail to keep the corners of my mouth from curling into a smile. Hannah Quincy wants me to be her wedding planner.
“Paul called me himself to ensure you’re available for a Labor Day wedding.”
“He called you?” I may never know what happened between Mom and Paul Foley, but I do know that Paul Foley calling her is a big deal. I don’t think they’ve even been in the same room in twenty years, let alone spoken to each other.
“He’s afraid they’ll lose the wedding unless we…well, you are on board. Foley’s will finally have to work with a real planner.”
My head is spinning. Hannah Quincy has personally requested me to plan her wedding.
No, the full weekend of wedding events. Mom sure buried the lede.
We don’t just have a shot, we have it. I have it.
As long as I agree to work with Foley’s, with Caleb.
A project of this scale will require a lot of collaboration. How the hell is this going to work?
I straighten my shoulders and take a centering breath. I can come up with a plan for this. A plan for getting through this unscathed. Paul might be a prick, but maybe I can work directly with him and avoid Caleb all together.
“Yes,” I say. “They will!”
I can’t help but move to stand behind Mom where she sits at her desk and hug her shoulders.
She’s not a hugger. Sometimes I don’t know how I came out of her.
She lets me have this one quick hug. After a moment, she pats the arms I have crossed around her chest, signaling to me that this display of affection must end immediately. I let her go.
“They’ve got about…” I count on my fingers, “sixteen months to get used to the idea.”
“Oh no, dear. We have three months. The wedding is this Labor Day.”
“This Labor Day?” How will I manage the scope of work for the Quincys on top of my other weddings?
“Don’t fret, Brooke.” She purses her lips. “You have a lot more free time this summer than we originally thought you’d have, don’t you?”
The dig lands exactly where she intended, but I don’t let her see that. I don’t have time to, because I hear the familiar squeak of the front door, followed by an equally familiar voice.
“Good morning, Brooke!”
I was wrong.
The only thing worse than not booking this wedding is booking this wedding and working this closely with Caleb Foley for the next three months.