The Groom Wager (Wrong Way Weddings Book 1) Read online

  The Groom Wager

  Lori Wilde &

  Pam Andrews Hanson

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: The DIY Groom

  About the Authors

  Also by Lori Wilde & Pam Andrews Hanson

  1

  He’d eat some cake, kiss the bride, and look for a virgin, but maybe not in that order.

  Cole Bailey pulled into a spot as far away from the sprawling Tudor-style building as he could get. As a wedding crasher, he didn’t want to use the Detroit country club’s valet service. Especially since he drove a pickup truck.

  This wasn’t where he wanted to be. He’d been crazy to let a coin toss decide whether he or his twin brother, Zack, would be first to buckle under to their grandfather’s unreasonable demand that they get married.

  His immediate problem?

  Figure out a smooth way to crash the wedding reception of his mother’s best friend’s niece. He drew a blank on her name, not surprising considering how irritated he was at his maternal grandfather, Marsh Bailey.

  Enough high-ticket cars to stock a ritzy dealership crowded the parking lot, but that was fine for him. Big receptions meant a lot of single women would be looking for a good time.

  There was nothing like a wedding to make shy girls bold and nice girls naughty. But the last thing he wanted right now was a fling. He wasn’t here for a good time.

  Damn it.

  How could the old codger do this to the family? If he and Zack didn’t agree to get married and settle down, their grandfather would sell their shares in the family business.

  That would leave controlling interest in Bailey Baby Products to the board of directors. It didn’t really matter to Zack and Cole, because their construction firm was going like gangbusters, but it would devastate their mother. The company was her life, and she ran it as well as her father ever had.

  Only an autocrat like Marsh Bailey could believe the company would be better off with a male at the helm. The old man was deluding himself if he thought marriage would turn any of his three grandsons—him, Zack, and their half-brother, Nick—into management material.

  Worse, how could Marsh do this to his only child? Since their stepfather’s death two years ago, Cole’s mom lived for her job as CEO of Bailey Baby Products. To retain control of the business when her father was out of the picture, she needed votes from the stock that at least two of her sons stood to inherit.

  Nick was the lucky one. He was still in college, and Marsh hadn’t started pressuring him to get married…yet.

  Cole rubbed his chin, which was smooth for a change since he’d taken the trouble to shave after work. He shrugged, feeling confined by the jacket of his seldom-worn tailor-made charcoal-gray suit.

  Maybe all the manual labor he did to make a go of his and Zack’s company had beefed up his shoulders. He ran his finger under the collar of his white dress shirt and loosened his conservative wine-colored tie a little.

  He was twenty-eight years old and had spent his whole life trying to prove to his grandfather that he wasn’t like his father, Stan Hayward—not that Cole had ever set eyes on the guy.

  Marsh had made sure of that. He’d sent Stan packing, threatening him with jail if he came near his pregnant seventeen-year-old daughter again. The Bailey surname was the one listed on their birth certificates.

  Cole snorted but walked toward the clubhouse. He’d lost the coin toss to Zack. He had to be the first to go wife-hunting, and he couldn’t let his mother down—not that she even knew about Marsh’s marital blackmail.

  Marsh insisted his grandsons marry within a year’s time and their brides had to be “nice girls,” his code word for virgins. Just because Grandad’s own brother had messed up his life by marrying a stripper, the old man was paranoid about letting a bad girl—or in his daughter’s case, a bad boy—into the family.

  Cole stopped to admire a vintage Maserati, but he knew he was procrastinating. He wanted to go to this reception as badly as he wanted a case of poison ivy.

  “Hey, will you help me?” a feminine voice called. “Please. It will only take a minute.”

  He hurried down the row of cars, spotting a woman in a bubble-gum-pink bridesmaid’s dress standing beside a small Toyota. The color might be hideous, but the material fit her gorgeous form like a second skin.

  Eyes back in your head, Bailey.

  Then he saw her problem—the hem of her long gown was caught in the trunk.

  “My dress is stuck,” the voice said from behind a gift-wrapped box the size of a washing machine so that he couldn’t see her face. How had she gotten that big package into the little vehicle? “And I dropped my key fob underneath the car.”

  “Let me take that for you,” he offered.

  “Thank you.”

  He took the bulky, but not heavy, package from her and settled it on the ground.

  The bridesmaid made a stab at twirling and trying to retrieve her key fob with the toe of one pink satin shoe, but she only succeeded in kicking it farther under the blue compact.

  Cole crouched and looked around until he spotted the bright keychain within his reach. Retrieving her key fob took a few seconds longer than necessary because he paused a moment to admire the view from his pretty spectacular angle.

  Her shapely legs were glorious. Reluctantly, he straightened.

  “Thanks, I really appreciate...wait, you’re one of the Bailey twins,” she said, sounding more astonished than the situation merited. “Cole?”

  “Yes,” he agreed, wondering how she knew him and drawing a blank.

  “We went to high school together.”

  He scratched his head. If he’d known someone this smoking hot in high school, he would have remembered. “We do?”

  “Yes, we had British literature together.”

  He eyed her, searching her features underneath the shadow of the wide-brimmed hat she wore. A niggle of memory, but he hadn’t quite placed her yet. “Brit lit. My worst subject. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I needed one more English class to graduate.”

  “I remember.” She whipped off the hat, revealing a tumble of auburn hair and gifting him with a big smile. “I’m Tess Morgan. I helped you with your paper on A Tale of Two Cities.”

  “Tess Morgan? No way. Egad, that was a tedious book.”

  “No, no. A Tale of Two Cities is Dickens best work, at least in my opinion.”

  “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” he quoted.

  She placed a palm to her heart. “You remembered.”

  “After you drilled it into my head, how could I not?” Cole grinned. He recalled shy little Tess. He and Zack used to tease her just to see her blush. Her cheeks would get flaming red, and she’d stick her nose in a book until they went away.

  How could one person change so much and so little at the same time?

  She had the same tentative smile, but he didn’t remember her lips being so lush, no thanks to the pink lipstick that was probably intended to match the dress.

  Her eyes were bluer than he recalled, but maybe ten years ago she hadn’t looked at him so directly. She had apple cheeks, part of the reason he and Zack had enjoyed making her blush, but there was nothing plump about any part of her now, including her face.

  She possessed golden-tan skin,
a cute nose, and arched brows, altogether a pretty package.

  “I guess I’ve changed some.”

  “I guess.” He eyed her rocking-hot body again. He had to remind himself that this was Tess Morgan. In high school she’d been so naive and wholesome, the guys had called her Soap. If they could see her now…

  “I tutored you because you promised never to tease me again if you passed the class.”

  “Did I keep my promise?” He honestly didn’t remember.

  “You graduated a year before I did, so I guess you did, more or less. Anyway, would you please open the trunk? I feel like an idiot trapped by my own car.”

  “Oh, sure.” He unlocked her trunk.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Is Lucinda a good friend of yours?” he asked, suddenly remembering the bride’s name.

  “Yes, we go way back.” Tess didn’t elaborate. “I’ve done this bridesmaid bit so many times, people are starting to compare me to Katherine Heigl’s character in 27 Dresses. I haven’t been in that many weddings, but the tally isn’t far off.”

  “Can I carry that for you?” He nodded at the gift-wrapped box still sitting where he’d put it on the ground. Chivalry aside, the bulky package looked as if it could be a good ticket into the reception. Who would question a guy who came in with a bridesmaid and a really big present?

  “Would you mind? It’s not heavy, but it’s bulky. Unfortunately, I’ve been so busy that I left it until the last moment and didn’t have time to ship it to her house.”

  Not so unfortunate for him. “I’d be happy to.”

  He hefted the box and walked beside her toward the clubhouse.

  “I didn’t see you at the church,” she said.

  “I’m not big on weddings. Bachelor-phobia.”

  “Oh, you’re still single?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “A little. Girls liked you a lot in high school—more than Zack even, but I shouldn’t tell you that.”

  “It’s my brother you shouldn’t tell. He thought he was quite a ladies’ man back then.”

  “Is Zack married?”

  “No, we’re both still single. What about you? Are you married?”

  She shook her head.

  “Meeting the right person isn’t easy,” he said, thinking of his grandfather’s unrealistic expectations. Maybe in Marsh’s day, virgins panting for husbands were plentiful, but the old man needed a wake-up call. This was the twenty-first century. It was a lot easier to find a playmate than a life partner.

  They climbed the steps at the main entrance of the imposing pseudo-Elizabethan clubhouse, its stucco walls gleaming white and the timbers freshly stained a deep mahogany brown. He’d lucked out in connecting with Tess and her big box.

  Private security guards hovered like dark-suited ghosts, and when he saw the gift room off the foyer, it was pretty clear why. The bride was obviously into pricey stuff. But with Tess at his side, he breezed right in.

  Wedding officially crashed.

  Tess waited while Cole discreetly dropped off her gift in the treasure trove of Lucinda’s loot.

  He’d been a hunk in high school—she’d sighed over his picture in the yearbook for an embarrassingly long time—but he’d matured and lost his boyish cuteness. Now he was drop-dead gorgeous. His face was sun-bronzed, and a light crease line in his forehead made his dark brows and eyes even sexier.

  A few minutes ago, she’d been furious with Danny-the-creep Wilson for breaking his promise to go to the wedding with her. Now she was glad he was off sailing with his boss and some clients.

  She was tired of being friend-zoned by men like him who cadged meals, borrowed money, and called her “good buddy.” It would be a small, if short-lived, triumph to walk into the grand ballroom with Cole. He was just another pal from her past, but no one here knew that.

  Why did she have so many male friends and no real boyfriend?

  Guys called her when they wanted to whine about work or the women who did them wrong. They never seemed to notice she was ripe and ready, not even after she slimmed down to a size four.

  Cole smiled broadly when he returned.

  “Thanks,” she said. “From now on, I give nothing but gift cards.”

  “Gift cards are nice,” he said in a tone that labeled them boring, “but I’m glad we got together. Big receptions are a drag when you don’t know anyone.”

  “Except the happy couple, of course, but they only have eyes for each other.”

  He offered his arm. She took it, impressed by the way his bicep strained against the sleek, dark sleeve of his jacket.

  They walked into a ballroom that reeked of old money—a blend of greenhouse flowers, high-priced liquor, and expensive perfumes.

  He dropped his arm, and she felt let down. Of course, she couldn’t expect him to hang with her all evening just because they’d once taken the same class in high school.

  “Fancy affair.” He sounded vaguely disapproving.

  Hmm. He should be much more likely to feel comfortable at a society wedding than her. His grandfather was wealthy and influential, and the twins had grown up in the lap of luxury.

  Not that Tess wasn’t inordinately proud of her family. Dad was a high school football coach who thought it was more important to teach values than win games, and her mom taught reading skills to low-income children. Her older sister, Karen, was a third-grade teacher with a peach of a husband and two adorable girls: Erika, five; and Erin, seven.

  Tess was the family maverick, but thankfully she had a natural flair for business. She’d built up a successful baby store on her own and had recently moved to a high-rent location, an open-air shopping center called the Shops at Rockstone, in a glitzy new area of town. So far, the store was thriving, mainly because she stayed current on all the latest baby gadgets, gimmicks, and gizmos.

  It was a huge reception, but the majority of the guests were north of forty. Lucinda’s parents had a lot of friends, but Tess’ weren’t among them. It was only an alphabetical accident that she and Lucinda were old friends.

  Since grade school, L. Montrose and T. Morgan had been paired up. They’d renewed their friendship when Lucinda’s dad had called in a favor with the management corporation that built the Shops at Rockstone and gotten his daughter a job doing publicity where Tess had her store. For the first time in her life, Lucinda had been out of her depth in such a big-league job.

  No surprise, she’d come to rely on Tess for sympathy and suggestions.

  Tess glanced at the smart wristwatch she’d managed to slip past the bride’s last-minute inspection. She was genuinely fond of her friend, but this wedding had brought out the bridezilla in Lucinda.

  She’d come to the reception with one thought—how soon could she sneak away without being missed? She was enjoying her moment in the sun with Cole, but no doubt he’d soon be snatched away by one of the many single women milking a little fun out of someone else’s wedding.

  Fortunately, dinner was a buffet, and Lucinda wasn’t going to share the spotlight by having her quaint maidens on display at a head table. But there were still little rituals that demanded Tess’ presence—single women diving for the bouquet, bachelors tussling manfully over the garter, the bride and groom smearing cake on each other so they could do the giggle-and-smooch thing.

  A waiter came toward them with a tray of champagne in glass flutes, not the plastic throwaways that smelled like nail polish.

  “Drink or dance?” Cole asked, snagging one for both of them with a big smile and “thanks” to the server.

  “Hard choice.” She wondered if he actually wanted to dance with her or was only being polite.

  “Both, then.” He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “To the happy couple.”

  “To Mr. and Mrs. Menton.” She took a tiny sip, then a more substantial one. It tasted a lot better than the bubbly usually served at receptions. “You didn’t say whether you’re a friend of the bride or the groom.”
/>   “I’m equally fond of both,” he said. “Good champagne.”

  “A friend of the couple? I’m surprised. Lucinda never mentioned you.” She finished her champagne and looked around for a place to put the glass.

  “Allow me.” Cole took her flute and along with his, put them both on a passing tray.

  “I’m more a friend of what’s-his-name,” he said. “Menton.”

  “Doug. His name is Doug.”

  “Guess I don’t actually know him,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “So Lucinda invited you?”

  “Um, not exactly. My mother is a friend of her aunt.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ve caught me.” He touched his finger to her lips and sent her a sultry look. “Shh, I’m crashing the party. Can you keep my secret?”

  Speechless, she nodded, and he took his finger away, leaving her lips with an oddly tingling sensation.

  “But why?”

  “Just for kicks. Want to dance?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  She didn’t kid herself. He hadn’t crashed the reception just to glide across the waxy hardwood floor with an old school acquaintance, but he really could dance. Responding to the firm pressure of his fingers on her waist, she followed his lead.

  “You’re making me look good,” she said a trifle breathlessly.

  “You are good.”

  He sounded surprised, but she didn’t care. Dancing with Cole was incredibly...um… stimulating.

  Her dress rustled; Cole hummed in time to the music, and her ears buzzed. Could it be she was tipsy on one glass of champagne?

  “What do you do?” he asked, his lips so close to her forehead she could feel a warm whisper of air when he spoke.

  “Do?”

  He pressed the hand he was holding against his chest and twirled her around a flat-footed couple who were shuffling across the floor without much regard for the music.