But this was Simon’s decision, not his. And while Vaughn wasn’t entirely sure he understood what had motivated his brother to propose this quickly, he did know that he wasn’t going to be the asshole who spoiled such a big moment.
So he, too, got up from his chair. He grinned and slapped Simon on the back. “My little brother’s getting married. Holy shit.”
Simon laughed and pulled him in for a brotherly hug.
More congratulations followed—Sidney hugged Simon, Vaughn hugged Isabelle, Vaughn and Sidney kept a mutual safe distance from each other—and then they all took their seats.
“One of the reasons Isabelle and I wanted to tell you first is because we’d like you to be the best man and maid of honor at the wedding,” Simon said.
Isabelle wagged her finger jokingly. “So no fast-forwarding over the getting-to-know-each-other part. As the two most important people in our lives”—she gestured between her and Simon—“you two are going to be stuck together a lot.”
“How much fun is this going to be?” Simon asked enthusiastically.
Vaughn and Sidney eyed each other skeptically.
Right.
• • •
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, dinner went fairly smoothly.
Vaughn had to hand it to Sidney—the woman had a stellar poker face. She wasn’t overly chatty with him, but she didn’t ignore him, either. Her tone, and the things she said, were perfectly polite.
It certainly helped that for the first hour of dinner, he and Sidney were barely required to speak to each other at all. Almost immediately after Simon and Isabelle dropped their engagement news, a swirling vortex of bridal shower/wedding reception/honeymoon talk descended upon the Roberts/Sinclair party, ensnaring all in its path. In response, Vaughn did what any special agent would do when finding himself in a situation in which he was thoroughly out of his comfort zone—he maintained as low a profile as possible and kept his mouth shut.
But when the desserts arrived, Isabelle and Simon tried to spark more of a dialogue between their siblings.
“Do you feel like you’re settled in at your new office?” Simon asked Sidney. He turned to Vaughn to explain. “Sidney recently moved back here after living in New York for several years.”
“I’m getting there,” Sidney said. “We closed our fund last week, so now is the time when I really get to work.”
“What is it you do?” Vaughn asked. Other than bust the balls of men who innocently try to hit on you, that is.
“I used to be an investment banker. But I switched over to the buy side—now I’m a director at a private equity firm.”
“Sounds impressive.” Actually, as an agent on the FBI’s white-collar crime squad, Vaughn was familiar enough with Sidney’s business to know two things: one, having landed a director position, she was very good at what she did, and, two, she made a ton of money for doing it. But she didn’t need to know he was impressed from a professional standpoint. He could easily picture her in her high-powered job, in her fancy office, buying companies and figuring out how to turn them around and sell them at a profit.
Under different circumstances, he probably would’ve found that image rather sexy.
“Vaughn’s a special agent with the FBI,” Isabelle told Sidney, keeping the conversation going.
Sidney looked him over, likely remembering his teasing offer to show her his badge. “What kind of cases do you work on?”
“I’m on the white-collar crime squad. I mostly investigate public corruption crimes.”
“Vaughn does a lot of undercover work,” Simon said proudly. “He’s one of the small percentage of agents who’ve gone through the FBI’s undercover school at Quantico.”
“I didn’t realize you guys actually had a school for that,” Sidney said.
“Me, either.” Isabelle looked intrigued. “Are there classrooms and everything?”
“Yes, but most of the time we were off campus, using a nearby town to make the situations feel more authentic,” Vaughn said. “It’s basically three weeks of role-playing undercover scenarios and learning how to react if things go wrong.”
“How cool,” Isabelle said. “Isn’t that interesting, Sid?”
“Fascinating.” Her tone a touch dry, Sidney took a long sip of her wine.
And so the dance continued.
Vaughn and Sidney navigated their way through the chitchat, all politeness and congeniality, for the rest of the evening. The only time that façade broke was for a brief moment outside the restaurant, after they’d finished dinner. Isabelle hung back to use the restroom after saying her good-byes, and Simon stepped away to give his ticket to the valet.
Leaving Sidney and Vaughn alone.
She walked over to a waiting taxi. Vaughn followed and, being a gentleman, opened the door for her.
“I would offer to split a cab, but I’m afraid me and my ‘obviously healthy ego’ would crowd you too much.” He added a smooth smile just in case Simon was watching.
“Been waiting to say that all night, have you?” she quipped.
“Trust me, it’s by far the most polite of all the things I’ve been waiting to say all night.” He gestured with his hand—don’t let the taxi door hit you on the way out—then watched as she climbed into the car.
The slit of her pencil skirt parted mid-thigh as she scooted in.
She glanced up and caught him looking.
Yeah, whatever. Vaughn shut the door firmly.
Pill or not, the woman had some damn fine legs.
• • •
SIDNEY SHOOK HER head as the cab drove away from the restaurant, still in disbelief that the guy with whom she’d had her snarky run-in at the coffee shop was Simon’s brother. Isabelle’s future brother-in-law.
Apparently it was just one of those fluke coincidences. She, being efficient, had scheduled her date with William at a coffee shop close to the restaurant where she was later set to meet Simon and Isabelle. According to the conversation she’d overheard between Vaughn and Simon, Vaughn had left work later than expected, without enough time to fight traffic all the way home and change out of his suit, so he’d decided to kill a half-hour at the same café.
Fate undoubtedly was cracking herself up over this one.
She pulled out her phone to text Trish, and then saw it was after ten o’clock. Thinking it was a little late to be gossiping with anyone who had a four-month-old baby at home, she decided to hold off until the morning.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of her home, a turn-of-the-century brownstone town house that had been gut-rehabbed by the previous owners. Sidney paid the fare, cut across the street, and then let herself in through the front door. She set down her purse and kicked off her heels, her mind playing through Vaughn’s last comment to her.
Trust me, it’s by far the most polite of all the things I’ve been waiting to say all night.
He was so . . . smug. Annoying, too. And even more annoying was the fact that he just had to be good-looking, with his interesting undercover job—Ooh, look at me, I’m a hot FBI agent, I went to school to be this bad-ass—blah, blah, blah. And now her sister was marrying his brother, which meant that she would be stuck bumping into this guy for eternity.
Wonderful.
A knock at the front door jolted Sidney out of her reverie. Not expecting any company at ten thirty on a Friday night, she checked the security camera that linked to her television.
Surprisingly, it was Isabelle.
Sidney opened the front door and let her sister inside. “Hey, you. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again tonight.”
“I asked Simon to drop me off so we could talk. You know, just the two of us.”
Sidney smiled, less surprised now. Despite a five-year age gap, she and her sister had always been close. Having been raised by a mostly absentee father and a revolving door of
nannies and stepmothers, they’d been the only constant in each other’s lives. She and Isabelle had talked and Skyped constantly while she’d been living in New York, but she’d nevertheless missed this—being able to talk in person.
She led her sister into the living room and plunked down on the couch. She was eager for all the details she hadn’t wanted to ask in front of Simon and his oh-so-special agent brother. “So? Were you totally surprised when Simon asked you to marry him? I mean, it has only been three months.”
Sitting on the couch next to Sidney, Isabelle curled her feet underneath her. “Yes and no. The subject came up when we were having a conversation about something else.”
“What sort of ‘something else’?”
“I’d just told Simon that I was pregnant.”
Wait—what? Sidney blinked. “Oh my god.”
A smile peeked at the corners of Isabelle’s mouth. “That was pretty much my first reaction. Simon’s, too.”
Wow. Her sister—her little sister—was pregnant. Sidney didn’t know where to start, she had so many questions. “So this was obviously unplanned, then.”
“Um, yeah. Three weeks ago, I’d decided to give Simon a drawer of his own in my bedroom. You know, so he could have a place to keep his things when he slept over. We’d opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate—because at that time, that was a big step in our relationship—and we got a little tipsy. The details are somewhat fuzzy, but I’m kind of thinking we didn’t get the condom on fast enough.”
Oops.
Sidney reached for her sister’s hand, still getting up to speed. “How are you feeling about all this?”
Isabelle took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind since I found out, and I’ll obviously have to juggle some things around with my clients once the baby comes,” she said, referring to her social work practice. “But I think Simon and I are starting to wrap our minds around it now.”
“Is this why you want to get married so quickly? Because—not to sound all big sister here—you don’t have to get married just because you’re having a baby, Izz.”
“I know.” Isabelle looked at her earnestly. “But the thing is, I knew I wanted to marry Simon after our second date. He’s the one, Sid. And getting married before the baby comes is really important to him. So, sure—maybe things are happening faster than I’d envisioned, but we’re rolling with it.”
Sidney searched her sister’s face for any sign of uncertainty. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
Isabelle nodded, without any hesitation. “Positive.”
Sidney’s big-sister protective instincts relaxed a bit. “Okay, then. I guess we’d better get going on those wedding plans.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “What do we have? Eight months to pull this off? Maybe seven, to be safe?”
Isabelle pursed her lips. “Well, see, here’s the thing about that. Apparently, Simon’s mother is a very traditional Catholic. He’s worried she’ll be disappointed if she knows that I’m pregnant before we get married, so we’re kind of hoping to have the wedding before we tell her about the baby.”
“Oh. So you’re eloping?”
“I threw that out as a possibility, but Simon says his parents would be crushed if we did that. So, instead we’re thinking about having a wedding here before I start to show.”
“That’s great, Izz. But I’m thinking Simon’s mom is going to figure out the situation when—hello—a baby shows up five months after your wedding. Unless you’re planning on telling her that the stork now offers expedited shipping?”
Isabelle threw her a look. Ha, ha. “Obviously, we’ll have to tell her before that. I just don’t want her to be upset before the wedding.” She paused. “I mean, I’ve never met the woman, and I don’t want her first impression of me to be that I’m the girl who trapped her son into marriage by getting pregnant after dating him for only three months. That’s not how it’s supposed to go the first time I meet my future mother-in-law. My in-laws are supposed to be happy that I’m marrying their son, and my mother-in-law is supposed to . . . I don’t know . . . pass along family recipes to me, and maybe show me how to make a perfect piecrust, and help me pick out the baby’s baptism gown, and just . . . do all those things that moms do.”
Sidney’s throat suddenly felt a little tight, knowing exactly where Isabelle was coming from. Both of them had missed out on so many of those kinds of moments, since their mother had passed away from breast cancer when Sidney was nine years old and Isabelle only four. And since their father was . . . well, their father, he hadn’t provided much by way of a “typical” nuclear family experience.
“I just really want Simon’s parents to like me.” Isabelle smiled cheekily. “Once they see how adorable I am, and how perfect Simon and I are together, we’ll spring the news on them. And, in fairness, it’s not just Simon’s parents. This pregnancy is something special, something personal between Simon and me. I don’t want a bunch of people talking about how I got knocked up before getting married. They can say what they want after the wedding—but for now, Simon and I want to keep this between us. Well, and you.”
Sidney squeezed her sister’s hand. “You know what I think? I think it’s nobody’s business whether you’re pregnant. You tell people when you’re ready. When Trish was pregnant, she waited until she was out of the first trimester to tell anyone. You’re just extending that a little.”
“Exactly,” Isabelle said emphatically.
“So, three months, huh? It’s going to be tight, pulling that off.” Sidney winked. “Lucky for you, you happen to have a kick-ass maid of honor to help.”
Isabelle bit her lip, suddenly looking hesitant for the first time that evening. “So here’s the part where you need to be totally honest with me. I looked everywhere in the city for availability in the next three months—but not surprisingly, things are booked. I did find one venue that happened to have an opening the Saturday before Labor Day. It’s a beautiful place, too.”
“Great. So what’s the problem?”
“It’s the Lakeshore Club.”
Sidney paused, hearing that.
Oh.
“I knew it was a terrible idea,” Isabelle said immediately. “Forget I even asked, Sid.”
Terrible may have been a bit extreme. But admittedly, Sidney hadn’t expected her sister to say she wanted to have her wedding at the Lakeshore Club—the place where Sidney had planned to have her wedding reception, just six months ago.
Given how that experience had turned out, with Sidney calling off the wedding two weeks before the big day, the idea of Isabelle having her wedding there was indeed a little . . . weird. But was she really going to let a little weirdness get in the way of her sister’s plans? She knew how much Isabelle wanted to pull this off, and besides, the Lakeshore Club was indeed a great venue.
As she had many times in the last six months, Sidney took sentiment out of the equation and fell back on pragmatism.
And a pragmatist would say that her pregnant sister shouldn’t be stopped from having the wedding of her dreams just because Sidney’s ex-fiancé had been screwing his twenty-four-year-old personal trainer.
That decided, she answered Isabelle with a deliberately easy smile.
“Not a terrible idea at all. The Lakeshore Club it is.”
Three
MONDAY MORNING, SIDNEY sat at the head of a sleek, gunmetal-gray granite table in one of the conference rooms at the downtown offices of Monroe Ellers. Six pairs of eyes stared back at her, belonging to men and women who were among the best and the brightest graduates of their MBA programs, who now had successful careers as associates and analysts at one of the finest private equity firms in the country.
Men and women she would now lead.
For the past few weeks, she’d been settling into her new role, acclimating herself to the company, and working with the oth
er directors in closing the fund and bringing in the last of the investors. They’d raised four billion dollars, a good-sized fund, from a combination of clients that included corporate investors, university endowments, private investors, and teacher pension funds.
Now it was time to get the ball rolling. They had the money, so the next step was for her to find companies that her clients should invest in. It was time for her to step up to the plate and show that she was as good as the partners at Monroe Ellers believed she was.
“Who at this table has found me the next Dunkin’ Donuts?” she asked the group.
Six pairs of eyes glanced worriedly at each other, undoubtedly not having expected this question. Shit, she expects us to have an answer to that? Dunkin’ Donuts was one of the most successful consumer product private equity turnarounds in recent years. The company had been on the verge of being wiped out by Krispy Kreme until it was purchased by several private equity firms—who then stepped in and changed the marketing plan to focus on coffee and beverages instead of doughnuts. It turned out to be a brilliant strategy: six years later, the private equity funds nearly doubled their investment by selling Dunkin’ Donuts for almost two billion dollars in profit.
But no director, no matter how good, should ever expect from her associates—nor guarantee to her clients—that kind of return on an investment. “I’m kidding, guys. You all looked so serious, I couldn’t resist.”
She saw them relax a bit in their chairs. This was their first team meeting, and she understood their nerves. They had no idea what to expect in terms of her management style and expectations. They’d probably heard some things about her, how she’d established herself as a consumer product specialist while vice president at her former investment bank, and likely assumed that she would be aggressive and eager—as many New York investment bankers were—to make her mark in her new role here. And they would be right about that.
But.
There was a difference, as she’d come to appreciate these last eight years, between being led by someone who was aggressive and eager, and someone who was simply a jerk. So this first team meeting was her chance to set the tone, right from the start, of what these associates and analysts could expect while working for her.