Page 1 of Bound By Words

KELLY

Minneapolis

Peeking out the hotel suite door, I scanned the hallway, checking for traces of my mother. She was on a mission to ruin my fun today and had recently confiscated my mimosa for the third time. A girl had the right to get obnoxiously, depressively drunk on her baby brother’s wedding day if she was so inclined. Especially when she was four years older than him and painfully single.

Admittedly, it was 10:00 a.m., but we weren’t getting into that. I’d sober up for the ceremony, but I needed a damn drink right now.

“Sneaking out before she comes back?” Chase laughed from behind me. My sister-in-law-to-be was amazing, and we often ganged up on my little brother, Evan, to tease him. She was lucky because her mother was cool and sophisticated, and she wasn’t morally opposed to having two mimosas in your hand at a time.

“Shut it,” I hissed as I looked down the hallway toward my hotel room.

After my third-wheel experience on the drive from Chicago, I’d forced Kristine and Sam to stop at a liquor store before heading to the hotel. It was bad enough that I’d been forced to listen to their weird flirting ritual for six hours, but now I would be forced to do something worse…

Spend three hours in a spa with my mother while I was plucked, waxed, styled, and face painted within an inch of my life and shoved into a bridesmaid dress—thankfully, I actually loved the dress. Chase had given me free rein, and I had a deep red, figure-hugging, satiny dream of a dress with lace cap sleeves that fit like a glove. If gloves were sexy…which, yeah…they might not be.

I was beginning to wonder if I might not be as well.

Attending a wedding without a date usually wouldn’t bother me, but this time, the lack of a partner to support me was glaring. I’d never cared about being single until Evan proposed to Chase, and I realized my life was nowhere near that point. It was something I didn’t see changing anytime soon either.

Everyone around me was getting married or popping out babies, and here I was, no prospects other than the usual—overgrown, toddler-like, old enough to know better, usually divorced—executives from other companies in my building who sometimes pursued me. I was so tired of powerful men taking my mid-level managerial position within the tech company I worked for as an invitation to chat me up for an office romance. If I’d wanted to sleep my way to the top, I’d already have a better office. Not that there’d be a chance of that anyway because my boss had forbidden interoffice dating.

The chime of a cell phone text message sounded behind me, and Chase cursed. “Go, go, go. They’re on their way back up here.”

“Shit!” I threw the door open, pulled my robe closed, and shuffled down the hall, trying not to ruin the toenails I’d just had painted. I had just enough time to get to my room and back before the fun police returned.

“Have a drink for me, you alcoholic!”

I tried to hold in a laugh at Isobel’s loud command. She was obscenely pregnant and had spent the morning perched in a chair in the corner of Chase’s hotel suite. Chase had been subtly trying to get information out of her about the state of her and her sort-of boyfriend, Adrian’s, relationship. She claimed they weren’t serious, but the large bun in her oven spoke otherwise, as did the protective look he gave her this morning when he escorted her to the bridal suite to get ready with the rest of the bridesmaids.

She may have been under the mistaken impression things between them weren’t committed, but he wanted them to be. I vaguely remembered him extremely attentive with her at the dinner where Chase and Evan got engaged in New York. I had been a wee bit inebriated at the time while drinking copious amounts of free wine with Kristine and trying to formulate ways to mount the very tall peak of my sister-in-law’s friend, Nathan.

Isobel had been pregnant at their engagement dinner in Minneapolis in the Fall, but she’d hardly started showing back then. I’d been too busy trying to play wing-woman to a heartbroken Sam to notice much past his relationship drama with Kristine.

All I knew of my brother’s editor was that I had been warned to stay away from him because he was a gigantic douche nozzle. I dealt with enough of those in my professional life and had no desire to hook up with one who was so closely involved with my brother’s career. Not that it was an option with his super-preggo not-girlfriend.

“Shit,” I hissed as I tried to wiggle my key card out of the pocket of my robe with the heel of my hand, avoiding my almost-dry nails. Chase would kill me if I messed them up. She may have been a pretty chill bride, but I didn’t want to risk activating bridezilla because of my teetotalling mother.

“Hurry,” Chase ordered in a harsh whisper, and I panicked when I heard the elevator chime around the corner. I only had a few seconds to get inside my room before I was caught. Lord only knew the lecture I’d get if I were.

“I’m trying,” I whined as I managed to get the card wiggled up enough to grab it with my fingertips. The tie on my robe was slipping, so I tried to hold the lapels closed and unlock the door simultaneously without the full use of my fingers.

“Shit.” The first swipe over the card reader flashed red, and I cursed, trying it again.

Muffled voices carried down the hallway, and I threw my shoulder into the door, slipping inside the narrow space and flattening myself against the surface. Success. Now, for the much-needed drink and then pretending I was going to the bathroom when I rejoined the rest of the bridal party.

I tried to step forward but stopped short.

“Oh, fuck.”

The robe was stuck in the door, and the tie had slipped enough that half of my robe was now on the other side of the heavy door, the front open and revealing the lacy red underwear I’d splurged on with my New Year’s bonus before I left Chicago. It wasn’t likely that anyone would be seeing it, but it’d made me feel sexy when I’d put it on this morning. The vibrant shade of red matched my bridesmaid dress perfectly because what other color would a bridesmaid wear for a Valentine’s Day wedding?

My once reclusive, shy, previously inexperienced brother had greased a few palms and made his fiancée’s wedding dreams come true. The royalties from their last book collaboration had made a quick wedding possible for the two authors, whereas others often spent years planning. Hotels that didn’t typically host weddings in their atriums suddenly had availability on Valentine’s Day.

Gripping the side of my robe, I tugged, trying to see if I could slip the rest of the material through the door jamb. It remained stuck, which meant I would have to open the door with my robe hanging agape and quickly disentangle myself without simultaneously messing up the nails that had survived thus far and avoid flashing any unsuspecting hotel guests in the hallway.

Pressing my ear to the door, I listened for signs of life, not hearing anything. It was go time.

The click of the door lever was loud as I pulled the door open and tried to pull the material of my robe through the tiny crack. No such luck. I tugged again, and nothing. Shit.

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