Happily Ever After: A Tale of a Wedding Planner

By Chloe Behrens

Sometimes, Life is all about Timing.

From the moment we meet Banner Mancuso, she comes across as strong, independent, and no-nonsense. She is all of those things, but somewhere along the way it’s closed her off from allowing her heart to feel.

Banner loves her job as an Event Coordinator at the prestigious Brenhoff Hotel in downtown Dallas. She’s the best around at what she does, with a salary that affords her the things she wants, and she’s met her closest friends from working there. She takes great pride in overseeing the most important days in couples’ lives, and she lives for her work.

Christian Brenhoff is the manager of the hotel, and heir to his father’s hotel chain. He’s charming, dedicated to his work, and famous about town for his fondness of women. He’s unabashedly proclaimed his crush on Banner since the day she was hired at the hotel, but Banner couldn’t see past viewing him as just a womanizer. Years of clashing while working too closely together continue to work against him in his quest to wear Banner down.

This journey follows a very guarded Banner through a rebound that lasted much too painfully long, and sees her through events, friends, and clients alike that help open up her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chloe Behrens
• Release date: Jun 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476165684

Chloe Behrens

Chloe Behrens was born in Hudson Valley, NY and now resides in the suburbs of Dallas, TX."I fell in love with writing as soon as I learned how to read," she says. "Picture books progressed into lovelorn poetry. Poetry turned into short stories, and then the Van Steenburgh Family began in my teenage years. The story began, and then it wasn't until my early twenties that the second novel in the series came out. The last novel in the series was written this year. It was hard to put it to rest after it being with me for so many years." Still, she triumphed on.After the release of her Van Steenburgh saga, she penned two more books -- neither of which belong to a series. "Breaking Berlyn was so fun to tell because of the characters. Gavin and Berlyn's banter is so witty, and I love how he keeps her on her toes. He finds ways to open her up to new things, and she really needs that. Sometimes, we all do."Happily Ever After: A Tale of a Wedding Planner, has become more popular as a chick-lit/contemporary romance. It's being featured in the Frankfurt International Book Fair 2012, and is her best-selling book, yet! "I think it's because the main character Banner is so flawed, and independent. A lot of the fun, fearless women of today can relate to her. She's strong-willed, career-oriented, and she's human. She makes mistakes." Her male counterpart, Christian Brenhoff, is the epitome of what every woman wants, but doesn't want. "Or so she thinks. I don't know. We are all guilty of judging people, and when it backfires on us, we sometimes don't know how to handle that."She is currently working on her second series, and when she's not typing away on her laptop working on a story, she enjoys traveling, spending time with her pets, and life with her longtime boyfriend/best friend Shaun. "My life is an adventure," she adds. "One I thoroughly enjoy with each passing minute!"

Book preview

Happily Ever After

A Tale of a Wedding Planner

Happily Ever After

A Tale of a Wedding Planner

Chloe Behrens

Published by:

K R Cimorelli

Chloe Behrens

Happily Ever After: A Tale of a Wedding Planner

© 2012, Chloe Behrens. All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-1-476-16568-4

Published by K R Cimorelli

Smashwords Edition: 2012

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Introduction

It was blistering hot outside, so when Banner Mancuso exited her workplace and got to her car, she unbuttoned her shirt-instantly attracting the eyes of every man and boy in sight. She wore a tank top beneath it, so it wasn’t like she was showing much, but the world stopped just to take a look anyway. And while she appeared oblivious, she was well-aware of all the eyes on her, though the attention wasn’t what she sought after. She had other things on her agenda when she hurried herself into her sporty S2000 and sped from the parking lot.

Banner was very sensual in looks, and captivating by nature. She possessed the kind of measurements that made Marilyn Monroe famous, compacted in a tiny, five-foot-three frame. Thick, long dark hair fell down to the middle of her back in a cascade of layers. Her eyes were striking pools of black ink, lined with thick black lashes that she played up with sultry shades of shadows, and they looked entrancing against her fair skin, which was peppered with light freckles. Beginning her freshman year of high school, she searched high and low looking for make-up that would hide those freckles to give her the even, smooth complexion she craved, but decided it was a lost cause. Especially in the summertime, when the sun would amplify them even more, much to her dismay. Eventually, she just gave up on that quest.

Cosmetics, however, were the furthest thing from Banner’s thoughts at this particular moment.

She hated driving. Period. The only reason she splurged to get that black, fully-loaded car was so that she could drive something that would make the act a little less undesirable. It worked. She loved her car. It was the first big purchase she’d made after she got her cushy job at the hotel, just short of four years ago. But she still hated traffic. She also hated driving on highways-and if you’ve ever been to Dallas, or lived there, you would know that that’s all there is. Highways. Interstates. And busy ones, at that.

She parked her car and got out; her eyes bearing what resembled amusement as she eyed the two parked cars next to hers. Her caramel-streaked hair tossed lightly in the breeze as she shut her car door and made her way through the concrete parking garage. Within minutes she was in the elevator taking her up to the seventeenth floor, and the echo of her footsteps resounded through the hallway before she stopped in front of her apartment door. Swiftly, she unlocked it, and upon stepping inside she heard the sound of her radio being played from the back of the apartment. It was the same CD she’d listened to when she got ready for work that morning. After following in the music’s direction she propped her curvy form against the frame of her bedroom doorway without being noticed. Her arms were folded in front of her, and one trendy high-heel played on and off her foot as she stood standoffishly, waiting for one of them to look up from the tangled bed sheets. It didn’t take but a minute for them to become aware of Banner standing there, observing with fierce eyes, and while one boldly ran for his pants, the other frantically pulled her top back over her head. Banner was more concerned with him though for the time being, and turned her gaze in his direction.

They exchanged words, and truth be told; she dealt with him in a much nicer way than she’d initially thought of. Her first idea included a dull butter knife and missing extremities. It would’ve been perfect. Too bad she enjoyed her freedom as much as she did. Prison held no appeal for her. She’d had a funny feeling not too long after giving him a key to her place that something fishy was going on when he’d constantly harp on her to call him whenever she was leaving work. This time, she didn’t call. What was even more comical was that he technically didn’t even live there; he still lived at home with his mother, yet for whatever reason he felt the need to bring his conquests to her place?! I suppose so they could be alone. They’d only been together six months when she gave him the key. She knew him enough to believe that he wouldn’t rob her blind, but I guess her judgment failed her when she believed he’d be faithful. No love lost. She ordered them both out, and as the tall lanky blonde passed her by with a lowered head, Banner briskly tells her, You’re fired. Turns out, he’d been banging her personal assistant.

Chapter 1

I Could Not Ask For More

My work is my life. I eat, breathe, sleep, and dream weddings. When my cell phone rings, I would say that seventy-five percent of the calls are clients needing me for something, or to meet and discuss their upcoming event. The other twenty-five percent consists for the most part of my boyfriend Dylan; then my mother, and finally my friends, whom rarely call because I work with them all and see them on a daily basis.

I’m the wedding/event coordinator for Brenhoff; Hotel, which is a swanky piece of paradise in the heart of downtown. I have what I would call a dream job, with no real set schedule, except for when I need to meet with clients, or when there is an event scheduled for me to oversee. But mostly, it’s a dream because I get to do something that I love. Something that allows me to have a creative outlet, and use my talent to benefit brides on the most important day of their life. And not to toot my own horn, but I’m one of the more respected wedding coordinators in the area, mostly because I’m dedicated to my job. Recommendations from very satisfied clients have brought a lot of bookings to the hotel-- all of which I take credit for. My clients are impressed by my attention to detail, and my ability to conquer just about every problem tossed my way. In other words, I’m what some might call OCD. Or, more crudely put, just an all-around anal individual.

As soon as I turned old enough to work, I did work. My first job was in the floral shop at the local supermarket, and I learned everything there was to know about flowers, making flower arrangements, and how to care for plants. Whenever I wasn’t in school, I was working, and then after I graduated high school, the woman who was in charge of the floral shop quit. I was asked to take over after that.

So until just shy of my twenty-fifth birthday, I had successfully given up my social life to Valentines’ Day, Mother’s Day, and the rest of the holidays and events that consumed my time with flowers, balloons, corsages, or what-have-you. I did learn a lot of handy skills though, and I accredit those to my landing a jackpot job at one of the ritziest hotels around.

I remember meeting with the human resources manager for my interview. She was a middle-aged woman with fake breasts and bleached-blonde hair. She was beautiful in her own right, even if her face was frozen by Botox, and her skin was overly-baked by tanning beds. I didn’t think that she liked me too much, and I was sure that I wasn’t going to get this job that I had fretted over for days, but when Anthony Brenhoff--the owner of the chain of hotels located in Los Angeles, New York City, Miami, Las Vegas, and of course, Dallas--walked into the office, he paused to introduce himself to me. He was a tall, handsome older man in an elegant, black business suit. His thick black hair was peppered with gray to give him a very mature, distinguished look, topped off by a pair of aqua blue, sparkling eyes. His smile was warm, and he extended one very strong hand to me and shook mine, making eye contact and almost causing me to blush. Maybe I did blush. At any rate, when I told him my name, he remarked about how unusual it was. He’d only met one other Banner in his lifetime. In England. She was a very emotionally strong, capable woman, he told me, and she had his respect. He asked me what experience I had when it came to coordinating weddings and events. I told him the experience I had, which wasn’t much in the coordinating department, but that I ran a floral shop and put together the store’s parties when someone retired, or there was an employee’s birthday. I’m not sure if that impressed him at all, or whether he was still stuck on the other Banner he’d known in his lifetime, but he hired me on the spot, and informed the over-baked blonde to get started on my paperwork before he left the office.

I formally began my job that following Monday, and upon starting, I discovered that I still had a lot to learn. Fortunately, the woman whose place I was hired to take still had a week to go, and I absorbed every pointer and tip she tossed my way like a dry sponge. I watched her every move, and she allowed me to sit in with her when she met with clients. I was to take over her books, and she explained everything to me in great detail, which I was very appreciative of. After she left, and the job was all mine, I still had a twinge of doubt that I’d be able to handle it all, but just as with all things I do, after getting into the swing of things, my confidence improved. I quickly fell in love with my job.

There were also many perks that I enjoyed. My cell phone was paid for by the company, for one. Any mileage I accrued by going to meet clients was to be recorded and then reimbursed back to me. I now made enough money to buy myself the car I’d been wanting for quite some time, and get a pretty nice apartment in a high-rise building downtown, not far from where I worked. I also made some really great friends with a lot of the people who worked there. Alexis Augustus was the Master Chef in the hotel. A tall, slender brunette with green eyes, and lips that always appeared to be smirking as if she knew something you didn’t, she had an army of staff that worked beneath her, and because she was a perfectionist, she was constantly breathing down their necks, making sure that the food they served was not only delicious, but visually appealing as well. She was nearing her forties, but she still had a bit of a devilish, party-girl side to her, still. More often than not, she was the one bugging me to go out and have a few drinks with her--if not at one of the bars in the party district of Dallas known as Victory Park, then at least in the bar/lounge on the fifteenth floor of our hotel.

Then we have Samantha Adamson, my tall and slender personal assistant with the overly enthusiastic tone and forever perky demeanor. She was hired on to help me shortly after I took the job, and I’m not sure whether she was there to help alleviate my stress level or to add to it, but she ended up doing a little bit of both. I think half of it was that I was trying to train someone to help me, when I hadn’t fully learned all the ropes yet, myself. Turns out, though, she and I make quite a good team, and although she’s so overly sweet that it grates on my nerves at times, she’s always there in a pinch, and I was able to count on her to help me out whenever and wherever needed.

Half of the time when we do weddings at the hotel, it’s only just the reception, and the ceremony is held at a church somewhere in the area, or some other facility. In the summertime we have a few ceremonies held out in the lush gardens otherwise known as our courtyard, and today’s client wanted her ceremony here at the hotel. My only protest was that it was right at ninety-five degrees in the middle of September, and overseeing a ceremony out in the gardens didn’t hold much appeal to me. Sweating has never been my style.

Banner, Samantha approached me with wide eyes as I swallowed down some icy water from the small Evian bottle in my hand. Um, there’s a bit of a problem going on. There’s a bridesmaid up in the bridal suite that is having some difficulties…

I looked at her blankly, and continued walking down the hall to the elevator with her at my heels. Be more specific.

She gave me a desperate look. This group has to be the absolute worst group I’ve ever seen, she said breathlessly. I just witnessed the bride rip her hair stylist a new one, and one of the bridesmaids has literally busted out of her dress to the point where I don’t even think it can be fixed.

I paused at the elevator, waiting for the doors to open, and I inhaled a deep breath. Fine. I’ll handle the bride and the maids-from-hell, and you can take my place down in the gardens to make sure that everyone is seated properly. I’ll be down shortly.

I turned on my heels to go back to my office and fetch the sewing kit I kept in my desk, and Sam took the elevator to head down to the ceremony site. Glancing down at my watch, there was less than a half-hour to go until this show got on the road, and I knew that this group was a tough one to work with, so I wasn’t looking forward to stepping foot in that bridal suite.

When I got up there, I knocked first, and then swiped my key to enter the room, hearing nothing but crankiness from the get-go. Well I told you I wanted curls, but I didn’t want to look like a damned poodle, came from the bride, who sat at the mahogany desk on the far side of the living area. She didn’t look like a poodle at all, but she did look hateful with her eyes narrowed, and her pink-colored lips tight. But the further I got into the suite, the more I detected an awful, foul odor resembling the smell of rotten eggs. It only seemed to worsen, the longer I was in there.

Did someone get a perm? I asked aloud, trying to figure out what the stench was.

The photographer was a man whom I’d worked with several times during weddings in the past. He was incredibly nice with a wonderful sense of humor, but as he sat there with his camera, he paused long enough between pictures to let me know with just a glance that he, too, wasn’t a happy camper. My work was cut out for me.

I plastered a smile on my face and headed first to the bride. You look absolutely stunning, I told her. C’mon, we need to get you into your dress.

My hair looks like crap! she griped. I mean, look at it! I’m Shirley-damned-Temple!

You are just stressed, I assured her. Your hair looks incredible. In fact, it really did. I couldn’t understand what she thought was wrong with it. I assure you, it looks perfect. Do you need me to help you get your dress on? I pressed.

No, my mother’s in the other room getting it ready, she snapped.

Okay, well I understand that one of the bridesmaids has a problem with her dress?

She’s in the other room. I told her ass to try it on again a few weeks ago but she didn’t listen. Now she ripped it. I don’t care. Her money wasted. Not mine. I don’t even care if she’s in the wedding, at this point!

I headed away from her, and followed the sound of seven bridesmaids bickering in the bedroom and bathroom. I walked in to find the mother of the bride removing the bride’s dress from its garment bag, and while some of the bridesmaids were huddled around the bathroom mirror putting the finishing touches on their makeup, the other three were hovered around another bridesmaid, whose dress was ripped down below the zipper that went up her back.

She looked like a tightly stuffed sausage in her toffee-colored, satin gown. She was a little portly in the first place, and it should’ve been obvious to her that her dress was too small before she even put it on. And oh, what in the world was that smell?!

How did this happen? I asked, trying not to show my awe at the painfully large tear in the dress.

I dunno, she replied, her voice nasal and twangy. All I know is that I put the dress on, I had Miranda zip me up, and all was fine until I bent over to put my shoes on. The dang thing just ripped!

That ain’t all that’s rippin’, another girl piped in.

I’m a little bloated, the overweight girl turned back to me. This dress would fit me otherwise. I doubted that. Just then, I heard a nasty sound coming from between us, and when I realized that she’d passed gas I froze in horror, staring at her.

That is disgusting, one of the other bridesmaids commented, hurrying by us and shaking her head.

You look here-it ain’t my fault that the lunch served today was Mexican food. Whatever that stuff was gave me gas. What do you want me to do about it? I can’t keep holding it in, she fired testily. Either it comes out now, or it comes out as I walk down the aisle. Or up at the altar. You take your pick!

The photographer had followed me into the room, and couldn’t help but display his repulsion as he continued snapping candid photos of the wedding party getting ready. At least I had found out the source of that wretched smell, and it might’ve been entertaining had it not smelled so damned foul. This group certainly wasn’t the worst of them, but they were without a doubt the most disgusting, by far.

Immediately, I got my needle and thread out to try and fix the mess at hand. I hoped Samantha’s end of things was going much better than mine. I literally had to sew the girl into her dress, and I was so afraid it would tear again that as I sewed her up, I instructed her to hold her matching wrap a certain way around her so that it would hide the damage. I convinced myself that if I could hold my breath for the next twenty minutes-just long enough to get these girls down the aisle-then the rest of the night would be a breeze.

Someone’s knocking on the door! The bride’s mother called from the living room, hustling her daughter into the bedroom where the rest of us were. Can someone get it? I have to help her finish dressing.

I will, I volunteered, tossing my needle and thread back into its container and hurrying from the room. I unlocked the door and hurriedly opened it to find Christian standing there, and for a moment he looked confused.

Oh, I thought Samantha was up here. He paused and sniffed, looking bewildered while he peered inside. Is someone cooking eggs?

I shook my head. No. Samantha’s down in the gardens making sure everything is running smoothly. Unlike how things are going in here.

That’s alright, I wasn’t looking for her. I was hoping she would tell me where to find you, he said brightly, tossing me a winsome smile. The DJ just got here, and he seems a little disoriented or something, and he acted like he had no idea where to set up, he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Did you go over all of that with him?

I certainly did, I replied. I talked to him the other day when I was confirming everything, actually.

Well it’s alright, I went ahead and showed him where to set up, he tossed aside, his light eyes falling over my face.

Thank you. I peered at my watch. Did you need anything else?

Nah. That’s it. For now, he replied, his eyes shining with mischief.

Good, because I have to get these girls downstairs, I said quickly, closing the door on him to rush back into the sickly-smelling bedroom. I didn’t have time to play with him.

Christian Brenhoff was a beautiful nuisance that I’d become quite familiar with since getting hired on at the hotel. He was well-known around town for his fondness of expensive scotch and cheap women, and quite easily the most infuriating man I’d ever crossed paths with. He was also the son of Anthony Brenhoff, and heir to Brenhoff Hotels, which made him my boss. His father conveniently employed him as the manager of the hotel here in Dallas so that Christian will learn the business in greater detail for when the time came in the future for him to take over his father’s business. Unfortunately, he was nothing at all like his wonderful father.

Christian was thirty-three years old, but had the mentality of a twelve year-old. Immature, spoiled, arrogant; he’s a playboy who can usually be found in the hotel’s club at night partying with whatever young, attractive girls flock to him, and is rarely ever seen with the same one more than once.

I remember the first time I met him. As I left the job interview where I was hired on the spot, I was walking down the hallway toward the elevator to leave, when I literally bumped into someone, not paying attention, and instantly I had this lukewarm liquid running all down the front of my blouse. Shocked, I looked up into the eyes of one of the best-looking men I’d ever laid my eyes on. He stood around six foot-three, give or take an inch, with thick, raven-colored hair and eyes as blue as the ocean. Broad-shouldered and dressed in a classic black business suit, he looked down at me with surprise and concern on his handsome face, and when he’d asked me if he could run to fetch me something to wipe myself off with, I declined, saying that I was just on my way out to go home anyway.

I really apologize, he insisted, looking me over. Are you staying here at the hotel? Let me comp your stay, he offered.

No, I replied, buttoning my blazer over my shirt to hide the enormous stain. I now smelled like coffee. I’m not staying here. I was just here for an interview.

One dark eyebrow raised with interest. An interview?

I nodded, looking down at the mess on my blouse that I just couldn't hide. Yes. I start on Monday.

He looked pleased. Christian Brenhoff, he introduced, extending his hand towards me. I’m the hotel manager.

Banner Mancuso, I gave his hand a firm shake. I’m your new Events Coordinator.

His smile was utterly charming, and I knew he took notice of the flush that washed over my cheeks. Maybe we should go out for a couple of drinks tonight, he suggested, his full lips twisting upward slightly. Get to know each other a bit. You know, it’s not often that I spill coffee on a beautiful woman without having her kick me in the pants, he winked, causing me to laugh.

Flattered, I couldn’t help but to smile, but I politely declined. Tempting, but no. Thanks anyway for the invite. He looked at me like no one had ever