Planning for Love (20 page)

Ivy dropped her arms to hang limply at her sides. For a moment, Ben thought she might be winding down. No such luck. She sat behind her desk, lining up folders and pencils and paper clips with laser-sharp precision. Without looking up, she plowed ahead.

“Oh, not to mention we currently have more than eighty active contracts.” Picking up an old-fashioned fountain pen, she jammed it into her blotter with each sentence. “Contracts which stipulate I am obligated to supply vendors, even
if
I’m blacklisted by every band and bakery and photographer in Chicago. Contracts with brides who need and expect my help. Brides who are counting on me!” The nib broke off under the unforgiving pressure of Ivy’s white-knuckled grip. A small puddle of violet ink spread across the blotter.

Ben expected her to be pissy. Bust his balls a little. He hadn’t expected her to completely lose her cool. Interesting to watch. Made him a little amused, and, damn it, a little aroused. To top it off, he was very fearful the waterworks would start to flow any second. “Are you done?”

She siphoned a long, slow breath. “Yes. I think I got it all out.”

“You sure? I’m not letting you go back out there until you’re the uber-annoyingly calm planner I’ve come to admire.”

“Calm enough to fake it, anyway.”

“Hmm.” Ben uncrossed his legs, braced his palms on the desk and leaned forward. “Are you honestly mad at me, or am I just a handy whipping boy?”

A corner of her mouth tilted up, but her eyes were still a flat, brownish gold. Anger muddied away all the sparkling green flecks. They were almost the same color as the candied ginger he ate by the handful on airplanes to prevent motion sickness. “Do I have to choose?”

“Yes. Forget about your business. Forget about the people who used to sign my paycheck and their stupid editing. It boils down to trust.” Ivy didn’t get to be the only one on a high horse. Suddenly Ben’s gut churned. Where did she get off blaming him? Anger propelled him to his feet. Using his foot, he spun her chair to the side. With one hand planted on the backrest, he used the other to tilt her chin up to look at him. To see him as a person, not a representation of a faceless company.

“In your heart, do you believe I’d do anything to portray you in a negative light? That I’d sacrifice my integrity? Slant my taping to portray anything less than the truth of the moment?”

Ivy’s lips parted, like an overripe strawberry falling open, but no zippy retort came out. Ever so slowly, she moved her head side to side. As she shook out the answer he’d hoped for, her eyes brightened with unshed tears. Because of him? Because of what he’d said? The situation? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t bear it. Ben dropped to one knee and brought his hands around to cup her face. He wanted to be gentle, to reassure. But the moment he covered those juicy lips, all semblance of restraint disappeared.

Sweet, pliable and oh so supple, Ivy kissed him back with equal fervor. It felt like she channeled all her worry and frustration into pure, physical passion. No hesitation, no lingering coldness. She met his tongue, stroke for stroke. Flinging both arms around his neck, she pressed her tight little body against him, toppling them both to the ground. Even though a corner of the file cabinet bit into the top of his head, Ben forgot they were in her office. Forgot there were three people just down the hall, waiting for the two of them to come back out. Everything slipped away except for the warm, soft weight of Ivy stretched on top of him. The sensation was like having champagne poured directly into his soul.

Ben’s eyes flew open. What a fucking horrible, girly, romantic thought. A tiny part of his brain must’ve gone rogue. His dick might be hard as a drive shaft at the moment, but a few grey cells had gone unaccountably softer than a moldy hot dog. Gently he pushed at Ivy’s shoulders to break the kiss. She sat astride him, loose skirt gathered almost to her panty line. Hair mussed, lips puffy and eyes at half mast, she was the poster child for an office quickie. Beautiful and desirable, Ben wanted nothing more than to crab-walk backward to put some distance between them until his romance outbreak passed. Who knew what he’d do or say while under its infectious influence?

“You’re right. You were a convenient target, and I shouldn’t have directed my anger at you. I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Yeah—I got that message loud and clear from your frontal assault.”

Ivy wriggled off of him, flashing an impressive amount of creamy thigh in the process. “A singular aberration, trust me. A response to extreme emotional distress. My no-fooling-around-in-the-office rule still stands.” She stood and smoothed the creases out of her silky white top. “And don’t think you can pick a fight just to get me fired up in the hopes of scoring in the supply closet. You may be wily, but I’m a certified planner. I’ll always be one step ahead of you.”

“Challenge accepted.”

A sharp trio of knocks didn’t give Ben any time to get up before Daphne cracked the door and stuck her head through. “Everyone good in here?” A wide smile brightened her face as she took in Ben sprawled across the floor. “Ah. I’d say somebody’s been very good.”

Slipping inside, she shut the door and circled the opposite end of the desk from Ben. “I didn’t realize bedhead was this month’s new style trend.” Daphne tugged Ivy’s crooked black bow all the way off her head, and then fluffed the rest of her disheveled hair. “But if you want my opinion, this look goes better with trampy lingerie than your Talbot’s blouse.”

Ivy snatched back her ribbon. “Did you have a specific reason to interrupt my…meeting with Ben?”

“Wow. A meeting? Seriously? Is that what you’re calling this?” A lazy wave of her hand encompassed Ben and all that his current position implied. “Could you get Milo to put a few of these special ‘meetings’ on my calendar? As partners, we’re supposed to equally shoulder all the burdens of running this place. Too many meetings,” she put the word in air quotes, “are bound to wear you out.”

“I believe RealTV’s contract stipulates my point of contact solely as Ms. Rhodes.” Ben got to his feet. He slung an arm around Daphne’s shoulder and winked at Ivy. “But I could be amenable to the idea of two beautiful women fighting over me.”

“Eww. Only in your dreams, Westcott.” Daphne shrugged him off. “Okay, back to business. Believe it or not, today’s cancellations may be a blessing in disguise, because you need to drop everything and go meet Sam.”

“Does he have a cake emergency?” Ben only allowed himself to sample the fluffy pastries at Sam’s bakery on the days he ran. Coupled with the multiple slices of wedding cake he managed to snag every weekend, he figured he’d upped his sugar quotient by about nine zillion percent since coming to Chicago. If he couldn’t sink himself into Ivy right now, he could at least sink his teeth into something sweet, rich and covered in icing. “I’m willing to throw myself on the sword if he needs someone to test a new flavor. Or even eat leftovers. The man’s a freaking magician with chocolate.”

“Ivy, Sam says that movers came this morning to the shop next to Lyons Bakery.” Moving behind Ivy, Daphne finger combed her hair and neatly retied the bow. Blouse retucked and hair neat once more, all evidence of Ben’s momentary lapse into gooey-heartedness erased. “They cleared the place out and left a For Rent sign in the window. He already called the agent and asked her to give you first dibs. You can go check it out right now.”

“Where the tea shop used to be?”

Daphne nodded. “It’s the perfect size and perfect location. Go find out if the price is right, and you just might have yourself a storefront by lunch.”

Their conversation didn’t make a lick of sense to Ben. “Are you moving?”

“Expanding,” Ivy said with a mysterious eyebrow waggle.

How could a wedding planner expand? Maybe try the opposite end of the spectrum and plan really snazzy funerals? “I have no idea what that means, but I bet it’ll make for a compelling segment. I’ll call Ollie and have him meet us over there.”

“Great idea. If this pans out, it’ll be a historic day for Ivy. She’ll want it commemorated.”

Ivy
excited
about being followed around by cameras? Ben knew she tolerated their presence, at best—most likely due to the big fat check she’d get in a few months from RealTV—but he couldn’t imagine what she’d want filmed. Just when he thought he had a handle on her, another surprising layer metamorphosed. He looked forward to finding out what else motivated her beyond spreading squishy romance around the city like peanut butter on toast.

Chapter Fourteen

A good marriage is the union of two good forgivers.

—Ruth Bell Graham

“I want to spread romance all across the city of Chicago, into every nook and cranny,” said Ivy.

Astonished at the naiveté of Ivy’s statement, Ben almost stopped in his tracks in the middle of the street. The only thing that propelled him forward was the certainty that the crazy Chicago drivers wouldn’t bother to slow down, or even swerve around him. He hustled across Armitage to confront Ivy from the relative safety of the sidewalk. Traffic had trapped Ollie on the opposite corner, so he jerked his thumb to indicate their direction. “That’s your business plan? To ooze romance? Bet it’s hard to get banks to back you with that kind of mission statement.”

“Not everyone is as cynical and stone-hearted as you. Or rather, as you claim to be.”

“What makes you think people even want you oozing all over them?”

“It’s not about want, Ben. It’s about need. And yes, a lot of people out there need more romance in their lives.”

The warm scent of chocolate packed a visceral punch. Such a rich aroma, Ben imagined it coalescing into a physical being. Using its dark might to lure him across the threshold of Lyons Bakery, where he would willingly surrender for just one bite.

Unbelievable. Now he was ready to make love to a cloud of cocoa powder. If he didn’t have sex with Ivy soon, he’d crack up. Go literally insane with need. It reminded him of being back in high school and trying to round the sexual bases. When he’d gotten her stripped down to her bra on a Tuesday, Ben assumed they would progress from there on Wednesday.

No such luck. Generous with her kisses, Ivy made him work for a glimpse of skin. Sure, he enjoyed the long make-out sessions. She kissed like a dream. What little he’d recently seen of her breasts, coupled with Technicolor memories of their marathon night in April, drove him to distraction. Constant distraction. All he could think about was how to overcome her surprising reticence to climb back into his bed. The non-stop desire must be fuzzing his brain, since Ben still had no idea why she wanted a storefront.

“So you’re opening—what—a dating service?”

She gasped. “Not in a million years. The fear of not finding true love for every client would keep me awake at night. What a horrible responsibility to shoulder.”

“Then explain why we’re here, before I throw myself through the window next door onto that German chocolate cake I see.” Seriously, how could Sam work all day surrounded by such deliciousness? If it were Ben’s bakery, he’d have all the profits eaten by lunchtime.

Ivy cupped her hands to peer through the glass. “Do you see the kitchen area, in the back? With the long counters? Oh, and they left all the shelves on the wall. This is absolutely perfect.”

“For what?”

When Ivy turned around, her professional mask of calm slipped once more into place. The excitement dropped out of her voice, replaced by a calm recitation. He could almost see the neat pages of a business plan lined up in her brain. “I’m opening a store. Greeting cards, whimsical tokens of love. One-stop romance. Something for first dates, anniversaries and every occasion in between.”

“A romance store?” Was it a euphemism? She couldn’t mean a sex toys shop, could she?

“I’m calling it A Fine Romance. Might as well make it easy for customers to know what we’re about, right?” Ivy tugged at his shirt to pull him closer to the smeared window. “See the counter?”

“All I see are shadows.”

“Doesn’t matter. The realtor should be here soon, and I can show you. In the back will be all the ingredients for the perfect spontaneous picnic; wine, cheese, bread. Well, the wine depends on getting the right licenses, but I don’t have to worry about that right now. Picnic baskets, blankets, wine glasses, vases, with all the inventory in a range of prices. Best of all, a full line of gourmet truffles. Nothing is as versatile as chocolate. It can say
Be Mine
and
I’m sorry
and
I love you
.”

“Can it say
let me strip off all your clothes
?”

“Without a doubt.”

Wow. He’d expected to shock her into silence. Instead, she met him toe to toe. He’d gotten a nice dose of sass. Ivy kept surprising him; her whole store concept being yet another example. “This isn’t a spontaneous decision, is it? You’ve put a lot of thought into this concept.”

“I’ve been planning it, in the back of my mind, for years. The store is why I agreed to be filmed for
Planning for Love
. It’s providing the seed money I need to get it up and running.”

And there was the searchlight-bright, gaping hole in her plan. “You already work crazy hours. How do you expect to run another full-time business? Is cloning yourself next on your agenda?”

Ivy waved to Ollie as he trundled up the sidewalk. “I’m ambitious, not suicidal. The idea is my baby. The execution is somebody else’s headache. Hiring the perfect manager is the key to success, and I’ve already got someone in mind.”

Naturally. Ben flicked on the camera. “Is there anything you haven’t planned to the nth degree?”

“Nope.”

“No stretch to say you and I are on opposite ends of the romance spectrum. Do you really believe there are enough people in the middle to keep you in business?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry, I’ve got a doozy of a business plan to back up my assertion.”

“I should’ve known.”

“Pages and pages of facts and figures. Hopes and dreams encapsulated in pie charts and bar graphs.” Ivy worried the ends of a wide sash through her fingers. “If I sign this lease today, there’s no turning back. Rent, another business license, inventory. Cross my fingers that my dream pick for a manger is both available and interested. I should call her today. I should really call right now.”

“Whoa there. Breathe. Even you can’t do everything in the next five minutes.”

“I know. Especially with four weddings staring me in the face this weekend.”

“You mean you forgot to schedule an extra hour to launch a new business? Talk about an oversight.”

A pretty pink flush stained Ivy’s cheeks. Bright green sparkled pinwheels in her eyes. A vivid personification of excitement, she also had the look of a woman in the throes of mind-bendingly hot sex. He remembered that look. Craved to see it again while they were both naked, not standing on a sidewalk surrounded by cameras.

His phone rang. He thrust the camera at Ollie. His sister’s face flashed across the screen of his smart phone. Hoping the constant drone of traffic would deter a long conversation, he put her on speaker phone. “Hi, Belinda.”

“No time for chit chat. Get your crap out of my apartment once and for all.”

“So nice to hear your voice.” His parents received quarterly duty calls, an arrangement he’d agreed to when he’d been covering war zones. His sister, on the other hand, hadn’t spoken to him in almost six months. She’d been so bitchy the last time they spoke, he didn’t bother to bunk with her during his last break between shows. Better to sleep on his buddy’s couch in Brooklyn than to put up with her attitude souring his cereal milk. Given the craptastic level of her mood, he’d guess her latest guy just kicked her to the curb. Didn’t know his name, or the last guy’s, for that matter, but he didn’t need to. Rich, vapid and willing to parade Belinda through the top echelons of New York society. Each one completely interchangeable.

“Bennett, I’ve hauled your meager collection of belongings along on eleven moves. I’m sick and tired of moving it in circles around Manhattan.”

“Funny, I thought you’d be sick of the stupidity of moving in with every man who blinks at you twice. If you spent the time to get to know these rubes, you might last longer than a month.”

Her voice doubled in volume and intensity. Even as he winced, Ben took a second to appreciate the clarity of his phone’s speaker. “It took me three months to kick Lars to the curb, thank you very much. And you’re the last person on earth—besides our parents—qualified to give any relationship advice. You’ve been in Chicago for what now, four weeks? How many of those Midwestern farmer’s daughters have you bagged and tagged? Six? Or are you up to double digits with the easy pickings of bridesmaids parading in front of you every week?”

Staring straight down at a weed growing up from a crack in the cement, Ben knew Ivy and Ollie had to be looking at him, sharing his embarrassment. He lifted the phone to his ear and moved down several paces. The window display at the bakery just might give him the moral restraint needed not to chuck the phone in the gutter. If he stayed civil and finished the conversation with Belinda, he’d reward himself with a slice of the German chocolate cake. Eight layers of coconut, fudge and booze-soaked cherries would be a good start. A year ago, he’d have started with a fifth of whiskey. Chicago had softened him. But he couldn’t let his sister know. In his family, the best defense was a good offense.

“Did this scumbag cheat on you?” he asked. He and Belinda were far from close. Still, her strident assumptions verged on rude, even for her. Given her horrendous history with the opposite sex, he’d put good money on a bad breakup as the cause for her foul mood. “Or worse, refuse to pay your latest bill at Tiffany’s? Because you sound pretty riled up, Lindy. Come on, you don’t want to pick a fight with me. You want to go give this Lars guy a swift kick in the nuts.”

A low, throaty chuckle burbled into his ear. “You see right through me. And I poured an entire bottle of Cristal over his head at Donald Trump’s cocktail party last night. The public shaming is punishment enough.”

Good. He’d flicked her mood swing switch. Maybe now she wouldn’t bite his head off. “I apologize yet again, on behalf of my entire race. Men are pigs.”

“On that we will always agree. You and I both stand firmly on the side of happily
never
after. So you can imagine my surprise when Mother mentioned you’re working on a show about marriage, of all things?”

“Weddings,” he swiftly corrected. Big, loud, fun parties. Not the twenty years to life implied by marriage.

Belinda sucked in a whistled breath. “Even worse. Aren’t you worried the Westcott curse will rub off on all those bright-eyed, bushy-tailed couples?”

Only a little bit. The greater fear lay in Ivy’s reaction if he breathed a word of it to her. No doubt in his mind that she subscribed to every wedding superstition out there, and took them all as seriously as a heart attack. If she learned her perfectly planned weddings had been tainted by a man genetically cursed to resist lasting relationships, she’d probably kick him off the shoot. Worse yet, then his chances of stealing more kisses would undoubtedly slip to less than the proverbial snowball’s chance in hell. “It’s a family curse, not smallpox. I don’t think it’s contagious.”

“I suppose we’ll find out in six months, give or take. Watch out—you don’t want all those disillusioned couples to sue you for cause when their marriages break up one by one.”

An icy cold shard of fear speared up his spine and lodged in the very front of his mind. In today’s overly litigious society, Lindy’s teasing threat had a better than average chance of coming true. After his time spent as a nationwide laughingstock after being branded the Cowering Cameraman, he knew the press would froth at the mouth with excitement if they could plant a new title on him. Something like the Wedding Wrecker. Or the Marriage Miscreant. Nah, too highbrow to make a good headline. “Not funny. Not even a little bit.”

“Consider yourself warned. Don’t look to me to help pay a lawyer’s retainer when it happens. Now, I don’t intend to waste space in a very expensive moving truck even one more time. You’re a grown up, so act like one, and take responsibility for your own things. Can I ship it all to Chicago?”

Had she lost her mind? “Hell, no. This gig in Chicago is only temporary.”

“I thought you were there for two months with this fancy promotion. After ten years of bopping around the entire globe on a daily or weekly basis, it sure sounds permanent enough to me.”

Funny. He’d been thinking the same thing recently. Not that he’d done anything crazy like actually unpack. “Slow down. I don’t know yet where I’ll be based. There’s a chance RealTV will force me to stay put in one city, and an almost equal chance they’ll let me keep wandering. If I want to, that is.”

“Excuse me? You, of all people, don’t know what you want?” She let silence thicken the air like a wintery London fog to drive her point home. Unnecessary, of course. Ben knew it sounded ridiculous as soon as the words left his mouth. He might not have always been dealt the ideal cards in life, but he’d always known what to do with them. Until now.

“That’s not the Bennett I know. You don’t dither about anything. And you hate to be tied down. So pick a city with good restaurants and pretty women, and start there. If you don’t like it, move on in a week, a month, whatever. Why are you hung up on something so simple?”

Why did Belinda ignore him for half a year, and suddenly have the urge—and the perception—to psychoanalyze him? While he dripped sweat on a street corner, half-deafened by traffic and half-asphyxiated from exhaust fumes? If he dodged answering, she’d get even more interested and call him daily, hammering away until he finally cracked. Easier to tell her now and get it over with, like ripping off a bandage with a single, swift yank.

“Figuring out a place to hang my hat isn’t the problem.” Chicago suited him just fine. Good vibe, great food and one woman in particular prettier than all the rest. That is, if somebody put his feet to the fire and made him choose. Which he’d never, ever willingly do. “Look, I’ve faced reality. I know I’m never going to get my old career back. After everyone in the business laughed in my face, it didn’t take long to realize I was done.”

“Washed up,” Belinda suggested, oh-so-helpfully.

“Sure. Rub salt in my flayed and bleeding emotional wound.”

“Reality can be a hard pill to swallow. Best not to candy coat it, because false hope can be toxic.”

No worries on that particular point. When it came to his career, he and hope had parted ways awhile ago. “Even though I know it’s stupid, I feel like I’m completely shutting the door on my old life if I put down roots. Here or anywhere.”