Lex pointed a subtly pink fingernail at him. “Not fair. I didn’t make her sign anything. She was in full agreement.”
“Full agreement. But you didn’t send her a copy. Did she even read it?”
Lex shook her head. “How should I know? She paused for a minute on the page with the dollar signs on it.” He could hear her inhale and exhale before she spoke again. When she did, her voice was softer than usual. “It’s possible she misunderstood the parameters of the agreement.”
He found himself losing his patience, and that frustrated him. Why did his sister make him so crazy? “Lexus, I’m not a lawyer. Just say what you mean.”
She sat up a little taller and said, “She might have thought. . . that is, she might still think that she’s not allowed to talk with you. Or see you. Or be in the same room with you.”
“Does it,” Bentley said, speaking slowly to keep himself from shouting, “say in these papers that she is supposed to stay away from me? That I’m supposed to stay away from her?”
“Not in those words.”
“In which words, exactly?” Bentley felt his hands flexing into fists. He stretched his fingers and cracked his knuckles instead. He knew it was a nasty habit, but he didn’t want to hit the desk. And he was reasonably sure he didn’t want to hit his sister.
Lex squirmed, and Lex never squirmed. “There’s nothing in the contract about keeping you two apart. It’s simply a restraining order requiring her to keep quiet about any Titus knowledge she may have until the launch.” She stood from the couch and walked to the window, and it didn’t escape his notice that she kept her back to him.
“And why,” he said, slowly and clearly, “would she think otherwise?”
Lex turned and leaned her back against the window. She rubbed at her temples. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
He worked hard to keep his voice level. “Let’s say that I think it’s fair that you become, for a moment, accountable for the activities you undertake when you’re acting in my name.” He decided not to say anything about her acting without his permission. The board had chosen, and the board hadn’t needed his permission. That was then.
She crossed her arms again, staring at him with defiance in her face. “I told her that all of this would be easiest if you two didn’t see each other again. And that is true. It would be. But it occurs to me now that she might think that staying away is part of the legal arrangement.” She pushed the hair behind her shoulder. “It’s probably only fair that I tell you that she didn’t need any further convincing. She was angry. She’s no Titus fan.” Lexus crossed the room, took a deep breath, and put both hands on the edge of Bentley’s desk. “But I hate to see you like this. I think you should go see her. Take her the file. Feel things out.”
He bent his head in a single nod, neither confirming nor denying. He simply acknowledged that he’d heard what she said.
If he did choose to act, Lexus didn’t need any reason to take credit.
The next Sunday evening, Bentley tried to avoid any one-on-one conversations with Lex. Every time they’d spoken in the office that week, it had been awkward and uncomfortable. At his parents’ house, he’d hoped to busy himself with Milo and Oscar. Unfortunately, the boys were both down with a stomach flu, so Bentley had lost his built-in excuse. He decided to hide out on a couch in an empty room. With both boys home sick, and Adam home with them, Bentley felt a little too much Lex time was sure to happen. So, he grabbed a book off a shelf and disappeared from the crowd.
Mercedes found him in the sun room. She sat down on the other end of the couch and put her feet on his leg, just like she used to do when they both lived at home. He used to hate that. It didn’t bother him nearly as much now as it had then. He closed the book.
“You don’t have to put that away,” she said. “I just wanted to hang out in here with you.” She looked around. “It’s so quiet in here. There are no quiet rooms in my house.” She wasn’t complaining. She said it with a smile. Bentley was glad she loved the life she’d chosen and built for herself.
Nudging his leg with her toes, she said, “You look lonely without the boys on your lap. You should bring a friend next Sunday.”
He couldn’t help it. He sighed. “That’s sweet, Mercedes, but the boys will be better next week, and I don’t have a friend.” He knew as soon as he said it how pathetic he sounded.
She knew it, too. “Poor Benny. So busy running the caffeinated world, you’ve got no time to play.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. But he didn’t need to explain. She understood. Of course she did. Mercedes understood everything.
“You should call her.”
He slid down in the seat until his head rested on the back of the couch. “Do you think I haven’t tried that? Dozens of times? How many different ways do you think I’ve reached out to her? Because if there’s something you think I’ve missed, I’d love to hear it.” He covered his face with his hands.
Mercedes reached over and patted his shoulder. “I’m not sure you mean that.”
He turned. “What?”
“I don’t think you’d love to hear it. But I’ll tell you anyway.” She leaned closer, all the intensity of her intellect, her beauty, and her older-sister vibe directed at him. “You. Are. Her. Boss. Go to the shop when she’s working. Tell her you want to talk to her. Come on, use your power. Tell her you need a meeting with her. Demand her attention.”
He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. And it might be the best bet you’ve got left.”
“No,” he said again. “I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want her to listen to me because I pay her to. That’s gross.”
Bentley’s arm was stretched over the back edge of the couch, and Mercedes snuggled in under his shoulder. “Benny,” she said, “it’s a means to an end. Make her give you her attention in the beginning of the conversation, and then say the things she can’t ignore. She’ll be hanging on your words by the end.”
He closed his eyes. “You don’t know Ivy.”
Mercedes put her arm around Bentley in a half-hug. “But I know you. And I know that you’ve never been able to see yourself the way other people see you. I know you worry about living up to the hype and the image that Lex has created. But I also know that you are amazing, and that any woman, especially a strong, smart, independent one, would be crazy to turn away from the real you.”
The intercom bell chimed, and their mother’s voice called through the house. “Dinner time, everyone.”
Mercedes kissed Bentley on the cheek. “Come on,” she said, standing and offering him her hand. “Let’s eat. It will give you strength to face tomorrow.”
He took her hand and let her help him off the couch. “Why, what’s tomorrow?”
“Maybe you should write it down. Make yourself an appointment. Tomorrow is the day you win your girl.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ivy shoved another flyer into the box on the counter. Velvet Undergrounds marketing department was using an old-school tactic to get more traffic into the shop: each store had an employee standing on the sidewalk outside the door, handing out “buy-one-get-one” coupons to pedestrians. The store that sold the most café au lait drinks by 6 p.m. would win free merchandise for all the employees. It was like 1974 or something. Very retro.
Ivy stopped counting how many Concrete Blondes she made after about an hour. She was on autopilot, filling mugs with French roast, steaming oat milk, handing drinks across the counter, swiping cards. She kept her face locked in a polite smile, but she wasn’t feeling it.
She was rarely feeling it these days.
Ethan, the new kid they’d hired to fill the hole Bentley left, was efficient and sweet, probably even adorable, if you liked the eager, friendly type. Not so much for Ivy. She’d prefer if everyone she worked with had zero pleasant personality traits. It would go a long way to helping her forget what she’d lik
ed about Bentley. Because on her own, she wasn’t doing so well forgetting.
If she had to think about making drinks, maybe she could push him out of her mind, she thought. But these Concrete Blondes were practically mixing themselves, so there was plenty of room in her brain and in her heart to let her good memories of Bentley go to war with her contempt of Titus Cameron.
All the things she thought she knew about Bentley—his humor, his kindness, his generosity, his carefully messy hair—battled with the heartless businessman called Titus. He who felt no remorse for kicking dozens of elderly people to the curb. He who squashed independent shops with his groovy store vibes and designer coffees.
But Bentley had sat on a piano bench and played for Lucille. He’d lost to her gracefully at cards. He’d gazed at Ivy across the shabby little dining table with a smile in his eyes.
He’d held her so gently while he’d kissed her so perfectly.
Stop it, Ivy told herself. This kind of thinking was not helpful. Not helpful at all.
Ethan nudged Ivy’s elbow. “Trade you for a while?”
She nodded, wiping her hands on her apron and preparing to take orders. Ethan slid behind her and washed his hands.
“Help you?” Ivy said to the next couple in line. Let me guess, she thought, Two Concrete Blondes? One for free?
The high school girl on the other side of the counter said, “So, if I give you this paper, I can get two Concrete Blondes? One for free?”
The smile was almost sincere. She loved being right. “You bet. Anything else?” Yes. These were girls who would set trends at school. They’d buy T-shirts.
“Yeah, we need one of those T-shirts. And the blue hoodie. Not the zipper one.”
Nice, Ivy thought. An up-sale. And she hadn’t needed to do anything but present an opportunity. By the time she’d handed the merchandise over the counter and run the girl’s card, Ethan had finished making the drinks.
Next in line. “Help you?”
The lady smiled at Ivy, handed over the coupon, and said, “Two to go, please. I’d love to think that I’m taking one home to my husband, but let’s be real. Neither of these will make it home.” The woman kept chattering as Ivy ran her card. Ivy didn’t have to say much, because the lady was happy to carry the two-minute conversation while Ethan steamed and poured and lidded.
“Thanks, and have a great night,” Ivy said. Then, autopilot engaged, she smiled at the next person in line and said, “Help you?”
Then she nearly choked.
It was him.
Bentley.
Bentley Hollis, standing in front of her across the counter, wearing a button-up shirt and a shy smile.
Ivy felt all the blood drain from her face, leaving her lightheaded and a little panicky. She forgot how to breathe, not to mention how to do her job. Hitching in an audible inhale, she said, “Do you have a coupon for a buy-one-get-one?”
He shook his head. “I’m not here for coffee.”
“Okay. Pastry? The lemon-blueberry scone is really good today.” Why was her voice so high?
He smiled at her nervous chatter and asked, “Can you take a break for a minute?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Who’s asking?” she said without the hint of a smile.
He managed a half-grin. “Corporate,” he said. “I have a few things for you.”
Right. Okay, she thought. I can do this. “Ethan, can you manage this for a minute? I have something to deal with.” She wished she could keep the wobble out of her voice.
Stepping out from behind the counter, she moved through the room and sat across from Bentley at a table by the brick wall.
“Hi,” he said, his voice soft.
She didn’t trust herself to keep her composure if she made eye contact, so she waved while looking at the table.
“How have you been?” he asked, still with that gentle tone that made her want to crawl across the table and kiss his mouth.
“Can we not?” she said instead, hoping to prevent any further heartache. “How about you just do what you came to do?”
He pulled a slightly battered leather satchel’s strap over his head and undid the flap. He pulled out an envelope, sliding it across the table. “This is a contract that you’ve signed.”
She sighed, her regret audible.
“But I’m not sure,” he continued, “that you had proper legal counsel to help you understand it.”
She bristled. “I’m not stupid.”
He leaned closer. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all. It’s just that you may have been misled.”
She felt her shoulders inching up toward her ears and forced them down. “Are you saying that your sister lied to me?”
He shook his head. “Not lied. But not told the whole truth.” When he breathed in, Ivy heard a catch in his throat.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Did he expect her to pick up the contract and read it right now? While he sat there looking gorgeous and repentant?
He leaned on his elbows. “This is awkward, so how about I just tell you? Before I read the contract that you signed, I thought that you’d agreed not to see me or speak to me again.”
She nodded in understanding.
“That’s not what this says.” He tapped the envelope with his finger as he looked into her eyes.
She didn’t answer, but she hoped he’d keep talking. She’d missed the sound of his voice.
“It only requires you to keep quiet about the secret that I let slip.” He had the courtesy to look ashamed. “I’m sorry about that.”
“About telling me? Or about making me keep a secret?” Her voice gave nothing away.
His hand reached across the table, but he obviously thought again and pulled back. “I’m sorry about all of it.” Then he shook his head. “Not all of it. Actually, not much of it. I only regret the way it ended. Ivy, I miss you.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Something was growing in her throat that made it difficult to breathe and impossible to look away from him.
“Nothing I’ve accomplished, nothing I’ve created matters much when I hold it up against what I’m afraid I’ve lost.”
She wasn’t sure she was hearing him correctly. She shook her head.
He reached across the table again, and this time his hand found hers. She did not pull away. She was not sure she’d have been able to pull away if she’d wanted to.
She didn’t want to.
He looked into her eyes and said, “Is there any possibility that you’d give me another chance? I promise I’ll listen better this time.” He reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing her a smaller envelope. “This might help you believe that I listen when you have good ideas.” She slipped the sealed envelope into her apron pocket.
He sat up a bit taller at the table. “My coming to work in this location was no accident.”
“I know,” she said. “Your dad put you in here because he likes me so much.” She said it with a grin. “I’m only kidding,” she added.
He grinned back but shook his head. “No kidding. That is absolutely true,” he said. “And he was right. This was the perfect place for me to learn some important things.” He shifted their hands and stroked her thumb with his.
She found that the room was growing warm, and it was a bit more difficult to breathe. “Like what?” she said, barely a whisper.
“I was great at big picture decisions. Sustainability. Identity. But you reminded me that our community and the people in it matter, too.”
She looked down at their clasped hands.
“Ivy, nothing I’ve created matters to me like you matter to me. You are everything. And next week,” he dropped his voice to a bare whisper, “when we reveal that I’m Titus,” he glanced around like a character in a spy comedy, “I wish you’d stand beside me.” He squeezed her hand and then used the other to reach into his bag again. “And I hope you’ll let me wear this again,” he said, pulling out the beanie she’d put
on his head on his first day as a barista.
She got up and walked around the table to stand beside him. Holding the beanie close to her heart, she said “I thought you’d lost it.” She smiled up at him. “I’m really glad you didn’t.”
“I hope I haven’t lost you,” he said, standing still, tall and straight in his button-up shirt.
She reached up and unfastened the button at his neck, but only as an excuse to then reach her arms around his neck. “Bentley Hollis, Titus Cameron, and anyone else who may be lurking in there,” she said with a laugh, “there’s nothing left to worry about. I’m all yours.”
Epilogue
“Welcome to the Velvet Undergrounds.” A huge banner hanging over the door fluttered in a welcome early-morning breeze. Ivy unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing it carefully behind her. She stepped over the threshold and was greeted by the scents of fresh pastry, perking coffee, new paint, and something else, something she couldn’t quite define. She thought it was the smell of possibility.
She walked through the apparel, trailing her hands along displays of T-shirts, hats, and hoodies. Mugs of every shape and size. Vintage and retro band posters. Her favorite item, though, was the Velvet Undergrounds apron. It made her laugh to think that people would want to buy the same apron she put on every day for work.
Walking from one department to the next, Ivy was amazed that this beautiful place was hers to manage. In half an hour, doors would open to the public—the public that was already lined up for half a block.
Everything looked perfect. She checked the time again—there was plenty. She slipped behind the counter and nodded to the guy who was placing fresh cinnamon rolls and scones in the glass case. She filled a to-go cup with hot water and a raspberry tea bag.
She walked out the back door and across the courtyard. Pulling open the door to The Villas at Centennial Glen, she felt a rush of pride, gratitude, and—dare she name it?—love. Love for this stunning new facility, fresh and bright. Love for the staff and for Lucille and all the other residents. And, sure, she could admit it. Love for the corporation that made it possible.
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