by Laura Simcox
Ivy chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to keep some semblance of a smile on her face when all she really wanted to do was run away. “Yes. Another question?”
“How old are you?” asked a woman who had to be at least ninety.
“I’m twenty-six.” Ivy pushed her lips into a more believable grin.
“I’d been married nine years already when I was twenty-six, you know,” the woman offered.
Ivy forced her brow not to furrow. “How nice.”
“Been married for almost seventy years. My husband and I eat green beans every day. That’s the secret. And we fight like wild dogs. Keeps us young.”
“Seventy years! Congratulations,” Ivy said. What else could she say?
Several people shifted to look at the tiny woman, and there was a bit of applause. Ivy joined in, trying not to laugh. Her dad had reminded her that town hall meetings in Celebration could get weird fast.
Alberta twisted in her seat. “Mother. Hush!”
Behind her, Ivy heard Sherry snort. She glanced back and saw Sherry’s shoulders shaking as she struggled to take notes. Time to move on.
“Now, I have some long-range plans as mayor,” Ivy said, abruptly ending the personal grilling. “I’d love to share them with—”
One person raised a hand and waved it at her. It was Marcus. Shit. And double shit.
She pointed at him. “Yes, go ahead.”
Instead of calling out a brief question, he stepped forward. She tried not to watch as he walked to the front of the room. “I’d like to ask about the quality of life,” he said in a bottomless, smooth voice. It was the type of voice that should be on the radio, the kind that commanded attention. So, of course, the room went silent.
She turned to him, keeping her smile frozen in place. “Sure. What’s your question?”
“Do you have plans for bringing a larger variety of retail shopping to Celebration?”
“Yes. I’m working on a number of ideas and hashing out details.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Details such as?”
“Such as offering incentives for new merchants.”
Marcus smiled. “Ah.”
She stared at him. What was he up to? She knew he’d come to town to talk investment, but that needed to happen behind closed doors. Suddenly, a mental image of him behind closed doors—and without that slick suit—popped into her head. Holy shit. Too much stress.
She turned to the audience. “Excuse me a sec.” Motioning with her head, she took a few steps toward the door. Marcus followed, standing so close she could feel the heat of his chest near her cheek. But she’d be damned if she took a step back.
“This is my first day on the job,” she said in a low voice. “And I don’t know if you heard me earlier, but I told everyone I’m still in the planning stages. Could you save the hard-ball questions for our meeting later this afternoon?”
Marcus grinned at her, his silvery-blue gaze lingering a second too long. “My pleasure.”
“Thanks.” Ivy narrowed her eyes slightly and turned around. “Any more questions?”
Herman coughed. “Oh, why don’t you just spill it, Toothpick?”
Next to her, Marcus went still.
“This here’s my nephew. He’s got money to burn, so he tells me, and he’s looking to build a big business right here in town,” Herman said.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“What kind of business?” Ronald called out.
Ivy looked sideways at Marcus. His jaw was clenched, and he stared at Herman as if he wanted to skewer the old fart. Uh-oh.
“Yeah! What kind of business?” Preston got up and walked forward, his chin jutting out. “If anybody ought to be privy to that info, it’s me. I’m the town planner. I’m the one who—”
“Aw, shut up, Parliament,” Herman said with a cackle. “Get them ants outta your pants, and sit down. It’s time to listen up for once.”
The sleeve of Marcus’s suit coat brushed Ivy’s shoulder as he reached inside and withdrew a business card. Silently, he handed to her and she glanced at it.
Marcus Weaver
Franchisee
Megamart, Incorporated
She read it a couple of times before her heart started hammering. And then she ground her lips together until the FUUUUCK! that threatened to burst out stayed inside her head. She handed the card back and stepped forward with a smile.
“Folks, Mr. Weaver and I have a meeting this afternoon. I’m sorry your curiosity was piqued, but I need to speak with him, and then with the town council privately before anything is, uh, announced.”
She was met with a few groans, some confused glances, and a shit-eating grin from Herman. She gave him a pointed look that screamed asshole. First he hadn’t told her that the mystery investor was his nephew. Then he’d withheld the fact that Marcus intended to build a bloodsucking big-box store in Celebration? Not okay.
At least Alberta, bless her heart, had Ivy’s back.
“Let’s let the mayor do her job, folks.” Alberta clapped her hands once. “And on behalf of the town council, I’d like to thank her for answering questions about herself today.”
Ivy smiled and waited for the applause to die down. “Thanks for coming. My door is always open to you all.” She paused. “Unless I’m in a meeting.”
Sherry’s head popped up from writing notes. “That’s most of the time. So call first.” She checked the large watch on her wrist. “Ivy, you’ve got a meeting in forty-five minutes.”
Ivy nodded. Her very first meeting in her office. And it was with a guy who intended to destroy her hometown. A guy she’d crushed on so hard as a preteen that she’d written his name in a secret place in her junior-high gym locker. In Sharpie. It was probably still there.
This was turning out to be the strangest fucking day she’d ever had.
Chapter Three
Ivy and Sherry walked down the hall outside the meeting room, their heels clicking on the dusty linoleum floor, in companionable silence. They climbed three flights of stairs, turned a corner, and stopped. Sherry crammed an armload of folders into a wooden box attached to the wall next to a frosted glass door. On it, etched in chipped gold stencil, were the words “Office of the Mayor, Celebration, NY.”
With a grin, she turned the worn brass handle and gestured for Ivy to go first. “Welcome to your new home. It hasn’t been redecorated for twenty-five years and it smells like microwave popcorn, but you’ve got the best damn secretary anyone could ask for.”
Ivy laughed. “Thank God for that.” She walked into the outer office, which was really Sherry’s kingdom. There was even a sign taped to wall saying so. The desk sat on a wrinkled Persian-style rug, and duct tape ran along one side of it, securing computer cords to the floor. Ivy plopped down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of the desk and kicked off her heels with a sigh. “Oh. My. God.”
Sherry closed the office door and walked to the coffeepot sitting on the credenza in the corner. “Now, Ivy…I told you it would be fine, didn’t I?” She poured into a couple of mugs and set one on the edge of the desk. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Ivy took a sip of the thick liquid and almost choked. “It’s, uh, delicious.” She slumped into the chair and fiddled with a paper clip. “Sherry, what do you know about Marcus Weaver?”
“Ha! I knew it.” Sherry pointed at her. “I thought that would be the first thing you’d say.”
“Why?” Ivy felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Damn it, was it that obvious?
“Because he’s drop-dead gorgeous, that’s why. I’ve been married for forty years, but I’m not blind.”
Ivy looked at the ceiling. “Okay. He’s handsome. Good for him.”
“Didn’t you used to be sweet on him when you were a kid?”
“Sherry! All the girls in my class had a mad crush on him. We were so jealous of his girlfriend that we plotted to sneak over to the high school at lunchtime and dump a whole tray of mac and cheese on her head.”<
br />
“Tasty.”
Ivy grimaced. “Actually, it was kind of gross. The lunch ladies made it from the box and then added an extra mystery sauce to it.”
“I wasn’t talking about the food.” Sherry winked.
“Oh for God’s sake. I’m not thirteen anymore, Sherry. Yes, I’ll admit that Marcus is good-looking. Like, amazingly good-looking, but I refuse to be distracted by that.” She was sure once she got used to the fact that he’d wasn’t the same dreamy teenage boy anymore, her heart would stop galloping. Besides, he wasn’t interested in her. He wasn’t interested in anything but making money. And that wasn’t sexy.
“At the town-hall meeting, he was looking at you like you were dinner.”
Ivy’s eyes went wide. “Bull…crap. He was looking at the whole town like it was dinner. I’m just standing in the way of him grabbing a fork and digging in.”
“What do you mean?” Sherry took a sip of coffee and promptly spit it back into the cup. “Bleah. Ivy! Why didn’t you tell me this is disgusting?”
“Because I love you. Same reason I’ve been eating my mom’s cooking without complaint for a month.”
Sherry snorted. “Yeah. Delia isn’t a chef, that’s for sure. But back to Marcus. All teasing aside, isn’t he here to invest in the downtown-renewal project?”
“That was the impression Herman gave me.” Ivy leaned forward and set her mug back on the desk. “This is strictly confidential, okay?”
Sherry nodded and made a zipping motion across her lips.
“Marcus Weaver wants to build a Megamart.”
“What?” Sherry shrieked. “Your dad would have a cow.”
“I know, right? I’m having a cow.” Ivy stood up and began pacing in her stocking feet. “And we can’t let Megamart in because here’s exactly what would go down.” She held up a finger. “One: People are desperate for jobs. The whole time Marcus would be building the place, he’d advertise it as if it was the answer to their prayers. Then they’d go work there, wearing cheap polyester smocks and hating life so much that any time they’re not punching the clock, they’re huddled up at home, wondering what happened to Celebration. The town festivals and parades would dwindle down to nothing. Oh, and since they’re working for minimum wage, our tax base would never recover. Two: The downtown renewal would never happen because anybody brave enough to try and compete with Megamart would be squashed like a bug. We’d have tumbleweeds rolling down Main Street and broken-down cars piled up on the commons. Three: Celebration would turn into a shantytown with Marcus Weaver pulling the strings like an evil puppet master, and before you know it, the town would be full of zombies sucking off the corporate teat.”
Sherry pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Teat?”
Ivy waved a hand. “I’m not finished. And then, then! Some kid would drive out to the town-limits sign with a can of spray paint, cross out the ‘C’ and change it to ‘Hell-ibration.’” She slapped the desk with a palm. “Do you want to live in hell, Sherry?”
“No. Don’t worry—I’ve got your back, and the town council will, too.”
“I hope so,” Ivy muttered. She worried, though. The town council had so far managed to shove away unattractive companies that had been interested in the Parliament Bakery property. All it took was being stingy about tax incentives, and those businesses had bailed…quick. Celebration wasn’t going to settle for minimum-wage jobs and shitty health plans. But if the bakery building sat empty much longer, the town council might be tempted to give in.
“Don’t fret, Ivy. The facts speak for themselves. I’ve read stories about Megamart. They move into a small town for a few years, put mom-and-pop stores out of business, and then pull up stakes and move twenty miles down the road.” Sherry sighed. “So what are you going to do?”
Ivy cracked a knuckle. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, but I need some alone time to figure it out before the devil himself walks into my office.”
“Well, you’re not going to get alone time here. The only reason the phone isn’t ringing off the hook right this very—”
With a loud beep, the phone on Sherry’s desk lit up. “Mmmhmm. Better run, Ivy. Go hide out in the break room on the second floor. The girls in accounting never use it because they think it’s haunted.”
Ivy threw her head back and laughed. “Good to know, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Hang on a sec.” She lifted the receiver. “Mayor Callahan’s office. Pardon? Oh, hi, Sheila. No.” She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s only supposed to snow a couple of inches. You know there has to be a foot before the inclement-weather policy goes into effect.” She pressed the receiver to her chest and waved a hand at Ivy. “Go. Before that handsome devil catches you in the hallway. And Ivy?”
“Yes?”
“Put your shoes back on, hon.” Sherry laughed.
…
Nothing was going Marcus’s way today. And now he was basically a hobo, since Herman hadn’t taken to being yelled at after the meeting. Marcus wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking—he knew his uncle was volatile, and it had only been a matter of minutes between “Why the hell are you trying to sabotage me, old man?” and “You ain’t welcome to stay at my house, Toothpick.” Not that Marcus had been looking forward to walking back into his uncle’s house, since getting away from Herman was a lot of the reason Marcus had left in the first place.
Marcus stood on the top step outside the doors of city hall and watched a fat snowflake drift toward the roofed portico. The breeze caught it, and it landed on the top of his large suitcase where it stuck, clinging to the edge. More snowflakes followed, buffeted on the wind, and soon the suitcase was covered in a powdery, white coating. “Damn,” he muttered, yanking up on the handle. What the hell was he going to do with it? He couldn’t walk into the most important meeting of his life carrying luggage. But he had to. He sighed and rolled the suitcase into city hall, pausing as he bumped it into the vestibule. He had to focus on his meeting.
Dammit, he could wring Herman’s scrawny neck for not telling him about the new mayor. And thanks to Herman’s mouth, gorgeous Ivy knew all about why he’d come to Celebration and was probably gathering the town council and a handful of torches right this very minute to put a stop to it. But if he hadn’t show her his business card, everyone present at that town-hall meeting would have known about Megamart before he’d had a chance to pitch it properly.
That pitch was gold, too, and when he was on his game, nobody turned him down. He pushed open the interior doors and walked into the small atrium, which was lined with drooping potted trees. He could cram his suitcase behind one of them, but it would still stick out. That’s all he needed, to be accused of hiding suspicious luggage in a government building. He scanned the room, settling on the wooden staircase off to the right. There was a recessed place underneath.
He walked over, but it was filled with a rack of tax forms and brochures about the area— the library, the history of the town, and advertisements for a list of parades called “Celebration’s Celebration.” It was research, and research was ammunition. Marcus snatched one of everything and stuffed them into his trench coat. With a groan, he picked up his suitcase and climbed the stairs to the second floor. At the top, he turned the corner and shuffled sideways into the narrow space between the stairs and the wall, kicking his suitcase in front of him.
It would be safe here for an hour, and after he’d won over Ivy, he’d figure out where to go next. He didn’t have a car, and there was no hotel in town. But there were people who liked him…such as Alberta Fields She’d been thrilled to see him earlier. It wasn’t ideal, but after the Megamart got approval, he’d leave town and return when construction began. Then he would find a house of his own.
He grunted and gave the suitcase another shove.
“Hiding a dead body?”
At the sound of Ivy’s voice, Marcus whirled around. His shoulder banged into the wall and brochures cascaded from the bottom of his trench coat ont
o the floor.
She stared at them. “Are those for your scrapbook?”
He ignored the question. “What are you doing here?” He crouched down and began to gather them up.
“I work here.” She bent next to him and picked up a flyer for a Halloween festival from three weeks earlier. Shaking a dust bunny from it, she handed it to him. “You’re a bit late to the party, which is a shame. Nobody came dressed up as the devil, and you would have been perfect.”
He clamped down his jaw. “Are you ready for our meeting?”
She rose and stared at him for a second. “Can’t wait.”
“Me neither.” He glanced at the slender column of her neck as the muscles tensed and quivered under her skin. A thin silver chain with a heart pendant suspended from it lay against her delicate collarbone. His eyes snapped back up before they traveled lower. He grinned at her.
“Good.” She leaned sideways and peered around him. “You can’t leave that giant suitcase back there, by the way. It’s a fire hazard.” She took a step back and pointed down the hallway. “The elevator’s at the end. I’m taking the stairs.”
“So am I,” he said. He retrieved the rest of the brochures from the floor and pulled on his suitcase.
“Fine. My office is this way.” She turned and climbed the steps, click-clacked down another long hallway, and stopped in front of a glass-paned door. She opened it and grabbed a stack of mail off an empty desk. “Sherry’s on break, but this is her domain. I’m through there.”
He nodded, not trusting his out-of-breath voice. With a silent groan, he wheeled the heavy suitcase into a corner, followed Ivy across a tired-looking rug, and through another doorway. This office was much smaller than the main room and looked like it hadn’t been updated in years. A dented metal desk sat next to the door and a row of tall windows flanked the opposite wall. Mismatched furniture, including a recliner, filled up most of the rest of the room.
Ivy lowered herself into a creaky office chair behind the desk and exhaled. “Well, Marcus Weaver who’s related to Herman Weaver and therefore has some kind of agenda, what can I do for you?” She folded her hands and stared at him.
