by Laura Simcox
And then there was Preston. He’d called yesterday and apologized for referring to Celebration as a shithole. He’d been overly pleasant on the phone, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Either he was truly scared of losing his job, or he didn’t take his job seriously enough to do more than give it lip service. She hoped for the former.
At least today was starting with some humor, which was a welcome change from last week when she’d been practically vibrating with anxiety at her first town-hall meeting. Today, she felt like she had a grip. Like she was making a fresh start. And who didn’t like a fresh start on a Monday? Especially since it was the first day of her favorite month: December. Celebration was at its finest when the holidays were in full swing. And as soon as she could coax her dad to leave her office, she could get to work.
She hid a smile behind her hand and watched as he moved giant piles of paper around on her desk and mumbled to himself.
“Mmmhmm. Yes. And that goes there, and this one in the audits pile, and this piece of shit proposal in the trash. And that one here. And trash. More trash. Who sends credit-card offers to a mayor’s office? A utilities statement? Really?” Brian stomped to the glass-fronted door and opened it wide. “Sherry!”
Sherry’s amused voice floated from the outer office. “Don’t yell at me, Brian. What do ya want?”
“Why is the electric bill for this building on my desk?” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, Ivy’s desk.”
“Beverly in accounting wanted her to look at it. It’s sky-high,” Sherry called.
“What is Ivy supposed to do about it? It’s not like we can put back used electricity.”
Ivy grinned. “Dad, I appreciate you coming over, but don’t worry about all the stuff on the desk. I think I can figure out what to do with it.”
“I don’t want to leave you with my mess, hon. If your mother had just let me pop over here while I was recovering, I would have—”
“You’re still recovering. Don’t worry about it. I got it.” Ivy glanced at the open doorway.
He shook his head and grabbed a stack of folders. “This should have been cleaned up for you.”
Ivy leaned in close. “You called Sherry and told her not to touch anything, remember?”
He grunted.
The phone rang and Ivy heard Sherry laugh before answering. “Mayor Callahan’s office. Oh, hi, Sheila. How are things down in records? Mmmhmm. Oh, that’s sweet of you to ask, but I have an appointment after work. Manicure. The girls in accounting will be there. Wanna come with?”
Brian grumbled and turned to Ivy. “Get used to hearing conversations like that.”
“I’m getting a manicure too, actually. It’s my ‘welcome to city hall’ present from Sherry. Wanna come with?” She grinned.
He shook his head. “I’ll pass. Now, where am I going to put these…?” He grabbed a stack of folders.
Ivy surveyed the desk. “It will probably be a lot easier with a filing cabinet.” Her eyes flicked from the stacks of paper to the monstrous computer monitor buried in sticky notes, which she hadn’t had a chance to tackle yet. “And didn’t you ever consider upgrading to a laptop? You would have been able to take work home.”
“That cat of yours won’t let anything on my lap except her fat, little body,” he retorted. “And I wouldn’t take work home. I leave that to your generation.”
Ivy pushed away from the desk. “Dad, thanks for coming over. I don’t know how I’m going to fill your shoes.”
Brian laughed. “It’s the least I can do. And you don’t want to fill my shoes. They’re stinky.” He went back to the piles, whistling under his breath.
Ivy blew a stray curl away from her eyes and plopped onto the recliner facing the desk. It was a twin to her dad’s favorite living room chair at home, although this one didn’t sport cat hair on the headrest. Truth be told, after she settled in, she knew with certainty that she could handle the day-to-day responsibilities and all the stuff about budgets, committees, and personal appearances didn’t take a genius to figure out.
But the fact that her personal life was completely entwined with her work life? Yikes. Not that putting up with Preston counted as part of her personal life, but their history was something he couldn’t let go. And he thought there was something going on with Marcus.
Which there was. Kind of.
Ivy’s fingers flew to her forehead, and she closed her eyes. Was it even a thing, though? Did sharing an inferno of a kiss with the man you used to have a crush on, the same man you’d made a deal with, a deal that could transform your town…did that qualify as mixing business and pleasure? Yep. It damn well did. She sighed and started to get up.
“Ivy, if you need a think break, sit there for a few minutes. I used to do that a lot and it’s nobody’s business but yours,” Brian said. “Kind of like—”
He glanced at her and then clamped his mouth shut.
“Kind of like what?”
He waved a hand in the air and looked at the ceiling. “Kind of like your relationship with Herman’s nephew. Nobody’s business but yours.”
Ivy’s stomach jumped. Dammit. Was it that obvious? Well at least she had moved out of her parents’ house. She’d talked the furniture store into delivering her stuff to her new place yesterday, so she’d been able to escape, at least physically. Her thoughts were a different story. Last night, lying in the brand-new double bed in her little house, staring at the ribbons of light on the ceiling from the moon shining through the blinds, she’d thought about Marcus sleeping in her old bedroom. And entertained very naughty thoughts indeed. And the more frustrated she became, the less she slept.
Why couldn’t she just shrug off her fascination with him? It wasn’t as if they even really knew each other, because they’d barely had a conversation that wasn’t about business. With a silent sigh, she got up from the chair and checked her watch. He’d be here any minute. She needed to get herself together. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“I have that meeting with Marcus.”
“Ah. Well, then.” He glanced at her. “Good luck.”
She smiled. “Hopefully I won’t need any.”
Brian rounded the desk. “Make sure to squeeze every penny out of him that you can.” He chuckled.
A cough sounded by the doorway, and Ivy peered around her father’s bulky shoulders. Shit!
“Good morning, Ivy.” Marcus strode into the room carrying a trench coat over his arm. He nodded at Brian. “Mr. Callahan.”
Ivy drew in a breath. She’d always had a thing for men in suits, but Marcus looked better than any fantasy she’d ever had. The navy jacket hugged the planes of his chest, and his tie was the exact color as his eyes. Had he worn that tie on purpose? Probably. He was well aware of his charm…and his ability to turn her into a pile of goo.
Focus. Focus!
She wrangled her lips into a smile. “Good morning.”
Brian nodded at Marcus and walked to the door. “Knock ’em dead.” He closed the door behind him.
Marcus laid the coat on the arm of the sofa. “I don’t have any pennies in my pocket for you to squeeze, but I assume you won’t mind if I just write a check?” He grinned.
Ivy’s face felt hot. In fact, the whole office felt a bit too warm. “My dad was just kidding about squeezing you.”
Marcus glanced at her and when he looked away, she licked her dry lips. “So anyway, a check will be fine. We’ve set up an account to fund the new businesses,” she said.
“Good,” Marcus responded. He stared at her lips and took a couple of steps forward.
Her breath hitched, and she walked to the windows, looking out at the dirty snow flanking Enterprise Street. “Preston made a list of the downtown property owners.” She leaned her arms on the sill and folded her hands. “We feel pretty confident that they’ll participate in the renewal, even your uncle. Nobody is going to turn down guaranteed rent money.”
“My uncle never turns down a sure thing,” Marcus muttered.<
br />
She could hear floorboards creak as he walked toward the windows. A little shiver went down her back. “Did you get the papers signed for the land deal?”
Marcus’s hand rested on the sill next to her elbow. She felt his warm breath on the side of her cheek and turned slightly toward him.
“Don’t worry about the land.” He shifted behind her, and his chest brushed her back. “Let’s just concentrate on the downtown.”
“There it is,” she said weakly, lifting her hand off the sill to tap on the window.
“Mm.” His hand lifted her hair and brushed across the nape of her neck. “Ivy.”
No. No, no! She pulled away and faced him. “So my plan is pretty simple, really. Preston’s in charge of getting the word out. We’re hoping that some of the old businesses will reopen, and we’d like to get a few merchants in place before the Christmas Festival.” She stared over his shoulder. “Day after tomorrow at the town council meeting we’ll go public. And of course, we will announce you as the sponsor. After that, you can present the Megamart.”
She was talking too fast and her voice was breathy. Her fingernails bit into the windowsill. “Do you have any questions?”
Marcus leaned forward. “Yes. Are you still involved with Preston Parliament?”
She met his eyes, mesmerized as his mouth came closer and closer. “No,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He caught the side of her face in his hands and backed her against the window. Her eyes slid closed and a second later, his lips were on hers, hot and demanding. It only took a second for her to let go of the windowsill and twine her arms around his neck. His hands skimmed down the sides of her soft knit dress and rested at the top of her hips. With a tug, he stepped backward and hauled her up, her breasts pressed against his chest and her stomach against the sharp buckle of his belt.
The protestations that had been ping-ponging through her brain flew away as his lips dragged down to her jaw and his hands slid around the curve of her hips, pulling her ever closer. She wrapped her arms tighter, pushed up on her toes, and his hips answered by shifting against her lower belly. She gasped, wanting more. Her lips found the warm skin at the base of his throat, and she tasted there, inhaling the intoxicating, spicy scent of him. But she wanted to feel him, wanted to—
As if reading her thoughts, Marcus wrapped his hands under the back of her thighs and picked her up. As her feet left the floor, her legs parted, and she hitched herself higher against him. He stepped back, his mouth hot on her neck. And then she was balanced on the back of the sofa, her legs wrapped around his waist and his erection pushed against her center.
A rough moan tore from her throat. “Marcus, oh my God.”
“Ivy,” he rasped in answer.
And right after he said that, a loud, arrogant laugh in the outer office broke through the lust fogging her head.
She went still. “Oh my God, Preston.”
“What?” Marcus lifted his lips from where they had been trailing toward her cleavage. He stared at her, his eyes accusing.
“No! I didn’t mean—”
Scrambling, Ivy pushed against his wide shoulders and wiggled her butt to hop off the back of the sofa, but that only succeeded in pressing him closer between her legs. She let out a shuddering sigh. “He’s about to walk through the door, okay?”
Marcus’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Okay.”
“So let go of me, dammit!”
He chuckled and slowly took a step back.
When her feet hit the floor, she yanked down on her dress and smoothed her hair, but before she could force her shaking legs to move, the door flew open.
Preston stopped at the entryway, and his gaze flicked across her face. “Good meeting so far?”
Ivy sucked in a breath and walked back to her desk. “Of course. We were just winding it up.” She sat down in the chair and rolled it forward, pressing her thighs together in a vain attempt to stop the throbbing between them. “Why are you here, Preston?”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy glaring at Marcus.
She glanced up. Marcus, his broad back turned, moved toward the window. He braced his hands on the sill, his fingers gripping and closing. She swallowed.
“You know…” Preston perched on the back of the sofa. “I’m just curious. Why are you so concerned with helping Celebration? Seems to me that the return on your investment will be a long time coming, Weaver.”
“I’m patient,” Marcus answered. He didn’t turn around.
Ivy gave Preston an incredulous look. Dammit! It was his job to lure new business to town. That type of comment was exactly why she didn’t invite him to this meeting in the first place. Well. That and she didn’t want him to start blabbing about finding a buyer for the bakery. Marcus needed to think he was the only game in town. Keeping his sponsorship for the downtown renewal depended on it.
“What Preston means to say is that a payment plan will be set up for new merchants. Once they’re on their feet, they can start reimbursing you. What’s a reasonable interest rate for you, Marcus?”
He turned away from the window. “Eight percent is the average for small-business loans, but I’m not covering anything but rent. Let’s say five percent.”
She looked up at him and met his eyes. His gaze traveled straight down to her lips.
Her brow puckered, and she looked back at her desk, her eyes searching for something to keep her occupied. Something to squelch the lust ricocheting through her. She reached for a legal pad and jotted down the percentage. “Thanks, I’ll run that number by the town council.” Get a grip, Ivy.
Preston folded his arms over an argyle sweater and walked over to stand beside her desk. “Yeah, we’ll discuss it with the council.” He picked up a pencil from her blotter and examined it. “So, Weaver. I assume you’re leaving town after the meeting on Wednesday afternoon.”
“What makes you think that?” Marcus asked.
“No reason for you to stay, is there?” Preston shrugged. “I’m the town planner. I can handle all the details once the money is in place.”
Marcus took a step forward. “I’m—”
“Where is home, anyway?” Preston tapped the pencil on the desk. “Because I Googled you and came up with nothing. Not even a LinkedIn profile. What do you do for a living, Weaver? Who do you work for?”
Marcus shrugged. “I left the corporate world behind. I do independent investments.”
Shit. That’s all she needed—for the word “Megamart” to rear its ugly head.
Ivy stood up. “Don’t be rude, Preston. Marcus needs to stay in town.”
“Why?” Preston bounced the pencil again.
She snatched it away. “He agreed to help me with—”
What? What could you possibly need him for? Well, besides that. Her face felt hot again.
Marcus jumped in. “I’m helping plan the Christmas Festival.”
Huh? Okay. So we’re going with that, then. She nodded.
“Thanks, but I don’t need any help.” Preston sniffed. “It’s my job, and I’m going to do it.” He gave Ivy a pointed look.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, too bad. Marcus hasn’t been back to Celebration for years. This is a perfect opportunity for him to become more familiar with the people he’ll be investing in.”
Preston’s gaze darted as he glanced between Ivy and Marcus. “Yeah. I can see that.” He smirked. “But it’s not as if you’re the only person in Celebration who can play the role of savior, Weaver.”
Damn. Preston was two seconds away from mentioning the bakery; she could just feel it. She walked to the door and opened it. “Hey, Sherry?”
“Yes?” Sherry appeared in the doorway.
“Could you get Preston the forms for the…you know. What he needs.” Crap. She made a mental note to get better at kicking people out of her office.
“Be happy to.” Sherry raised an eyebrow at Preston and gestured for him to follow, which he did, but with a suffering
sigh.
“Ivy?” Marcus’s deep voice resonated behind her. “I need a few more minutes of your time.”
She turned to him, about to protest, but the realization struck her that this was a perfect opportunity to set the record straight. They couldn’t keep ending up in a lip-lock every time they were alone. She’d go crazy.
“Sure.” She shut the door.
But this time instead of stalking her like she was dinner, he picked up his coat. “I’d rather not present the Megamart on Wednesday at the town-council meeting. Any objections?”
A mixture of curiosity and relief flooded through her. But mostly relief. She’d been dreading seeing the looks on people’s faces when “Megamart” came out of her mouth. It would be as bad as saying “fuck” in public. Not that she hadn’t done that already, but still. “Well…no, I don’t object. But why?”
He rubbed his jaw. “I know you’re excited about the downtown renewal, and I don’t want to steal your thunder,” he said smoothly. Too smoothly.
There was something he wasn’t sharing—that much was obvious. But right this minute, her nerves were about to explode with lust, and if he didn’t leave this office in the next thirty seconds, she’d launch herself at him. “Okay. Then I assume you’ll be ready to present it next week? The town council meets every Wednesday. It’s not a public meeting, though.” Which was probably for the best. She didn’t need a mob of people chopping her head off for backing a Megamart.
He gave her a strained smile. “Agreed.”
For a few seconds they stared at each other.
Ivy cleared her throat. “So what are your plans until then?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wished them back.
“Are you asking me out again?”
“No.”
He stepped closer and bent to place a lingering kiss on her jaw. “You keep telling yourself that,” he whispered.
Before she could respond, he opened the door and walked out.
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Marcus sat on the edge of Ivy’s pint-size bed and stared at a one-eyed dusty teddy bear sitting in the corner of her childhood bedroom. He checked his watch and sighed. Forty-five minutes until Delia and Colleen left for their daily pilgrimage to the grocery store, and then he’d be off the hook. If the Callahan women cornered him again, he’d be in trouble. They had a prickly relationship, but when it came to Ivy, they were united.
