by Laura Simcox
Those two could turn any conversation into an excuse to hint around at the idea of him and Ivy as a couple. God knew why, because both women were well aware of the deal he’d made with Ivy to get his Megamart built. Obviously, they had an agenda, but he hadn’t figured out what it was yet.
Just like he hadn’t figured out why the hell he couldn’t keep his hands off her. It was more than sheer lust—there was something about her that captivated him. And kissing her every time they were alone had to stop…before it went too far. Could he have casual sex with her and just walk away? Would she let him? Would he let himself?
He groaned and settled back into the lacy pillows, closing his eyes. But the softness beneath his head did nothing but remind him of Ivy and the fantasies he’d entertained of her curvy warmth pressed against him in the narrow bed. He got up to pace.
Dammit. He could have temporarily left Celebration the second after Herman had pulled the rug out from under him with the land deal. Some distance would have helped put everything in perspective, and he wouldn’t have had to worry about any of this. And he certainly wouldn’t have ended up trapping himself by offering to help with the Christmas Festival. But yesterday, with Preston in Ivy’s office sniffing around like a pretentious bloodhound, he’d had to invent a reason for sticking around town. He just wished that he’d thought of a better one.
He blew out a breath, lowered himself into the spindly princess rocking chair near the window, and crossed his arms to think. He still had hope. Hope…and more than a million dollars in the bank ready to go and approval and licensing from Megamart Incorporated to build in Celebration. It all came back to that piece of land.
He leaned forward and pulled his laptop off the nightstand. Balancing it on his knees, he flicked it open and thought about what he knew for sure. For one, the fact that he was on his own. Hell, just the thought of writing that unexpected fifty-thousand-dollar check for the downtown renewal made him break out in a sweat, and he couldn’t loosen up any more cash for a private investigator to check out Herman. Marcus had to assume his uncle was out. If he couldn’t trust the man, he wouldn’t do business with him.
He had to find Mustang Investments alone. He stared at the screen and rocked back and forth. According to his research, Mustang Investments had no web presence and no phone number listing. If it were anyone but Herman involved, Marcus would have been very suspicious, but Herman preferred to do business with people just like himself: old, cranky, and completely out of touch with technology.
Marcus sighed. All he had to go on was that address in Syracuse. He’d looked it up online, but satellite maps only showed an annoying dot on top of a row of apartment buildings. He’d have to dig up a phone number somehow because Herman hadn’t registered the deed transfer yet, which would contain contact information for Mustang Investments. Not that Marcus had actually expected him to.
He swayed back and forth, frowning. Damn, that chair was tiny. Too hard. Practically useless. Kind of like his life at this very moment.
He stretched his aching back and set the laptop on the floor. He had to move around. The rocker seat made a low, moaning noise as if weren’t used to being occupied, especially by a man standing six foot three inches and weighing in at one ninety. Marcus went still just before he heard a sharp crack underneath him. Oh shit. Grasping the chair’s seat he heaved himself upward, but he was wedged between the thin wooden slats that served as arms.
“Goddammit.” He grunted, trying to stand up, but his socked feet couldn’t find purchase on the shag carpeting. The seat divided in two with a loud snap as Marcus’s feet flew out from under his legs, and he landed with a groan.
“Son of a bitch,” he howled.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase and he heard Delia’s cheery singsong voice.
“Everything okay, honey?”
“Great,” he said under his breath. And then louder, “All’s fine, Mrs. Callahan.” He paused. “I mean, Delia.”
The sticky door screeched open, and Delia stood in the doorway holding a basket of laundry. Her eyebrows flew up.
“I’m not sure what to say,” she murmured. Her attempt at frowning concern gave way to a barely repressed smile. “You poor thing. That must have hurt,” she added. But Marcus noticed that her shoulders shook.
“Go ahead and laugh,” he said in a stony voice.
Dropping the laundry basket, Delia put a hand over her mouth and snorted. “I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it.” She crossed to him and held out a hand.
Marcus narrowed his eyes and took it. She practically pulled his arm from its socket, but he managed to scramble to his feet and stumble a few steps forward. Wedging his hands between the arm slats and his hips, he pried the broken rocker away. It fell to the floor with a thunk.
“Sorry about the chair,” he muttered.
Delia waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, honey, that thing is old as the hills. And it’s nothing special. We bought it on sale at a Megamart in Syracuse when Ivy was twelve. That thing’s so cheap, I’m surprised it hasn’t broken before now.”
Marcus frowned.
“Oh, lighten up. It’s not a big deal. Now put on your shoes and haul Colleen and me to the store. We could use the company and clearly so could you.” Delia looked intently at him, and the triumph in her eyes let him know that she’d won. Shit. She would grill him like a pig in a Hawaiian barbecue about everything. His past. His present. His supposed future with her daughter. Despite his best effort to fly under her radar, he’d been trapped by Ivy’s mom, thanks to a busted kiddie chair. From Megamart. He rolled his eyes.
“Meet us downstairs in ten minutes.” Delia grabbed the basket and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Marcus groaned, shoved his feet into some black boots, and grabbed his phone from the pink plastic nightstand. As he descended the steps, he was met by the sight of Colleen in a blinding, hot-pink coat.
“There you are.” She waggled a set of keys at him. “You’re driving. Delia won’t let me anymore, and I’ll be damned if I ride with her behind the wheel.”
“I’d be happy to.” He put sunglasses on and slipped on his leather jacket.
She grabbed her walker and whistled. “Did you know you look like James Bond?”
He grinned. “Ivy told me that.” Damn. He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t talk about her.
“Hmm. That doesn’t surprise me. My granddaughter’s got a good eye for a good man.”
Delia stomped out of the kitchen with a huge, black three-ring binder under her arm. “Let’s go.”
Colleen frowned. “What the fuck is that thing?”
“It’s my coupon book. Now would you stop cursing?” Delia demanded.
“That thing’s overkill if you ask me. What’s wrong with a little wallet? You’re feeding four people, Delia. You’re not the old lady who lived in a shoe,” Colleen muttered as she shuffled toward the front door.
“You’re a fine one to talk about old,” Delia snapped.
“Bite me,” Colleen shot back.
Marcus rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and held the door open for the women. At least they weren’t discussing Ivy’s many charms. He didn’t need them to tell him about that.
Shutting the door, he helped Colleen down the walk and into Delia’s minivan. If he could just make it through the next hour, he’d be fine. The Pick ’n Shop was only a half a mile away, on the opposite end of town from the interstate. He’d be out of the ladies’ grasp in minutes since he planned to escape to the magazine aisle as soon as they walked in the store. But ten seconds after he’d backed out of the driveway, Delia cleared her throat.
“Marcus, how are plans coming with your discount store? Have you and Ivy been working on how to present it to the town council?”
He nodded and turned onto Main Street. “We have.” Not really. We’ve been too busy making out.
In the backseat, Colleen leaned forward and gripped his shoulder. “So spill. Because I don�
�t see how in the hell you can present that and not have people’s heads pop off. At least that’s what Ivy said.”
“Did she?” He shifted slightly under her clawlike grip.
Colleen let go and gave Delia a poke. “Tell him.”
Delia cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking. Since that Megamart is going to be an uphill battle anyway, why don’t you just invest elsewhere? Have you thought about Parliament Bakery? You’d have no trouble starting a business up in there.”
Marcus suppressed a sigh and slowed the van. He turned into the parking lot of the Pick ’n Shop before answering. “That idea sounds promising, Delia. But you’re forgetting that the business I know is Megamart. What would I do with the bakery property?”
“Pfft.” Colleen smacked his arm. “You’re smart. There are thousands of things you could do. Why, fifty years ago there was an American flag factory in Celebration. Do that.”
He pulled into a parking spot and shut off the ignition. “So you want me to forget about what I’ve spent years saving for, research how to start a factory that makes flags, buy the property, figure out how to make it solvent, and then throw open the doors for business.”
Delia nudged him. “See? You’ve solved it already.” She released her seat belt and hoisted up the binder. “Let’s go shop.”
“I’m not doing that, Delia.” He gave her a small smile.
“Of course you are. I won’t let you sit out here in the freezing cold.”
He shook his head. “You know what I meant.” He stepped out of the van and walked around to open the side door.
Colleen winked at him. “It would make Ivy happy, and just think of the Fourth of July parade with all those flags.”
He took her hand and helped her down. “Let’s just leave this one alone, okay?”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she grumbled and thrust her sparkly purse into his hands. “Hold that.” She reached into the van, wrestled out her walker, and snapped it open. “Mark my words, by Christmas you’ll be singing a tune and it won’t be the Megamart jingle.” She pointed the walker forward and moved with surprisingly quick steps.
Marcus followed. “You forgot your bag.”
“No, I didn’t,” she shot back over her shoulder.
He sighed and fell in line behind her, tucking the purse under his arm. So the ladies thought they could wear him down, mold him into something he didn’t want to be. Fat chance.
Near his shoulder, he felt Delia’s piercing stare, and he glanced at her. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled and thrust the coupon book in his arms.
“Oof. Please tell me you’re not handing me your purse, too.”
“Oh, honey. What happened to your ‘shopping with girls’ etiquette?” She laughed.
He didn’t know. None of the women he’d dated had been the “hold my purse” type. Recently, they’d been from the corporate office of Megamart and were determined to the point of being ruthless. And he admired that about them, except they were all hard edges, even in the bedroom. Ivy was determined, but she wasn’t hard. Everything about her was amazing from what he could tell: her confident smile, the deft manner in which she handled pushy people. The way she—
“Marcus?”
“Hmm?” He shifted the binder in his arms and looked at Delia.
“When was the last time you held a lady’s purse in a grocery store?” Her eyes twinkled.
He remembered it well. It was for his mother. The weekend before she’d died. “I was fourteen.” He attempted a smile.
Her face fell. “Oh, honey. Your momma?”
He nodded and pulled on the door to the Pick ’n Shop. It whooshed open and warm air flooded around him, mixing with the smell of stale coffee from the courtesy counter at the front of the store. After driving in from the trailer park outside town, his mom had always stopped there and grabbed a cup. And then after wheeling a cart up a deserted aisle, she’d handed him her purse, fished inside past the Ziploc bag full of pills, and taken out a grimy bottle of cough syrup filled with cheap whiskey. She’d poured about half of it into the coffee and left him holding the bag while she shopped.
He’d always felt paranoid and pissed about that, carrying her liquor and drugs around a grocery store. He’d hated that cheap, battered purse—his mom’s portable party. But the Callahan women were a complete one-eighty from his mom. They weren’t using him, although they were trying to manipulate him. He sighed, watching Delia trundle on ahead of him to take a cart.
As if sensing his unease, Colleen turned around and smiled at him. “I’ve got a great idea,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Not another one. Please.”
“Oh, relax. This is just for fun.” She pulled him close. “We’re going to play a little game of Switch. It’s hilarious.”
“Knowing you, I’m sure it is,” he said.
She cackled. “Ivy made up this game when she was a kid. She used to get bored following Delia around the grocery store, so she would sneak things out of the cart and replace them with other stuff.” She shook a finger. “But there’s an art to it. The new stuff has to be a similar size and color, because that’s how Delia arranges stuff. If you’re not subtle, she will spot the difference in a New York minute. And once she nabs you, it’s game over.”
Marcus laughed. He could just picture a little kid Ivy, her ponytail bouncing and her green eyes feigning innocence while she pulled one over on her mother. “I’m in.”
“Hot damn.” Colleen pushed her walker forward. “Follow my lead.”
As if he had a choice. He grinned.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Preston said in a stony voice. “Can’t you just give him a quick call?”
Ivy marched down the hallway toward her office and let out a sigh. Her skirt was itchy, her heels were pinching, and her eyes were burning from lack of sleep. Lack of sleep because her body wanted Marcus more than her brain wanted rest. By all accounts, she was having a hell of a bad day. Except her hair actually looked good, that was something. She flipped it over her shoulder. “Preston, I need to look over the proposal some more.”
“Why?” Preston threw his arms in the air. “I found a great company, and they’re interested in buying the bakery property. They pay workers above minimum wage, and the benefits package is excellent. What more do you want?”
“Time. Today’s Wednesday. The town-council meeting is in less than two hours. And you handed this to me at eight o’clock this morning.” She gestured with the folder in her hand.
Preston’s face fell. “Come on, Ivy. I kind of told George you’d chat with him before the meeting. He’s my frat brother…you remember him, don’t you?”
“Of course.” She remembered George Parker, all right. And if her memory was correct, he hadn’t been the sharpest knife in the drawer in college. He’d just had the good fortune of being born into money. But at first glance, the prospectus she had in her hand for his family’s novelty company looked good. Really good.
“Hang on, Preston,” she said as she walked through the doorway to the outer office. “Hey, Sherry.”
“Hi. Oh, Ivy?” Sherry peered up from her computer. “Did you look over the bids for a new snowplow? And there are four messages.” She tapped on the pink slips of paper at the edge of her desk.
Ivy scooped them up. “Thanks. And yes I looked at the bids. All of them are too high. We’ll just have to fix what we’ve got.” She grimaced. “I know that Joe wants a new one, sorry.”
Sherry shook her head. “Don’t worry about my husband. He’s managed the town maintenance for years, and he’ll survive with an old snow plow for a few more, if need be.”
Preston sighed and tapped the Rolex on his wrist. “Could we finish our discussion, Ivy? It’s almost lunchtime.”
At the mention of lunch, her stomach gurgled. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and the possibility of getting lunch was looking dim. Or was it?
Why should she go through the rest of her day with no food because of Preston?
“No. We’re not finishing our discussion because I don’t have time.” She walked to her office and pulled open the door. “Look, Preston. You did a good job, and I’m glad that George is interested. But you can’t present that prospectus to the town council before I have a chance to really look at it. It’ll have to wait until the next private session.”
“What?” Preston spluttered. “But that’s not until right before Christmas! I told George—”
“We’ll talk later. See you at the meeting.” She shut the door and plopped into her desk chair. Dammit. Why couldn’t he have told her about this a few days ago? She had to admit, Preston had probably found a winner, even if it involved George Parker. Great Northern Novelty, Inc. would suit Celebration well. She smiled, picturing some of the wacky people in town filling orders for rubber chickens and clown shoes. Job security and a fun work environment? It would be great.
And it would solve her biggest problem—finding a buyer for that bakery before the town council discussed the Megamart. But the timing couldn’t be worse. The meeting today was going to be all about the downtown renewal, which hinged on Marcus writing a big fat check.
The image of him that flashed in her mind made her mouth go dry and her breath shorten. Now that she was out of her parents’ house, she hadn’t seen him every other waking moment, so he’d hijacked her dreams instead. She’d see him in a little over an hour at the meeting—in the flesh. Part of her couldn’t wait, and the other part told her to get a grip.
She listened to the second part and let her head sink into her hands, forcing herself to breathe. The room was quiet, and it was easy to allow the ticking clock on the wall to coax her into a stupor. As her eyelids fluttered shut, she let her shoulders sink. Just five minutes to herself. She needed it.
