Planning for Love

by Christi Barth

  “Sure he did. Fastest way to seal the deal.” That earned him another dirty look from both Daphne and Julianna. Milo, however, gave the impression of at least considering Ben’s argument. He stepped away from the women, over to his usual perch on the arm of the sofa. After a short, loud sigh, Daphne harrumphed to Ivy’s side and snatched the cup and saucer out of her hands.

  “Ivy, for goodness sake, we don’t have time to dawdle over details all morning. We all know the drill. Tell us how terrific Andy was. Tell us he’s truly special and just might be the one. Most of all, tell us how wrong Ben is, and we can get on with the day. Those sixteen buckets of tangerine roses can’t arrange themselves.”

  “Fine.” Ivy snapped out the word with the strength of a crocodile chomping into its prey. “I’m not blind. I see the money for your bet piled next to the teapot. I’d hoped to keep our personal lives off the show, but I realize that goal was improbable, at best.”

  “I would’ve used the word naïve, but improbable works, too,” ventured Ben.

  “The twilight cruise, the dinner, the iPod loaded with Sinatra—it all added up to an obvious routine.” Ivy began to pace the length of the room. “Any woman would’ve been interchangeable. Andrew talked about himself on the way to the dock, all the way through dinner, and up until the very moment he dropped me at my door. At best, he asked me a handful of questions, all of which were softballs leading right back to information about him. Did I like sailing? Had I ever watched one of his tennis matches at the club?”

  She stared at the floor, and her face appeared implacable. Her pacing quickened, however, sending her ponytail into a sideways bobbing frenzy. “He moved a few inches closer in between every course, and tried to make me lick chocolate sauce off his finger. Ugh. Smarmy and cheesy, simultaneously. Appeared mortally offended when I wouldn’t follow him into the cabin filled with a black satin-sheeted bed. Given a choice, I’d rather knit a scarf out of dryer lint than go out with him again.”

  “He’s scum,” Milo said hotly.

  “He doesn’t deserve you,” Julianna added.

  Daphne took Ivy’s clenched fists in her hands. “I’ll break it to your mom that she missed by a wide margin. You don’t need to sit through her endless questions and rehashing. I’ll call her right after lunch.”

  “Thanks.” Ivy picked up her coffee and headed past a phalanx of hugs in the direction of her office.

  Every rigid inch of her body indicated her reluctance to continue the conversation. Didn’t anyone else see she was too wound up to work? The sympathetic approach only gave her license to hunker deeper into her misery. Good thing Ben had a different strategy. He turned off the camera and set it on Milo’s desk. Creeping softly in well-worn deck shoes, he caught up and nipped into her office right behind her, shutting the door. Ivy whirled around, defenses up and a question in those big hazel eyes. Today sadness drowned out any green hints, replaced by almost solid pools of golden brown. Casually, he leaned back against the door and crossed his ankles.

  “Want me to deck him?” Because by God, Ben’s fingers itched to ball up and let loose into his face. He’d never felt the urge to defend someone’s honor before, but now seemed as good a time as any to start.

  Nothing happened for a very long minute. Maybe he’d misjudged her capacity for humor in this situation. Their first few days of shooting had been strained, but things evened out soon. They’d fallen into a groove. And now he’d very possibly wrecked it with one careless comment. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Do you mean it?”

  He shrugged, shoved his hands deep into the cargo pockets of his shorts. “Sure. You say the word.”

  Ivy giggled. The giggles quickly turned to full out guffaws. She doubled over and slid to the floor, back pressed against a tall file cabinet. Holding her stomach, laughter rolled out in waves.

  “Thank you. Sincerely. Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it. As a lawyer, he’d probably sue you before you finished cocking your arm back to clock him. But I’m really, really glad you offered.”

  Without lifting a finger, he’d restored the equanimity of the entire office. Ben called that a good day’s work. He slid right back out the door before he said anything else that could screw it up.

  * * *

  From the far corner, Ben watched Ivy light up the massive white tent like a firefly. She sparkled, completely in her element. Running hot on adrenaline, her marathon of six events in four days certainly didn’t show. Speedy and silent as a jaguar on the hunt, she buzzed around smoothing every wrinkle in the event. Sullen, overtired children were soothed, bows straightened, glasses refilled and the sound system volume adjusted. A single lifted eyebrow brought the catering staff running. And the guests never noticed anything besides what a phenomenal time they were having. Keeping his camera trained on her all weekend was—on paper—the easiest gig ever.

  Especially in comparison to the endless months he’d spent taping Wild Wedding Smackdown, Ivy’s events were a cornucopia of joy. She got people to talk about their happiness, from grandmothers to best friends to the bride and groom. Under her gentle prompting, they gushed about their delight in the day and the couple, elation about the future and the quiet thrill of their own stories. It couldn’t be better for the show if he’d scripted it himself. But he’d seen enough to know Ivy didn’t ask people to share their hearts for the camera. She did it to remind every single person celebrating of their own connection to the special day. To put an extra layer of emotional glue around the often disparate groups at a wedding.

  The reality of focusing all day, every day, on her shining eyes and tight little body had become a living purgatory. Beautiful, warm, able to juggle a shocking number of details seemingly without effort, she flat out entranced him. Which flat out sucked, since Ivy believed in forever and Ben believed in a good three-day weekend. They were oil and water. Fire and ice. As good an idea as putting together the Pope and a hooker with Tourettes.

  “Hey.” Ollie slid into position next to him. “I didn’t think they’d be able to make a Memorial Day picnic fancy enough for a wedding. I mean, what’s exciting about potato salad and ribs, right? But then one of the caterers passed me these caviar-topped deviled eggs. Wow.”

  Ben nodded. Even the vendors tended to eat well at upscale affairs. Especially since all the caterers adored Ivy and saved her staff the good stuff, rather than the box lunches he’d suffered through at some events. Since walking in the door of Aisle Bound he’d gained three pounds. The flat Illinois prairie didn’t present any options for hiking, so Gib now met him every other morning to run along the lakeshore. The sweating and gasping for air was more tolerable when he could watch hot women in spandex pounding the pavement in front of him.

  “Did you try the wedding cake yet? The best strawberry shortcake I’ve had in years.”

  “Ivy turns out pretty swanky weddings. The people are nice and the food’s great.” Ollie pumped his hand twice, hard. “I’ve gotta say thank you for rescuing me from Wild Wedding Smackdown. This is a much better job.”

  Ben clapped him on the back, oddly touched. “We’re a good team.” The kid more than pulled his weight. His youthful exuberance and eagerness to learn made him easy to work with. “After I’d already spent all that time breaking you in, no way could I let them partner me with someone new.”

  “I got some good footage today. The grandmother of the bride did the chicken dance with the five-year-old ring bearer.”

  “That’ll play well in promos.” Good to know the kid was learning to think beyond the moment to the finished product. “Nice catch.”

  “Oh, and while you were finishing dinner, I caught the best man making a move on Ivy. I made sure to stay tight and get good audio, in case they end up on a date this week.”

  “What?” Ben grabbed Ollie’s camera. Would Ms. Rhodes really sully her untarnished ethics and hook up with a wedding guest? Nah. Couldn’t be. “Show me.”

  “No can do. I switched data card
s.”

  Swinging around, Ben scanned for the bright red bow topping Ivy’s ponytail. Sure enough, it bobbed next to the best man. No neck and huge shoulders proclaimed Jerry to be an ex-football player. He’d swaggered around the gardens before the ceremony as if he owned the place, or at least every woman in it. Coat and vest long discarded, he’d wrapped his red, white and blue-striped bow tie around his bicep. Ben could spot his type a mile away. Relied on muscles instead of brains. He knew without a doubt Jerry to be the one responsible for the lineup of shot glasses in the groom’s changing room. And the bra Ivy spotted about an hour ago flying from the top of the flag pole.

  “Ollie, it’s almost time to wrap up this shindig. I’ll start to pack up the equipment. Why don’t you check with Julianna and get in position at the end of the driveway? I saw the bridesmaids tying about five hundred cans to the back of the getaway car.”

  “You’re right. The groom’s upstairs getting their suitcases right now.” Ollie took back his camera, then paused. “Are you getting me out of the way so you can score another piece of shortcake?”

  Ben tried to manufacture an easy grin. It felt more like cracking through rigor mortis. “You see right through me. Go ahead and call it a day once you wrap the big exit.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  Hefting his camera off the ground to his shoulder, Ben wove through the rows of white picnic tables. The merest pressure of his finger zoomed in on Ivy. Her wide smile radiated the sheer joy of loving her job. Ben knew that feeling. Had even started to recapture a little of it for himself over the past few weeks. Then he noticed Jerry the Jock holding Ivy’s hand. Twenty steps, two clusters of overtired children on the ground and five tables closer, he refocused to find that massive paw still engulfed her from fingertip to wrist. Ben forced himself to a halt right beside them. He remembered the tongue lashing Ivy gave him when he’d inserted himself into the bagpiper situation at their first wedding together. If he tried to break up this conversation, she’d kick his ass.

  “Did you know all the bridesmaids are engaged? Every single one.” Jerry shook his head with a hangdog expression. A half-empty mug of beer dangled from his other hand.

  “Isn’t it wonderful? All six of them are going to be in each other’s weddings. They’re even going to share the same veil. A big circle of love,” Ivy gushed.

  “At first me and the guys felt gypped. I mean, what’s the point of wearing a stupid bow tie if you don’t bag a bridesmaid? But then I spotted you. You’re way prettier than any of those skanks.”

  Ivy bit her lip. An eyebrow started to rise, but she tamped it in place and worked up a half smile instead. “Thank you.”

  “You know how you won’t give me your phone number?”

  Her smile tightened at the edges. Kind of like an over-pumped balloon about to pop. “Jerry, I told you it’s a simple matter of policy. I don’t date anyone involved in one of my weddings. Please don’t take it personally.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He swatted away her response with his entire arm, almost hitting both of them in the face and dropping his mug onto the grass. “I asked Steve why he’d been holding out about the hot wedding planner. Said he’d make it up to me by giving me your number off his and Patty’s contract.” Tarzan-like, he thumped his chest. “See, I always win. ’Cause of me we won the title against Notre Dame. Best damn day of my life. Now I’m gonna win by getting a date with you.”

  “I’m flattered, but I simply can’t go out with you. Now why don’t you head to the entrance? Steve and Cheryl will be leaving for their honeymoon any minute.”

  “Rather stay here and dance with you.” The big ape yanked Ivy in close, so fast that she stumbled against his chest. Then he held her there with an arm low around her hips.

  Ben battled back the red tide of an emotion he chose not to name. But he sure as hell wouldn’t stand there and let Ivy be manhandled. He turned, set his camera on the table to have both hands free. When he turned back around a split second later, Jerry was halfway to the ground in an awkward crouch. Ivy held his thumb and pinkie at a visibly unnatural angle.

  “If I push any harder, you’re going to be a very unhappy man.” She spoke in a soft, calm voice. “On the other hand, if you promise to leave me alone and walk away, I’ll let go. No harm done. Your choice, Jerry.”

  Could that be a tear oozing out the corner of his tightly clenched eyes? Ben bit back a laugh, and resisted the years of ingrained habit that sent his hand groping for his camera. God help him, but some things were just too good to share with the viewing public. Plus, he didn’t want to leave Ivy open to a stupid nuisance lawsuit by embarrassing this guy on national television. It would, however, be indelibly imprinted on his mental playback reel.

  “Steve made me promise to say goodbye,” Jerry mumbled sullenly.

  “Of course he did. You’re the best man, after all.” Ivy released his fingers and stepped back. “He’s probably waiting for you right now.”

  Without another word, Jerry slunk off. Ben slowly clapped his admiration. “Kudos, Ms. Rhodes.”

  Her cheeks flushed to almost the same shade as the bow in her hair. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  “Why not? You brought a grown man the size of a Buick to his knees. Where’d you learn those moves?”

  “Self defense class. Weddings don’t have bouncers, and with the free-flowing open bars, situations arise. Daphne and I both took the course when we opened Aisle Bound.”

  “You really are prepared for anything, aren’t you?”

  “It’s my job,” she said simply. Then a dancing light sparked in her eyes. “And I happen to be great at it.”

  That touch of arrogance diluted her too-good-to-be-true perfection just enough, like a shot of rum blunting the sweetness of a strawberry daiquiri. And it pushed her from annoyingly desirable into the dangerous, must-have column. He’d tried for two weeks to ignore the undimmed spark between them, the desire he couldn’t shake. Ben knew it was seventeen kinds of wrong. She’d drive him straight up a wall with expectations he just couldn’t meet. But he couldn’t ignore the compulsion to touch her again. Sidling closer, he bumped her hip.

  “Why don’t we go out tonight?” Maybe now that she knew upfront where he stood on the subject of dating, she’d be willing to deal with her emotions on her own time and just live a little.

  Ivy didn’t say anything, but lifted a well-arched eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting a drink,” he snapped. Couldn’t she cut him a little slack? “I sure as hell don’t want to send you off the deep end again. Dinner between colleagues. You and me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s been a stressful weekend. The rest of the country spent it relaxing and barbequing while we worked our asses off for four days straight.” It’d been a long time since a woman didn’t immediately fall prey to his well-practiced charm. Decades, probably. Practically a law of nature. Dimples made him irresistible. Ben Westcott could get any woman he wanted, without effort. How could the one girl he didn’t want to want resist him? Hands buried wrist deep in his pockets to keep from stroking the curve of her cheek, he hip checked her once more. “I think we deserve a nice night out.”

  “Your stance on dating kind of seared its way into my memory in April. You’re not a boyfriend kind of guy. You don’t do relationships. So why on earth would I spend an evening with you?”

  No surprise it took the blink of an eye for that to come back and bite him in the ass. “I didn’t like watching Jerry the Jerk draped all over you.”

  She dipped her head. “Believe me, I appreciate you not inflaming the situation and letting me handle it.”

  Good thing she didn’t know how close he’d come to throwing a right hook. “Point is, he rubbed me the wrong way. Next time I can’t promise the same outcome. You’ve got to go out with me.”

  Her eyebrow shot up again. Damn thing was doing jumping jacks. “Or else what? Or else you’ll threaten to start a rumble with every guy
who looks at me sideways?”

  Pretty much. Except that tactic didn’t seem to be working. Ben regrouped, and gently tugged her hand off her waist. “I’m persistent. I’ll keep asking until I wear you down. Come on, Ivy,” he wheedled, “we have fun together. Why not share a few laughs and some good food?”

  It rankled him, waiting for an answer. Made him feel like all kinds of a fool. Now, on top of wanting to be with her, his pride kept him nailed to the spot, proverbial hat in hand. This better be the best damn date of his life. A hair’s breadth away from second guessing the whole thing, her hand squeezed him back. Ivy quirked those lush lips to the side.

  “One dinner. We’ll go out tonight if you promise to drop the issue for the entire rest of the shooting schedule. It’ll be up to me after that. I may choose to walk away without a backward glance, or I may choose to see you again. But I make the decision, not you.”

  First she ran him like a marlin on a hook, and now she held the tip of the sword to his throat. Why hadn’t he felt the earthquake that so shifted the balance between them? There should be jagged spears of earth surrounded by rubble. Instead, when he looked around the rapidly emptying tent, all he saw were a few hardcore dancers and an elderly woman scooping leftover favors into her purse. Ben wondered what she intended to do with forty star-shaped, inch-high picture frames. Maybe sell them on eBay?

  “Sounds good. We should be wrapped up here soon, so how about I pick you up in two hours?”

  “Two and a half hours,” she corrected.

  “Oh, is that how it’s going to be?”

  “Depends on how good a time you show me.”

  “Hey, I only offered dinner. We’re not taking some whirlwind fantasy trip to Paris or anything.”

  “Good. I’m too tired already to deal with jet lag.”

  So Ivy expected a kick-ass but low-key date. Ben knew she’d hated the moonlight lake cruise. And he was painfully aware of his scant-at-best knowledge of Chicago and its nightlife scene. Now what?