Three mouths fell open. She’d struck them all speechless. Then the glances started. Swift, darting looks between Daphne and Milo, Julianna and Milo, then Daphne and Julianna. Ivy could tell they were trying to figure out who should take the lead in the inevitable interrogation. Their imaginary psychic powers must not have been on line yet, since the careening cue ball effect just kept going. Even the arrival of the first platter of cinnamon rolls didn’t break the pointed stares, accompanied by truly impressive eyebrow gymnastics.
She’d give them a quick recap of the April weekend. Like peeling off a bandage, right? Their judgment would only hurt for a second before she moved on to the real reason for the meeting. “After the taping of Wild Wedding Smackdown, Ben and I shared an…encounter.”
“Definition, please?” Milo dipped the tines of his fork in the moat of melted butter and brown sugar surrounding the rolls. “How much does an encounter encompass?”
Maybe they didn’t deserve total honesty. After all, Ivy wanted them to be able to look Ben in the face without blushing in a few hours. “Enough. Use your imagination.”
He licked his lips. “Don’t think you want that to happen, boss. Are we talking you dropped your handkerchief and he retrieved it? Or he dropped his trousers and you—”
Julianna clapped her hand over Milo’s mouth, stifling the rest of his sentence. “Not at breakfast. I can’t take suggestive smut at breakfast.”
“Ivy started it.”
Oh, for crying out loud! As if this story wasn’t hard enough to blurt out without dodging their interruptions. “What level of sordid detail would you like? Or should I see if we can get the elevator’s security tapes from Gib?”
Daphne dropped her fork to make a time-out sign with her hands. “You told me when I dropped off clothes for you that you’d stayed up all night talking and fell asleep on the couch. And now I find out not only did something more happen, but Gib knows? I’m your best friend, and I’m kept in the dark, but you tell Gibson Moore?”
The last thing Ivy wanted to do was hurt Daphne’s feelings. So far her summit meeting was off to a less than stellar start. “No. Of course not, Daph. I’m sorry I misled you, but I needed to keep the lid on this one. I haven’t told anyone what really happened until right this second. The only thing Gib knows is that we had drinks in the lounge at the Cavendish. Unless he’s turned into a flaming pervert and really does review the security tapes looking for skeevy behavior.”
Mollified, Daphne took another bite. “Okay. We’ll save the story of what happened in the elevator until the next time we’re knee deep in margaritas. Let’s get back to this encounter. Or should I call it a romantic interlude? How long did it last?”
“We spent the night together. And the next day. Then he left.” Then she cried into her pillow for so long she had to change out the damp blob in the middle of the night. “And I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to tell me how stupid I was, to open up my heart so completely. Trust me when I say I didn’t mean to.”
“Ivy, the door to your heart doesn’t even have hinges. It’s permanently welded open. We all love that about you,” said Julianna.
Her hands began to clench on the sunny yellow tablecloth dusting the tops of her thighs. “But I knew Ben should be nothing more than a lost weekend. I went into it with every intention of a fun fling. Except we had lots more fun than I expected. Ben lights me up. He’s fantastic.” Ivy swallowed hard, realizing the person at the table she most needed to be honest with was herself. “I let myself peek into the what-if closet. What if we stole time together every few weeks as he criss-crossed the country? What if the wonderful feelings he brought out in me could last?”
Julianna covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh no. You didn’t tell him this, did you?”
“Doesn’t matter. To Ben, twenty-four hours together might as well be a long-term relationship. It’s about ten hours too close to serious for him. The man’s allergic to love. The thought of living happily ever after is so incomprehensible he can’t even say the words without laughing. We’re oil and water. He told me this, upfront.”
“Stand-up guy. Gotta admire him for that.” Milo shrugged his shoulders, wide-eyed. “What? We’re not talking about a stranger. Ben’s been nice to work with these past couple of weeks. Am I supposed to bash on him? I’m still ultimately on Ivy’s side.”
“And don’t forget it for a second,” Daphne warned, shaking her loaded fork so hard a bit of flaky pastry flew across the table. She’d demolished an entire cinnamon roll, and was now sneaking bites off of Ivy’s.
“Nobody’s choosing sides. We’re all on the same side. Even Ben and me. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Ivy turned to the hovering waitress and ordered a round of pancakes for everyone. And a third coffee for Daphne. She didn’t want any more interruptions. “That’s why I called this meeting.”
“I’m confused. If Ben doesn’t do relationships, why’d he take you out last night? Scratch that.” Daphne shook her head. “First, tell me if you made it home last night, or if you did the dawn walk of shame.”
“I was tucked into my pj’s listening to the snores from your bedroom before eleven. You know, a good roommate would’ve fallen asleep on the sofa, at least pretending to wait up.”
“True, but a good business partner remembered the twelve centerpieces for the pre-graduation party which have to be made today, and needed to recharge before recreating Evanston High School’s wildcat mascot out of orange daisies.”
“Good point.” Ivy hadn’t minded coming home to a quiet house. She’d needed a few hours to marshal her thoughts and solidify her plan. “When it comes to love, Ben and I couldn’t be farther apart. I think I repel him on a physical level when I bring up the subject.”
Julianna steepled her fingers, her square-tipped French manicure meeting at the top. “Ivy, honey, you’re not making any sense. You can’t date someone who repulses you. Which, by the way, I don’t believe for a minute. Ben can’t take his eyes off of you. Both of you click into high gear the moment the other walks into the room.”
“Exactly!” Count on Julianna to come through with a weird mixture of perception and logic. “We’re drawn to each other. I tried to deny it because I didn’t want to get hurt again. Ben tried to deny it because he doesn’t want to get involved. But this thing can’t be ignored, can’t be denied.” Ivy took a beat, looked each one of her friends in the eye before dropping her bombshell. “I’ve been planning for love my whole life. Now it’s time to put that plan into action.”
Daphne half-coughed, half-gurgled, as though trying to swallow an aborted spit take. “Sure. And while you’re at it, why not try to tame a tiger using only gummy bears and hugs?”
“Don’t be snide. I’m serious.” Although Ivy refused to admit it out loud, Daphne did have a point. The chance of her plan working was slim. On the other hand, slim was better than non-existent. Slim fueled her with hope and motivation. She’d never stepped back from a challenge just because of a lack of guaranteed success.
Fingers clenched around Ivy’s wrist, Daphne looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you telling me he’s the one?”
“Prince Charming in the flesh?” Milo added.
Maybe. Hopefully. Ivy shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s no way I could know. But I need to find out, one way or the other. I refuse to walk away and spend my life wondering if I’d just taken the time, made the effort—if I would have found my one true love.”
The ever-rational Julianna added her two cents. “But Ivy, he doesn’t want to be anyone’s true love. We’ve all heard him say it, and you’ve told us the same thing. It’d be like trying to convince an atheist to become Pope.”
“Nope. I don’t believe it.” Everyone wants to love and be loved. The truth of that statement resonated in Ivy’s core. Even Ben. “That’s simply his current frame of mind. The more I thought about it, I realized he’s scared. Petrified. I’ll figure out the root of his phobia, open that dark closet
of scary monsters to the light of day. No doubt he’s scared off more than his fair share of women with his anti-love bluster. They didn’t have the drive, the grit, the focus to break down those titanium walls he’s built around his heart. Well, I do.”
“No way.” Julianna slammed her empty cup onto the table. Ivy’s eyebrow twitched. Although close friends, Julianna rarely contradicted Ivy. Her silence, when differences occurred, spoke volumes. She must have strong reservations to be driven to speak up. “We can’t let you do this. You’re opening yourself up to so much potential pain.”
“Or the potential for a lifetime of happiness,” Ivy countered. Why couldn’t anyone else see the glass as half-full? They worked in a business full to the brim of happily-ever-afters. This level of cynicism could be expected from divorce lawyers or therapists, but not from people whose paychecks relied entirely on the endurance of love.
Their waitress slid four platters of lingonberry pancakes, heaped with whipped cream and swimming in syrup, onto the table. The discussion hit a momentary lull while everyone dug in. Ivy hoped the break would give everyone time to chew over her rationale. She needed them on her side. After all, what good was a support system if they didn’t support her?
Daphne put her elbow on the table and propped her chin on her fist. “This isn’t how dating works. Love at first sight is a myth.”
“You’re right. But I’m not claiming love at first sight. I’ve worked side by side with Ben for two weeks now—fourteen hours at a time on event days. If you do the math—and trust me, I did—it equates to the same amount of time a normal couple would spend together over nine weeks, factoring in three dates per week. Which means I’ve experienced more than two months of getting to know Ben, concentrated into a shorter period of time.”
“Did you make an algebraic equation to figure that out?” Milo teased.
“I like to pull out my business degree every so often, dust it off and make sure I still remember how to justify the worthiness of a new concept. In Bennett Westcott, I see a treasure cave full of potential, and I won’t ignore it.”
“Some men just don’t have the commitment gene,” Daphne mumbled around a gigantic bite of pancakes. “Take George Clooney.”
“I’d love to,” Milo deadpanned back.
She stuck out her tongue, stained blue from the lingonberries. “Henry VIII. Howard Hughes—”
Ivy cut her off before the list could grow any longer. “Henry married six times. I call that mega commitment. And Howard Hughes was a certifiable nut job. He may be leery of love, but I don’t think Ben’s at any risk of starting to collect his own nail clippings in a jar. If he does, I promise to drop him like a hot potato.”
“Good to know you draw the line somewhere,” said Milo.
“Let’s cut to the chase.” Daphne pushed back her plate, leaned back and crossed her arms. She raised her voice a little to be heard over the fork-clattering, plate-scraping din of the breakfast rush. “How can we talk you out of this insanity? You’re tilting at windmills. That never ends well. Fact, Ben’s going to leave the second filming ends. Then we’ll be the ones left picking up the tiny shards of your shattered heart.”
Her support team wasn’t rising to the occasion. A more apt description of their reaction so far would be raining on her parade. Ivy knew they had her best interest at heart, but would a little go get him, slugger be too much to ask? “You don’t think I can do it?”
“I think if anyone could, it’s you. But the risk is too great. For God’s sake, the man is the anti-Cupid.”
“The risk/reward ratio is weighted in my favor.”
Daphne huffed out a breath. “Stop analyzing this like it’s a corporate takeover. Human emotions don’t fit neatly into a spreadsheet.”
“Plus,” Julianna said, meticulously folding her napkin into an elaborate, flapped pocket and sliding in her silverware one at a time. “You can’t steal five minutes here and an hour there for a full-out strategic assault in the middle of wedding season.”
“And while planning for your new store on top of it,” Milo heaped onto the growing stack of verbal cons. Ivy pictured each of their rebuttals as logs on a pyre, with her potential romance on top, about to go up in flames. Well, she refused to let any of them light the fatal match.
“Ben claims not to believe in romance, and yet he took me to the roof deck at Pegasus and kissed me while we watched fireworks. He’s already unconsciously partaking in romance, despite his best intentions. He cracked the door open all by himself. I just need to keep showing him all the pluses of being in a relationship.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking about the hardest part of her plan. “Without, needless to say, letting him know he’s in one.”
Milo nodded his head, stroking one hand up and down his wide, navy lapel. “Sneaky.”
“Strategic,” Ivy shot back. Then nibbled a corner off her now lukewarm stack of pancakes. If they were going to continue to shoot her down, she might as well have a full stomach.
Daphne cleared her throat. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. What do you need from us? You didn’t call us together just to tell us about your dreamy rooftop smooches. How do we figure into your Machiavellian scheme?”
“As little as possible.”
“Good. Because, frankly, I’m not entirely on board. I love you like a sister. This plan of yours feels a lot like watching you drive off a cliff with nothing more than a friendly wave.”
Better than nothing. At least they weren’t flat out refusing to help her anymore. Putting them into a food coma must’ve helped diminish their resistance. “I’m going into this with my eyes wide open. First of all, I realize there’s a chance Ben might end up feeling like he’s been played. I don’t want any of you implicated. You each have your own existing relationships with Ben, and by extension, RealTV. All I need from you is one thing. And, I might add, the entire plan hinges on it.”
“Let me guess, keep our big mouths shut?” asked Milo, miming a zipper pulling across his lips.
“Got it in one. Ben already knows about your running bet about my dates. The last thing I need is for you to tease him.” To prevent any possible misunderstanding, she spelled it out for them, ticking off each point on her right hand. “That means no asking him once a week if he’s fallen in love yet, or if he’s caught me scribbling our names together. No nudges, winks or double entendres. No mention of how I picked out my wedding colors before I picked a college major. Love, lust and Ben are all off limits as conversational topics.”
“Which leaves us what, exactly? Politics, weather and religion? Oh, that’ll lead to lively discussions over coffee breaks.”
Left unchecked, Milo could babble on about his own complicated love life for hours on end. And he once spent fifteen minutes debating the merits of straight leg versus skinny cut jeans. Ivy doubted he’d ever resort to chatting about Democrats or deacons. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“So while we’re muzzled, you’ll be insinuating yourself into his stone-cold heart how?” Daphne’s cocked head, still-crossed arms and overall rigid posture broadcast on all frequencies her ongoing disapproval. Ivy had a strong feeling her roommate would corner her several more times over the next few days to try and change her mind.
“I’m going to coax him into amazing yet subtle dates that will let him experience all the benefits of a real relationship.”
“Like what? Sex three times a day?” Milo wiggled his eyebrows and pursed his lips.
Julianna bumped his ribs with her elbow. “She said a real relationship, not a Penthouse Forum letter.”
“No sex,” Ivy announced. It killed her, but sometime around four in the morning she’d realized celibacy had to be the linchpin of the entire plan.
Milo’s jaw dropped. “What? You might as well try to carve a turkey with an origami knife.”
“He’s sampled the water, shall we say, and has made it quite clear he wants to make another trip to the well.” The raciness—for her—of the euphe
mism tinged Julianna’s cheeks peony pink as she spoke. Ivy thought it might be the most blatantly sexual thing her very uptight assistant had ever said.
Daphne nodded, hard and fast. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot. The one thing in the plus column is that Ben’s got the raging hot and lustys for you. Why not use your…assets?”
The feeling was mutual. Distracted by his mind-bendingly succulent kisses, Ivy hadn’t even noticed when the fireworks display ended. A waitress had finally given Ben a discreet tap on the shoulder to break them up. “Sex messes up the equation. We already know we push all the right buttons in that area. I want to find out what else makes Ben tick. Getting horizontal shifts all the blood south of the belt. In order for this to work, the only organ I need him focused on is his heart.”
“In order for this to work, you need a bolt of lightning to strike Ben in the head. A near-death experience is the only way that man will suddenly embrace commitment. But,” Daphne unfurled a slow, reluctant smile, “if you get me a hot chocolate to go with extra whipped cream, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Fair enough.” Managing her friends was the easy part. The hard part started in an hour when, on less than two hours sleep, Ivy needed to roll into the office of Aisle Bound and greet Ben with a sparkle and a smile. Not to mention an irresistible date to dangle in front of him. Now to begin learning if he’d rejected her on that warm April day, or just relationships in general.
Chapter Thirteen
It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.
—Eleanor Roosevelt
Ben whistled as he added two more bottles to his iced tea pyramid. It took up the entire coffee table and didn’t look anywhere close to stable. But it would surprise the pants off Ivy and her whole team. And a pants-less Ivy, any way he could get her, was exactly what he had in mind.
Ever since they’d kissed on the roof deck two weeks ago, the angry tension between them had disappeared, replaced by an entirely different kind of tension. He wanted her. He craved her. His fingers twitched whenever she was near, wanting to reach out and touch that satiny skin. Stroke the rounded tops of those sexy breasts she displayed every day in sheer sundresses that drove him wild. Lick the valley between them until her eyes glazed over. Her hands would clutch his head closer, and she’d moan, low and breathy.
Planning for Love Page 19
