Planning for Love

by Christi Barth

  “No way. The mean streets of Chicago are all the danger I can handle.”

  “Wuss.” Ben licked his fingers and started in on the second fritter. If Sam wanted his fair share off the plate, he’d better be quick.

  “Sure. But I know I’ll live to see forty. Can you say the same thing?”

  “I don’t need a mother, Sam. Hell, I don’t listen to the one I’ve got.”

  “Listen to me—as a friend—for five minutes.”

  After all the money he’d skimmed off him in poker, he owed Sam that much. “Okay.”

  “No secret I’m a news geek. It was a red-letter day when I discovered I could follow my favorite reporters on Twitter. I’ve been a fan of your work for years.”

  Weird. And strangely humbling. He’d never had a groupie before. After the incident, he’d shut down his Twitter account and Facebook. Enough people vilified him in newspapers and television. He missed Tweeting with other fans during ball games, but Ben sure as hell didn’t need anyone snarking to him directly. “Want me to autograph your apron before I go?”

  “You got a raw deal with the whole Cowering Cameraman label. But fair or not, the industry turned its back on you. Could’ve been the end. Instead, you turned it around, and made a whole new life. From what I can tell, you’re good at it, and you like it.” Sam leaned his elbows on the table. “Why walk away from a good thing?”

  “Granted, Planning for Love is heads and tails a better show than Wild Wedding Smackdown. But it’s still reality television. You going to sit there and tell me reality shows are as respected and important as the news?”

  “You going to sit there and tell me you’re going to risk your life in one of the most dangerous places on the planet because you’re a television snob? Out of pride? What happens if this documentary goes nowhere? The news industry will still bar their doors to you, and you’ll have shot yourself in the foot with RealTV. Then what? You’ll be stuck coming here and helping me roll out pie crust for a living, because no one else will have you. If you even survive.”

  “I’m getting vaccinated, for Christ’s sake. Chances are slim I’ll die of malaria, or tuberculosis, or anything else.”

  “Right. Because rebel guerillas and pissed-off Sudanese National Guard always ask their victims to show a passport before shooting.”

  Ben dropped the rest of his fritter back onto the plate. Guess the sugar didn’t agree with his roiling stomach after all. “I appreciate the concern. But I’ve been in more dangerous places and come out okay. Risk comes with the job. It’s what I do.”

  “Is it? It used to be. Until circumstances forced you to try something new, something more artistic.”

  “Wild Wedding Smackdown was humiliating. Several steps below rock bottom. Maybe a hair above shoveling fries into a sack.” But he’d had no choice. The networks castrated him, professionally speaking.

  “Sure. But RealTV saw your talent, and gave you a chance to shine. A job that still challenges you, but in different ways. A job you admitted fulfilled you on a surprising level. You told us at poker last week how much you love producing. You’re on the cusp of a whole new career. Why toss that chance away?”

  “I’ve never heard you string so many sentences together at one time. Thought you were the one guy I could count on not to talk my ear off.” No doubt about it, Ben couldn’t get out of Chicago fast enough. He’d always been a lone wolf. All these people circling him, thinking they had the right to stick their noses in his business? It rankled him. Starting first and foremost with Ivy the puppet master. Well, he fucking refused to let anyone pull his strings. And he wouldn’t sit here and suffer through a lecture, no matter how well meaning.

  He pulled a couple of crumpled bills out of his shorts and tossed them on the table. “Thanks for breakfast. Since I doubt I’ll be making my way back to the Windy City anytime soon, here’s a tip to even the score: you’ve got a poker tell. I noticed it after just an hour of throwing cards with you. When you bluff, you start by taking three swigs of beer. See you around.”

  Ben slammed through the door with its damn tinkling bell and headed for the El stop. This morning officially sucked. Riding public transportation at dawn with a bunch of drunks coming off benders couldn’t make it any worse.

  * * *

  “Aha.” Gib poked his head around the fitness center door. “Thought I’d find you here, old chap.” The rich, plummy tones of his hearty greeting immediately raised Ben’s antennae.

  “Old chap?” he grunted as he continued to sweat through a never-ending set of pull-ups. “This is a weight room, not a nineteenth century club for members of the peerage. What unfurled the Union Jack up your ass?”

  Gib crossed the window and leaned against the frame, crossing his ankles. “I see we’re still in a mood. To be expected, I suppose.”

  “My workout, my mood. If you don’t like it, go prop up somebody else’s wall.” Why wouldn’t people leave him the hell alone? Shouldn’t they all be shunning him, treating him like a pariah for breaking Ivy’s heart? Ben grabbed his towel off the machine and swabbed his forehead. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were off today.”

  “I am. These are my off-duty clothes.” He smoothed a hand down the lapels of his blue sport coat. “See? No tie.”

  Ben moved to the weight bench machine and lay down. “Wow. You’re really slumming it. Surprised the dress-code police didn’t put out an APB on you.”

  “Your life may be little better than toxic sludge right now, but you’ve no call to take it out on me.”

  “My life’s great.” Bracing his feet on the floor, he began counting his bench press reps. Out loud. Maybe that’d shut Gib up.

  “Bollocks.” Gib snatched the barbell and placed it back on the rack.

  Why couldn’t he work out in peace and quiet? His sole goal for today was to avoid people. He’d texted Ollie instructions at midnight about flying solo for a few days. Emailed RealTV his plan to finish up the edits from New York for the next few weeks, and that they’d need to send another cameraman to Chicago to take his place. Then he’d turned off and packed his phone. In theory, that should’ve been enough to keep him off everyone’s radar. In reality, it felt like he had a freaking homing device in his shoe.

  Sighing, Ben rolled up into a stretch. “Seriously. Cut the Brit speak. You’re freaking me out.”

  Gib sat on the fly machine across from him. “How are you?”

  “Told you already. Life’s great. My career’s back on track, all’s right with the world.” Ben took a long pull from his water bottle.

  “Don’t be flip. Look, I came here today to check on you.”

  The troops were circling. Did they want him to have a security escort? Make sure he didn’t do anything else to upset Ivy? Maybe they’d settle for house arrest—keep him here in the Cavendish. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a flight out of town tomorrow morning. I’ll give Ivy a wide berth until then. You don’t have to protect her from me.”

  “Clearly the Queen’s English isn’t doing the trick.” Gib rested his left foot on his knee, after straightening the pleat in his pants. “I’m not here about Ivy. I came to see how you were doing. Quite a bit of dirty laundry got aired last night. Wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

  Ben assumed he’d been shifted to persona non grata status by Ivy’s entire circle of friends and family the moment he left the ballroom last night. While he’d braced for a black eye from Sam, Gib wasn’t the type to lead with his fists. Ben did expect he’d be blackballed from every Cavendish around the world. But first Sam surprised him, and now here was Gib acting suspiciously solicitous. “What’s it to you?”

  Something…off flickered in Gib’s eyes. A moment later, his expression cleared. “We’re friends. Friends look out for each other, offer a shoulder when one of them takes some lumps.”

  “You’re Ivy’s friend,” Ben corrected.

  “Quite right. In my capacity as Ivy’s friend, I’ll be popping by her place this evening with a ch
eery yet elegant bouquet. And a couple of bottles of chardonnay.”

  It took a lot to slam the door on the memory of Ivy’s smiling face peeking over the rim of a wineglass. “Aren’t you supposed to pick sides? Love her, hate the guy who walked out on her?”

  “Not everything in the world is black and white. You’re walking away from a rather nice life. Can’t be easy. Are you sure this new job is worth losing everything you’ll leave behind?”

  Why did everyone insist on second-guessing him? “I’m returning to my old job, the one that put its foot on my ass and booted me out the door. If I don’t grab this opportunity with both hands, I’ll never get another one.”

  Gib stood. “Would that be so bad? You closed that door once, Ben. Just because it opens again doesn’t mean you’re obligated to walk through it. Think about what—and who—you have here. A second chance at life-long happiness doesn’t come around very often. You sure you want to risk it?” He shook Ben’s hand, grimaced, wiped his hand on a fresh towel and left the room.

  Maybe some self-enforced house arrest would be the only way to get any peace and quiet, Ben thought as he whaled away on the heavy bag. He’d rather hole up in his room for the rest of the day than endure any more unwanted soul-searching from his friends. Hell, he’d rather go sit at O’Hare for the next twenty-four hours than sit through another conversation like that.

  * * *

  “Bennett? Are you decent?” Before Ben could answer, Julianna let herself into the hotel room. Cursing under his breath, he cinched the flimsy towel around his waist a little tighter. He held his ground at the threshold of the steam-filled bathroom.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How did you get in here?”

  “Gib gave me a key.” She lifted the thin plastic card and waved it in the air. “Said he was quite sure you wouldn’t let me in, and he believes you need to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  Great. Another person who thought they had the right to tell him how to live his life. Should’ve gone to the airport and parked on a barstool after all. “What is this, a fucking intervention? How many of you are going to come and butt your noses into my business?”

  “I don’t know.” She closed the door and planted her sensible black flats right by his bare toes. “How long will it take you to rip the blinders off your eyes and face the truth?”

  Christ. They were in Chicago—at this rate Dr. Phil would be the next one through his door to talk some sense into him. The redhead picked the wrong day to pick a fight. If she didn’t get out in two minutes, he’d call security and have her removed. Ben braced his hands high up on the doorframe, leaning his bare, still-damp chest right into her face. Maybe the sheer power of his naked masculinity would scare her off.

  “Here’s a cold, hard truth. You’ve never liked me. I know it’s because you think I hurt Ivy back in April, and you wanted to protect her. Believe it or not, I get it. I respect you for looking out for her. But I’ve had more than my fill of people who actually like me sharing their thoughts today. I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here and let someone berate me who treats me with disdain on the best of days.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He’d expected an unending string of vitriol. Maybe a slap in the face, accompanied by a lot of cursing. Threats of dire retribution if he ever contacted Ivy again. But not an apology, of all things. Shocked, he dropped his arms and took a step back. “Come again?”

  Julianna inclined her head with its smooth, short caplet of crimson hair. “I’ve been a stone cold bitch to you. Kind of became a habit. You didn’t deserve the daily dose of animosity I dished out. So, I’m sorry.”

  Interesting twist. He didn’t know what to make of it. “Fair enough. You going to let me put on some clothes now?”

  A flush almost as bright as her hair stained her cheeks. She backed into the hallway. “Sorry.”

  “Geez, that word just flows like water out of you all of a sudden. What gives?” Ben stalked past her and grabbed his orange cargo shorts off the bed. Took a beat to consider the fun of the shock value, deemed it the only bright spot in a miserable day, and dropped his towel without warning Julianna. Then stifled a chuckle when he heard her gasp. That’d teach her to barge into a man’s room without asking.

  “Well, first of all, I truly am sorry for the way I treated you.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “And second, I want to make sure you listen to what I’m about to say.”

  Ben zipped his pants, then pulled a yellow polo shirt over his head. After this, he was definitely checking out of the Cavendish. Immediately. “Fine. Spit it out.”

  Taking a few, tentative steps, she eased over to the desk and put her hand out for support. “I always thought you were selfish. But I never realized until today that you were self-sabotaging as well.”

  Unbelievable. An apology like that might as well come with a side of cruise missile and a body bag. “We’re done.” Hand on the small of her back, he ushered her to the door.

  “Wait, I started wrong. I’m sorry.” She threw herself back against the door, palms flat and fingers spread.

  “Those magic two words only get you so far.”

  “I know. I’m nervous, because this is so important. Let me start over: I think you’re perfect for Ivy.”

  Ben peered at her pupils. They seemed an appropriate size. But she sure acted like she was on something. “Are you high? ’Cause it’s the only logical explanation for hating me, and yet saying I’d be the perfect match for your sainted mentor.”

  “I’m serious.” Her words rushed out like rapids skipping over rocks in a river. “You rubbed me wrong at first. And you’re right, I only wanted to protect Ivy. But you make her so very happy.” Slowly, she eased off the door. When he made no move to stop her, she retraced her steps to sit in the leather desk chair.

  “I made Ivy happy for a while. Past tense.” Ben stayed in the doorway. He didn’t want to give her any impression that she was welcome to stay.

  “The thing is, though, she makes you happy, too. I’ve got a unique vantage point. I’ve been able to watch you, watching her. Day in and day out. And you know what?” She sighed deeply and put a hand over her heart. “You both light up like Christmas trees when you look at each other.”

  He didn’t want to hear this. He hadn’t wanted to hear Sam spout off about his career, or Gib talk about his happiness. But most of all, the one thing Ben wanted to accomplish all day, was to not hear about his relationship with Ivy. “Lust is sort of like fairy dust. It makes everything sparkle. For a while. Then it fades away.”

  She shook her head. “Might’ve started as lust. But it grew. You’re right for Ivy. Walking away from her is a selfish, hurtful thing to do. The thing is, Ben,” she steepled her fingers and rested her lips against them for a moment, “it hurts you just as much. I know your heart is broken into as many tiny pieces as Ivy’s is right now.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.” The words wrenched from his throat. If he wanted self-reflection, he’d go stand in front of a mirror. “I do. I know the longer I stay, the more I’ll end up hurting her when I finally leave. Because I will, sooner or later. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.” Belatedly, he realized he’d echoed the same words he tossed at Sam earlier, in reference to his job.

  “It might be who you were. But every day is a chance to start fresh. You and Ivy love each other.” Julianna popped out of the chair and stood with her hands on her hips. She looked pissed, and on the verge of yelling at him. Familiar territory. He knew she couldn’t keep up the penitent act for very long.

  “Ben, take your head out of your ass long enough to admit it, if only to yourself. Think about how you feel when she looks at you, when she laughs with you. Then ask yourself: Can chasing your old dreams down memory lane make you feel that good? Give you a happy ending?”

  She’d tested his patience enough. “You want to know the only way to get a guaranteed happy ending? Tip an extra twenty percent at a massage
parlor. In fact, thanks for the idea. Now I’ve got a plan for my afternoon.” Ben opened the door and stood with a hand on the knob. “Unless you care to join me, your time’s up.” That sent her scurrying down the hall past the bathroom. His luck ran out when she stopped in front of the mirrored closet doors.

  “When little kids are scared of the monster in the closet, you know what the parents do? They open the door. Prove there aren’t any monsters. Well, you’re scared of being happy. So what would happen if you opened the door on your fear?” With that parting shot, Julianna left.

  Ben slammed the door behind her. Then he yanked open the closet door so hard it came off its rails. If it meant registering for standby on three different airlines, it didn’t matter. He’d do whatever it took to get out of this town tonight. And, God willing, never come back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The highest happiness on earth is marriage.

  —William Lyon Phelps

  Ivy scanned her appointment book. No more meetings today. Only a quick flinch as her eyes skipped over the words dinner with Ben she’d drawn a heart around earlier in the week. Refused to give in to the temptation to scratch it off the page with the dull tip of her letter opener. When she woke up for the second day in a row stuffy from a night of tears, realization dawned. Her whole, elaborate plan for love came about because she’d followed her passion. So how could she fault Ben for following his?

  Being mature about his decision to leave didn’t mitigate the pain, but it did allow her to face herself in the mirror this morning. That is, until she glimpsed the black circles and swollen redness caused from a night of wallowing. She’d flinched away from the sight faster than a vampire near holy water. Ivy checked her watch. Right on the cusp of four o’clock. Shut down the computer, picked up her purse, and threw open the door to her office.

  “Time to celebrate,” she yelled down the hall. That should get everyone’s attention.