“He didn’t seem to have a problem with it.” I confess, that sounded a bit juvenile, although it was true.
Glowering at me, her chin down, eyes up, Ivy said, “A man’s favorite hairstyle is the mess he made of it the night before.”
And with that, we were off to Marco, minus any balking on my part.
*****
After over two hours with Marco—the nicest, craziest hair stylist on the planet—I walked out with my hair cut to perfection, gorgeous honey highlights in my chestnut locks, and bangs seductively, yet elegantly swept to one side. Truthfully, I felt my confidence soaring.
Meeting Ivy by the limo, I held my hands up and did a little twirl in my new overall look: sleek hair; crisp, white shirt layered beneath an off-the-shoulder gray sweater; black pants, gray leather bag, and two-toned black and gray heels. “Well?”
Ivy grinned. “I’d do you.”
I dropped my arms and cocked my head to one side, ready to scoff, before I cracked a grin. “Aw, hell, I’ll take it.”
Ivy actually laughed. “My work here is almost done.”
“Almost? Define ‘almost.’”
“Food first, then I’ll be your human dictionary.”
“Oh Dear God, yes. Food, I beg you. And none of those tiny portion restaurants. I need hearty, here. We’re talking super size, and if that means fast food, I’m totally up for that.”
“We are not going to a fast food restaurant. They aren’t even restaurants! It’s dive and dash food, followed by gas and indigestion later on.”
“See, I really don’t find that to be an issue with fast food. I actually get more gas after eating the really expensive stuff. Have you ever tried a salad with flowers in place of lettuce? Yeah, my stomach was never the same.”
Ivy glared at me. A short drive later, the limo slowed, and Ivy pointed ahead of us. “We’re going right there—Tutoqua. Best Italian food in New York City.”
It was also the latest and greatest restaurant to hit the scene, meaning the odds of getting a table were slim to zero. “Ivy, I don’t think we can get a table. Even though I’d kill to eat here, we have no chance.”
Peering over her shoulder as the driver opened the door, she said, “Honestly, do you not know me? Follow.”
Trailing behind Ivy, we headed into Tutoqua, passed a line of people begging for a table, and approached the host.
Politely, yet coldly rejecting a couple inquiring about a wait time, the host caught a glimpse of Ivy and immediately motioned her beyond that invisible line separating the invited from the excluded. Kissing her on both cheeks, he said, “So good to see you again.”
“Good to see you, Antoine.”
“I have your table waiting.”
To my astonishment, Antoine led us to a private table, the kind usually reserved for celebrities.
“Do I want to ask?” I said, taking a seat.
“Probably,” Ivy replied coolly. “But you don’t want to know.”
Following a very quick scan of the menu, we ordered. Really, could one ever go wrong in an Italian restaurant producing heavenly smells like the ones driving my nose and, in turn, stomach insane? Soon, the food arrived, and it more than lived up to the intoxicating scents and rave reviews. While Ivy ate only partial portions of what was brought to her, I cleaned every plate of what I ordered: Caesar salad, lasagna, and some super fancy chocolate cake. I was full, bloated, and really wishing I had purchased these pants a size larger.
More remarkable than dinner, however, was our conversation. For a time, we didn’t talk about anything substantial and even shared a few laughs—well, I laughed; Ivy sported devilish grins.
By the time the check came, my stomach was so full that I worried about the welfare of these excruciatingly overpriced pants. “Ugh, I’m going to explode.”
Ivy, who opted out of dessert, said, “You better not bust out of those clothes we just bought. I hate to see fine clothing destroyed by expanding waistlines and bubbling asses. So very painful.”
“Aw, come on, that’s a little much, isn’t it?” I had the urge to unbutton my pants. Fear of Ivy’s reaction quickly quashed that urge. “Food is meant to be enjoyed, and I went a lot of years where food and I very rarely came face to face. So, forgive me if I indulge on occasion. Besides, with Blake kicking my butt sideways in training, I’ll have this meal burned off in no time.”
“You were deprived of food as a child?”
“Did I say that?”
“Didn’t have to,” said Ivy, placing her napkin on the table.
“Everyone has rough years.”
“Perhaps. But it’s harder when those years occur when one is a child, robbing you of the magic only youth can deliver.”
“Anyway…” Subject change needed. Now. “Blake wanted you to enlighten me on the dangers that can occur in the field.”
Sighing loudly, Ivy drummed her fingers on the table. “I know.”
“Do you not like talking about it?” I asked, concerned.
“Don’t really care one way or the other. I really loathe spending any amount of time recounting negative happenings. Despite my relatively cheerless persona, I do maintain a positive frame of mind.” She tilted her head toward the ceiling, pondering. “Or perhaps it’s not so much a ‘positive’ frame of mind as much as an infallible sense of self. Very little unnerves me. But Blake worries about you and for good reason—you’re more fragile than you think.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Ivy held up a hand. “You’re also stronger than Blake thinks.”
“That’s better.”
With a deep breath, she quickly, yet firmly said, “I’ve been physically assaulted in every possible way and even stalked, all in the name of what we do, yet I’ve never needed the hospital. I’m quite proud of that.”
“My God. Ivy.” I placed my hand atop hers.
She shrugged, unfazed, yet she never removed her hand from mine. “Those men ended up far worse off than me in the long run. Men are beasts, make no mistake. Some are simply beasts in bed, others…are living monsters. Oftentimes, it’s difficult to determine their brand of beastie. In fact, I’m currently trying to uncover and define one such man.”
“Who?”
“Little side project I’m working on. Gut instinct stuff.” She started fidgeting with her napkin.
“Blake doesn’t know, does he?”
“No, and let’s keep it that way. If Blake knew, he’d get the whole team involved and that is the last thing I want.”
“Why on earth would you be confiding in me?” I teased.
“Screwed up, isn’t it? Shockingly, I do have a valid reason. You’re the other woman in the group and…I saw you at the charity auction.”
“Wait. How?”
“Live streaming in the hub. Greg made certain you all would be unaware of the cameras. Point is, from what I saw, you’re good, you’re very good, and that was without training.”
“My training was life,” I said morosely. “Life decided to school me at an early age. Am I rough around the edges? Yes. Completely incompetent? No.”
Ivy smiled warmly. “There may come a time where I’ll need you to fill in for me…as the lure. Blake doesn’t want you to, of course. If left up to him, he probably wouldn’t have you out as a lure for years, if ever. But, this side deal I’m working on may call me away.”
“Blake would go ballistic.”
“I’ll deal with our boss. I’m telling you this because I need to know you’re going to be strong enough. I know you can be. I saw it. The look in your eye, how you handled yourself around those vapid people… It’s going to get worse, you know. During the auction, you were unknown. Soon, you’re going to be very well-known—you’ll have a name, an identity.”
“Is ‘Ivy’ your name or your identity?” I asked, curious.
Ivy grinned slyly. “‘Ivy’ fits me.”
“Got it.”
“As I was saying… Men may be the beasts, but women are the vultures waiting to pick the skin fro
m your bones. Blair and her crew will try to make your life a living hell. Survival in their world isn’t easy. Take the classic high school bully, add money, the feeling of invincibility, copious amounts of ego, and multiply it times several million—that’s what you will face. I can handle them in my sleep if need be, but you are so very young.”
“I know my age screams inexperience, and you wouldn’t be wrong. But trust me when I say that I’ve experienced much more than most of my fellow nearly twenty-five-year-olds.”
“I see it in your eyes—they’re old, sad, and weary. If I look too long, I may actually feel a twinge of pity—very uncommon for me—but then I would bet you aren’t one for pity.”
“Hate it. Don’t want it, not from anyone.”
Pulling back, Ivy pointed at my face, smiling. “That. That right there is the grit needed to be a lure.”
“Then you don’t have to worry. I have plenty more where that came from. Any last words of wisdom?”
“Learn to do it all in heels.”
“Is there any other way?” I quipped.
Standing up, perhaps a glimmer of pride within her eyes, Ivy said, “Well, I think we’re done here. Do you think you can walk your overly-stuffed gut out of here, or am I going to have to roll you out?”
“Hilarious,” I groaned.
“Yes, I thought so. To our next stop, then. Finish off the day.”
Once in the limo, I said, “Hell, I nearly forgot. You said we were ‘almost’ done. So help me, if you say I have more ‘trying on’ to do, I may lose it. Taking clothes on and off at a rather rapid pace, all while needing bigger sizes here and there, is probably the most physically and emotionally taxing experience a woman can endure.”
“Oh now, are you saying you didn’t have just a little fun being catered to?”
“Well…maybe a little.”
“I knew you had some spendthrift in you somewhere. All women do.”
“It is kind of nice having clothing options.”
“And plenty of them. Looks like you’ll need to put that oven to good use now.”
Laughing, I said, “Lord knows I won’t be cooking in it. So, where are we going?”
“Unfortunately, you do have more trying on to do because a girl can’t possibly attend galas without her neck, ears, wrists, and fingers adorned…in jewels.”
“We’re going to a jewelry store?” I said enthusiastically.
Ivy playfully scoffed. “Not a jewelry store, Maggie, the jewelry store—the land of blue boxes and white ribbons.”
I couldn’t help but allow the giddiness to wash over me. “I’m okay with this.”
“Figured you would be. Might’ve called the nuthouse if you had balked.”
Our limo pulled up to the stately door of one of the city’s greatest treasures. Ivy wasted no time hopping out of the limo, even instructing the driver to stay put.
Following her, I stared, open-mouthed, at the displays of jewels in the windows.
“Well, this is where I leave you,” said Ivy. “All of your purchases will be delivered to your apartment.”
“You’re not coming in?”
“No, dear heart. I have work to do.”
“What am I supposed to do in there? Gawk?”
Slipping back in the limo, Ivy purred, “Spend.”
“With what? I don’t have enough money.”
A sarcastic giggle escaped her. “Nighty-night.”
And she was gone.
“Well, that’s just really helpful,” I said to myself. “This should be interesting…or humiliating.”
I opened the door and found myself in a dream. Only the dream wasn’t the sparkling jewels or other pieces of superior craftsmanship surrounding me. No, the dream was a man, greeting me with a smile that made my soul stir like snow on a blustery day.
Blake, the collar of his crisp white shirt undone, gently placed his black blazer on one of the many glass counters. His eyes soaked in the ‘new’ me as I approached him.
“Mr. Traverz,” I greeted playfully.
“Well, well. And here I thought Ivy couldn’t possibly improve on something that was already extraordinary.”
Butterflies unleashed in my stomach. “I take it you approve.”
“Very much. You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” After just the right amount of pause time, I blurted, “Feel like I’m going to burst out of these pants, though.” Blake threw his head back, laughing. “That’s one of those things you’re never supposed to admit when you’re a woman, isn’t it?”
“Traditionally speaking, but I like that you do. It reminds me that you’re real and here with me.”
What an odd, somber statement. I wanted to delve into his words, have him expand upon them, but I simply did not know him well enough to expect those kinds of conversations, particularly when I insisted on withholding my past from him.
“So, I guess you’re going to bejewel me?” I asked, observing the half-dozen store attendants standing around, eager to please.
“That I am, Miss Harred,” he whispered. “Ready to try on some diamonds?”
“Why stop there? Let’s toss in some emeralds and sapphires and rubies, oh my.”
Grinning, Blake, without ever breaking eye contact with me, simply gave a summoning motion with two fingers and the store attendants scurried about, bringing forth a bevy of jewels in all types of colors, shapes, and settings—necklaces, bracelets, broaches, even tiaras. Not a single ring was brought forward, however. I suppose it was yet another example of men and their innate fear of rings.
“This is gonna be fun.”
Blake chuckled. “Ready?”
“Oh, I think so, yes.”
“Well then, come on, princess. Let’s load you up.”
“Forget loading me up. Load me down. Make me so heavy in jewels that I’d sink to the bottom of the Hudson.”
An hour of slipping jewelry on and off had completely changed my mind about this whole girly shopping thing. However, I could say with absolute certainty that trying on jewelry was far more fun than trying on clothes. We exited the store, flanked by security, to find Finn standing by Blake’s town car.
“Looks like you have a lot of new baggage,” said Finn as I climbed into the car.
“It’s the only good baggage I’ve ever had, I’ll tell ya that,” I said with a wink.
Once back at my little apartment, Blake insisted on carrying my baubles upstairs for me.
Unlocking the door to my apartment, I stopped cold in the doorway. My tiny living quarters had drowned under a sea of shopping bags. “Whoa. I didn’t think my apartment could get any smaller. Add one shopping day with Ivy and poof! It’s the incredible shrinking apartment.”
Blake placed my newly acquired jewelry upon a sliver of free space on the kitchen counter. “Did you have fun today?”
Turning to face him, I saw a longing hope in his eyes. “I-I think I did. Fun isn’t really something I’m used to. I’d forgotten what it felt like. But, I really think I did…have fun, that is.”
“I’m glad. That’s all I wanted for you.”
As touched as I was that he cared, an overwhelming sense of obligation swallowed my senses. “Blake, how on earth do I pay you back for all of this? I mean, I’ll probably croak before I can pay this tab off.”
“You work for me. Consider it part of your salary.”
“I must not be doing too shabby in the salary department, huh?”
“Not too shabby,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you for bringing me back here, but you really didn’t have to—I wouldn’t have minded going directly to the hub and squeezing in some research before training.”
“No training tonight.”
“Oh.” Something quite new wormed its way into my heart: disappointment. Even if it was only for one night, I would miss training. Or maybe I would miss training with Blake. “I suppose we could chalk up today as training. I mean, have you seen Ivy in action with limitless cash?”
/>
Laughing, he said, “I’m fairly certain she’s been waiting a while to have another female on the team just so she could do this.” He held his hands out, gesturing the many shopping bags.
“She walked out with a few for herself…from a consignment store.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “You got her into a consignment shop?”
Nodding, I said, “And she very nearly cleaned it out.”
“That is quite an accomplishment. You really are way ahead of where you should be, in all forms.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Indeed.” Scoping the room, he added, “Seems like you cleaned out a few stores yourself.”
“Actually, all credit goes to Ivy. I was more or less her mannequin.”
After a few moments, Blake said, “You know, I was surprised you tried on necklaces, since your neck is never without that silver snowflake.”
“And it never will be. I’ll happily wear the necklaces you got me tonight, but I fully intend on wearing this one too. It may not be stylish, and Ivy may have a complete conniption, but I don’t care. This necklace was the last thing my father gave me. In fact, he’s probably smiling from a cloud somewhere.”
“With your mom.”
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I said, “Hope so.”
Okay. Now we were stuck in that awkward silent moment. I dare say we both wanted the moment to linger, so our brains were searching for any topic, no matter how silly or meaningless, just to stretch time.
“I should get going,” he finally said.
“Of course, yeah,” I replied uncomfortably.
“Oh, and I, uh, have an invitation for you.” From his coat pocket, he withdrew an anchor-shaped card and handed it to me. “The reason we don’t have training is right there in that invitation.”
Ahoy, Ms. Canteberry!
Join The Huntslee Family on the Vires for their annual Champagne Sail party.
Location: Formindale Yacht Club, slot five
Time: Five o’clock, September 15th
Attire: Nautical.
“Yacht party,” I said.
Watercolor Hearts (Watercolor Love Book 1) Page 9
