by West, Harper
“Tyler, I know,” she says.
“Then what is it?” I ask. This time my voice is more certain and demanding. “Do you not trust us?” I swallow hard, hating that I’m about to ask the next part, but I have to. “Do you not love us anymore?”
I swear I see tears form in the corners of her eyes.
“Don’t ever say that again, Tyler,” she starts, “Don’t even think that. I love you. I love you and Logan so much. I never stopped loving you. In fact, I think I left you because I love you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You guys didn’t want to be parents. I thought you’d be happier not knowing about Oliver, but that meant breaking it off with you,” she says.
“We would’ve been there for you, Ivy,” I say, “You made the choice to run.”
“No, I made that choice, so you didn’t have to,” she says assertively, “And, even now, you two are all gung-ho and enthusiastic about making it work. But it’s not going to be all sunshine and roses. What happens when it gets rough, Tyler? You guys can’t just paint the problem baby blue and call it a day.”
She stands from the table, but I take her hand.
“Ivy, there’s no way to prove that we can handle forever except to agree to take it one day at a time forever,” I say.
Ivy opens her mouth to speak but closes it without saying anything. She takes her hand back from me and leaves. I listen as her high heels click-clack their way down the hall and towards the elevator.
Fuck this. I order one more scotch. A double. I’m in no hurry to get back upstairs.
Chapter 20
Logan
I shake my head, still in sort of shock. I can’t believe Tyler told Ivy about my therapy.
It’s not that therapy is something to be ashamed of. Quite the opposite. I think that an individual getting oneself help for a mental health issue is the ultimate example of self-reliance.
But I wanted to reveal this to Ivy on my own time. I wanted to let her know that I was serious about her request that I deal with my issues. The way that Tyler just dropped that bomb at the dinner table in a moment of frustration makes me want to throttle him.
I hate that all I want to do is throw myself on the bed and burrow under the comforter like a child, but I can’t help it. I refrain from doing it, though. Instead, I pour myself another drink from the minibar and sit in the armchair. I debate turning on the television for background noise but decide that this kind of brooding requires silence.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Go away, Tyler,” I say, not ready to deal with him yet.
“Not Tyler.” Ivy’s voice is a low whisper. I close my eyes, wanting her to say something else so that that warm, rich sound will wash over me again.
I answer the door for her. She’s taken her hair down and wiped off her makeup. She’s not wearing her heels anymore, but her dress is still on. It’s a little black thing. Sexy, but understated.
She’d looked truly beautiful tonight, but she looks even more gorgeous right now.
“Ivy, I don’t know what to say,” I tell her. My voice is hoarse.
“Then don’t say anything.”
She leans in and wraps her arms around me. She's much smaller than me, but she's warm, and her skin is soft. She smells like flowers and honey.
She feels like home.
I want to lean in and kiss her, but I know that’s not what tonight is about.
“Stay here with me,” I tell her, “Just to sleep. Please.”
She looks up at me.
“I need you,” I whisper. Maybe the therapy is really having an effect on me because I don’t feel as embarrassed letting myself be vulnerable with her right now. I never would have confessed weakness or need before.
She nods. “Let me change first, though.”
Of course, I was hoping to sleep skin to skin, but I haven’t earned that yet. Ivy heads to her room and returns wearing a large tee shirt and pajama shorts. I slip into flannel pants, but don’t bother with a shirt. I run hot when I sleep. Ivy knows that.
I hold the covers open for her and she climbs underneath. She's still icy though like she's reluctant to get to close or to touch me. I want to let her set the pace tonight even though I'm dying to reach across this enormous bed and pull her body against mine. I want to clutch her close to my chest and never let her go.
But I want her to want that too.
We lie side by side on our backs, and the fact that I’m in bed with Ivy is making my cock stir despite our emotional evening. I shift to my side, facing away from her to try and hide it.
Suddenly I feel something warm and soft press against my back. I feel an arm wrap around my waist. I feel a steady heartbeat. Ivy is cuddling me, and it feels so perfect, I might tear up.
I take her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles before letting it fall where it may.
“I love you, Ivy,” I tell her. It’s somehow easier to say it so freely when my back is to her. “I never stopped loving you. And I’m pretty sure I’ll never love anyone else ever again.”
“I know,” she says softly, “I love you too.”
There are about a million more things that I need to say to her, but I can't decide which one to say first, so I just keep quiet and close my eyes. Ivy's breath evens out, and I figure she's asleep. I'm almost there myself until a knock at the door rouses me.
“Ivy’s not in her room?” Tyler asks from behind the closed door, “Is she okay?”
I shush him, not wanting to wake her and pad to the door to let him in. “She’s asleep.”
“Here?”
I nod.
“Oh,” he says. “Good.” He looks around. “I’m glad she’s okay then.”
I know what Tyler wants. I know what he’s hinting at. He’s terrible at playing it cool.
“Come in,” I tell him.
A smile spreads across his face, and his eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. Tyler couldn’t play it cool or hide his emotions if his life depended on it, but I’m slowly realizing that that’s more of a strength than a weakness. Plus, he’ll always have me to protect him from anyone that might use it against him.
“We’re okay?” he asks, “I mean… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
I cut him off. “It’s okay.”
And I’m pretty sure I mean it. Right now, I just want my family all together again.
“Stay with us.” I keep my voice low.
“Thank you.”
Tyler climbs into bed on Ivy’s other side, facing her but not touching her. She stirs when the weight shifts and opens her eyes for a split second. She seems to mumble, “Night, Tyler,” before drifting off again.
I get back in bed on my side and wrap Ivy up in my arms like I’ve wanted to for so long. She nestles against me and, for a moment, all is right with the world.
Chapter 21
Ivy
It's the deepest sleep I've had since Oliver was born. Maybe even longer. Maybe since the day, I broke up with Logan and Tyler. I wake up surrounded, flanked on both sides by warm, hard bodies. I open my eyes to see Tyler's sleeping form and look down to see Logan's strong arms wrapped around me. I feel so safe and protected, but also like I can get up and take on anything that life will throw at me because I have the love and support of these two amazing men.
This is how I used to feel all the time.
And a little voice keeps reminding me that I could feel like this all the time again if I’d just give in and let them love me.
“Morning," a low, rumbly voice whispers to me. Tyler. His eyes creep open, and he smiles.
I hear Logan make a husky, throaty sound as he shifts behind me. “Why the hell did I spring for a fucking suite when we only use one bed?”
I can't help but giggle. I sigh out softly and lean against Logan. He's hard, and his length presses against the small of my back. He groans in my ear. God, that sound. It drives me crazy and makes me want to say right he
re in bed with the two of them all damn day, but I can't. I force myself out of Logan's embrace and climb over Tyler to get to the bathroom.
“I’m going to head down to the conference room early,” I call from behind the closed bathroom door.
After using Logan’s en-suite bathroom, I head into my own bedroom and change into the dress I’d packed for today. It is one of my favorites. Dark blue with cap sleeves and it fits me like a glove. I tie my hair into a low, prim knot and keep my makeup neutral.
There was a time when I thought that a woman’s workplace clothing had to be drab and shapeless so as not to draw attention to itself, but that opinion has changed. I still believe that showing too much skin or dressing in loungewear is inappropriate, but if people are put off by a little color or some personal flair, that's their problem.
I don't wait for the guys before heading downstairs. My speech isn't for another few hours, so I make small talk with some of the early risers and help myself to a much-needed cup of coffee and some of the complimentary pastries being served.
It not long before I see a familiar face. "Ivy Lawrence," she says sweetly, "How are you?" I'd recognize that blonde hair, saccharine smile, and petite figure anywhere. It's my former assistant, Amanda Jones. The one I trusted with my company.
The one who essentially burned Lawrence Vines into the ground.
I’d always figured I’d run into her again somewhere, but I never thought she’d approach me so willingly and confidently after her mistakes destroyed everything I’d worked for. But she looks at me like we’re old friends.
I thought, maybe even hoped, that she’d feel guilty about what happened. Okay, maybe it’s selfish of me to want her to feel bad about what happened.
“I’m doing well,” I answer, realizing I’ve been quiet for an oddly long time. “And yourself?”
“I’m doing great,” she says with a wide smile, “I’ve just accepted a position with the Luxor Company.”
I blink a few times. The Luxor Company is a major importing operation, and I’m quite surprised that anyone deemed Amanda qualified to work there. I know that the correct response is something like, ‘Congratulations,’ or ‘That’s amazing. Good for you. You totally deserve it.’
But what pops out of my mouth is, “How did you manage that?”
Amanda smiles again. But this time it feels more patronizing than warm and friendly.
“Well,” she starts, “I told them how I was basically running Lawrence Vines in your absence and how I tried to salvage a failing company after a poor decision was made.”
“A poor decision was made by you,” I point out.
“Water under the bridge, Ivy.”
I close my eyes and let out a deep breath, counting to ten and willing my rage to dissipate. There's nothing I can really do here. She's already got the job, and I'm not going to take it from her or rat her out to her bosses. Doing so would only make me seem jealous and petty.
And saying something catty to her face only makes me into the kind of woman I strive not to be.
“Well, congratulations," I say stoically. The goodwill behind the sentiment isn't there, but the words are coming out, so that will have to be enough. "That's amazing. Good for you. You totally deserve it."
“Thanks,” she says cheekily. “How’s the baby?”
“Fine,” I answer, not wanting to offer any more information.
“You know, they say that motherhood is the hardest job of all,” she starts, “Even harder than being a CEO.”
“Do they now?”
“Do you have a picture of your little one?” she asks.
Of course, I do. I have hundreds of pictures of Oliver on my phone, but I don’t feel like sharing them with Amanda, so I tell her, “Not on me, no.”
“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. “You must love him a lot. You know, to give up everything for him and all.”
I say nothing. Of course, I love my son. I don’t have to dignify her pontification with a response.
“Unless you resent him,” she speculates. I feel my blood start to boil. “I mean, you lost everything because of him.”
“I lost everything because of you,” I seethe. Fuck, that was the least professional thing I could have said, but I couldn’t help it.
“Ivy, you lost everything because you couldn't handle work and motherhood at the same time. And I get it. You were tired and stressed and hormonal. And you appointed an assistant with no experience to a top position and expected her to run the company."
“That assistant was you.”
“I know,” she says, “And I know that I made mistakes. But it was you who sanctioned them. I did my best. I can’t let myself feel guilty about that.”
She has a point. And it’s a good point, but it still fills me with anger and resentment.
“I have to go, Amanda,” I tell her abruptly. I have to get out of here before I say something that I might regret. Or before I give her the opportunity to say something that pushes me over the edge.
She nods like she understands. “Have to go pump or something?”
I can’t tell if she’s being obnoxious or just ignorant. “Or something,” I answer before leaving quickly.
As I make my way out of the room, I nearly knock over Logan and Tyler, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere. They’re both in suits, Logan in black and Tyler in navy with pinstripes and they look good enough to eat. But I can’t stand back and appreciate them right now. I have to get out of here.
“I can’t do this,” I tell them, “I can’t get up on that stage and give that speech.”
“What happened?” Tyler asks, concerned.
I fight the urge to throw myself into his arms and let him comfort me. On top of letting Amanda's success and the remainder of my failed enterprise get the best of me, I wasn't going to act like a weakling and beg a big, strong man to protect me.
“I just have to get out of here,” I say, “Logan, you can give the speech, right? I’ll just go upstairs and pack and…”
“Ivy, we need your help with something, actually,” Tyler says.
“What?”
“One of my mentees is having a bit of a crisis,” Logan answers.
“You’re really getting hands-on with this crop of mentees, aren’t you?” I say. I don’t miss that Tyler and Logan share a look.
“You could say she’s become a personal friend,” Tyler supplies.
“How personal?” I ask, feeling the fire in my veins again. Jealousy. Fuck, the last thing I need to be feeling right now on top of resentment, insecurity, and anger is jealousy.
“A botched attempt at a romantic encounter," Logan says, "But we couldn't seal the deal. Thankfully, we were able to move past the awkwardness, and she's one of the most promising members of her class."
My jealousy subsides. A little.
“She's on a video chat upstairs in the suite," Logan continues, "She and her business partner have had several big arguments, and while they've always been able to work things out, this last one was the last straw. Her partner is leaving to start a rival company.”
“Wow,” I say, “Poor girl.”
“Would you talk to her?” Tyler asks.
I sigh out. “I don’t know what good I’d be,” I say, “Doesn’t she want someone who’s actually successful?”
Logan crosses his arms over his chest. “Ivy, I don’t know what happened in there, but I know that you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is not the woman I know and love.”
Tyler nods, seconding that.
“Fine,” I say. I don’t have the energy to argue with them.
I follow them back upstairs where a laptop is set up on Logan’s desk. A woman is on the screen. I recognize her immediately.
“Ms. Ramirez,” I say, a little surprised.
“Ms. Lawrence,” she says, recognizing me right away too. “You can call me Daisy.”
I nod. “Okay, Daisy, tell me what’s going on.”
Daisy explains
that in addition to her partner not wanting to spend the extra money to ensure one hundred percent cruelty-free production, she also wanted to manufacture overseas.
“We can use American factories,” Daisy says, “We want to keep this as close to home as possible.”
“I understand that.”
“And now, she’s basically taking most of what we’ve done and starting her own company. She’s even taking the name. Except she’s calling it Pink Bubbles. Can you believe that?” Daisy sounds more sad than mad, which I get. Not only is her business being taken out from under her, but she’s losing a friend in the process.
I decide not to dwell in the personal issues.
“What you need is to stand out,” I tell her.
“Damn, I need to choose a new name, don’t I?” Daisy says, “Do you know how long it took us to come up with Blue Bubbles?”
“Actually, I think you need to keep the name,” I say, “It shows that you aren’t afraid of the competition and that you aren’t going anywhere. You need is something that will hook the buyer.”
“What would that be?”
I think about what’s trending right now, especially all of the ads that I see on social media. I subscribe to several beauty channels.
“Well, being able to customize a product for the individual consumer is a very popular idea right now," I say, "There are so many ads for skin care products and shampoos that involve taking a five-minute quiz and then getting something uniquely designed for you. I haven't seen it with bath items, but I feel like that's right in the wheelhouse."
Daisy’s eyes light up. “That’s brilliant. Take a quiz, tell us what your needs are, and we create something just for you.”
“And then add to it that your line is completely environmentally friendly, which is really a selling point to younger, more socially conscious buyers, and I think you’ve got yourself a real winner,” I tell her.
She looks so excited. “Oh, my goodness. Thank you so much, Ms. Lawrence.”
“Ivy.”
“Ivy,” she repeats, “But I have one more question.”
“Sure.”
