A Fine Romance (16 page)

“Cement.” Mira spat the word out like it was week-old sushi.

“That’s it?”

“Not
just
cement. Edgewater Aggregate is one of the world’s leading suppliers of cement, concrete, asphalt, gravel, sand and crushed stone.” She ticked each of the items off on her long, slender fingers.

Sam still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Not that he had any idea what he’d expected her to say. “You make millions of dollars selling cement?”

“More like billions. We’re a leader in the industry, both manufacturing and distribution. We have locations in more than sixty countries. Is that enough for you? I’d really like to stop quoting the company brochure. If you’re interested, I can send you to our website.”

“No thanks. Wow. That could easily be one of the top ten most boring companies on the planet. No wonder you don’t want to work there.” He tried to choke back a laugh. It didn’t work. It turned into a full-fledged belly laugh that wouldn’t stop. Mira giggled. He leaned into her for support, one hand holding his stomach as she dissolved into more giggles. They sat like that, wrapped around each other until their laughter fizzled out.

“Do you forgive me?”

“For putting me through the ringer? Yeah. You had good reason not to dump on me.” Sam straightened up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he didn’t press her one last time. “Tell me—is there any chance your parents will show up on your doorstep with a husband candidate?”

“The honest truth is that I don’t know. I haven’t laid eyes on them in three years, and we don’t talk on a regular basis. They’ve sort of written me off as a disappointment, and repeat failure. So I can’t promise you anything where they’re concerned.” She shifted onto his lap, legs dangling off to one side. “I can promise you that I currently have no marital intentions. I do, however, have some lecherous intentions toward you.” She walked her fingers down the path of his shirt studs, then traced back and forth along the line of his cummerbund.

Sam liked where her mind and her fingers were headed. “I
am
friends with the manager.”

“Oh, so you’re a well-connected big shot after all?”

“Very. He could hook us up with a room.” He wrapped himself around her to growl in her ear. “God knows I don’t want to wait to drive back to my apartment. The moment this premiere is over, we’re hitting the elevator.”

“Mira?” Ben’s shout rose over the music and laughter. “Mira, where are you?”

They both popped to their feet, and hustled toward Ben, hands linked. Ivy sat next to him where they’d left her, listing to one side. “What’s wrong?” asked Mira.

Ben’s usually carefree smile was upside down in a worried grimace. “That coffee was a good idea in theory. In reality, it doesn’t go well with Love martinis. Ivy’s found the ultimate way to get out of watching herself on television. I’m pretty sure she’s about to hurl.”

“So you called us over to watch?” Ivy looked like she was channeling a chameleon, turning about eight shades of green.

“Ivy won’t let me help her. Says she doesn’t want all the mystery between us to disappear before the wedding. Daphne’s over in a corner flirting with some guy. I don’t want to cock block her. Besides, Ivy asked for Mira.”

“We’ve done this before. In grad school we had a quarters tournament every semester. Each floor worked their way through elimination rounds. Ivy hung in there one year all the way to the finals. The drink that took her down was about a pitcher of screwdrivers. I took care of her, and she returned the favor the next semester when I didn’t survive a round of tequila bombs.”

“Walk us down memory lane some other time. Look at her. She’s going to lose it any second.” Ben pressed a key card into her hand. “Gib set aside a room for her on the eighth floor. Will you help her up there, and stay with her?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t let her sleep on the bathroom floor. Give her water, and aspirin, and remember to put a trash can by the bed—”

“Ben, quit hovering. I’ll take care of your girl.” Mira helped Ivy to her feet and shot Sam a look full of regret. “Well, on the bright side, I will get to see the inside of one of these rooms tonight.”

Sam crossed his arms and huffed out a breath. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t trade places with you for anything.”

Chapter Eleven

“Good morning.” Daphne waved through the open half of
the connecting door from the bakery. Her motion wafted in some of the
mouthwatering aromas Mira had been trying to ignore for the past two hours.
Lyons Bakery tempted her constantly. Despite keeping both halves shut—at least
whenever Helen wasn’t around—the scents often crept in under the door. She’d
been able to hold firm against indulging until Sam finally hand-fed her a piña
colada cheesecake bar. The creamy swirl of pineapple and coconut transported her
in one bite to a Caribbean beach.

Last week, Ben made her try a bite of his current favorite
bourbon pecan pie. Apparently he changed favorites as often as Lyons changed
their monthly specials board. She’d plowed through the entire slice. Mira had to
admit it. Lyons was not one of those run-of-the-mill bakeries, churning out dry
cookies and sheet cakes. Sam and his mom were artists. The smells from that
bakery utterly destroyed her willpower. Mira planned to have gardenia-scented
candles burning once the store opened. In order to strengthen her resolve
against tasting the entire bakery on a daily basis, she should probably start
burning them immediately.

“Hi, roomie.” Mira leaned her broom against the wall. Daphne
wore a lavender Aisle Bound apron over her jeans and long-sleeved tee, which
meant she’d been deep in flower prep. “What brings you to our little corner of
the Windy City?”

“Don’t call it that. You sound like a tourist.” Daphne lifted a
white paper bag. “Two fritters to tide me over til lunch, and an éclair for a
midafternoon boost. Today’s going to be a nightmare. Delivery at dawn, stripped
roses for two hours, then finished banging out these super-bright
fuchsia-and-orange quinceañera centerpieces.” She slipped through the doorway
and gave Mira a quick hug. “They’re so bright only the fifteen-year-olds at the
party will be able to look directly at them. Funky and fun, if I do say so
myself. Still have to do three cake toppers, process another delivery in a
couple of hours, and do twelve bridesmaid bouquets.”

“Twelve?” Add that to twelve groomsmen, both sets of parents,
bride, groom, flower girl and ring bearer... Mira shook her head. “So, a bridal
party of more than thirty people?”

Daphne perched on a stool at the gleaming granite counter.
“Crazy, huh?”

“If I got married tomorrow, I’d barely be able to scrape
together thirty people total to invite.” She hadn’t stayed in one place long
enough since grad school to cultivate any lasting relationships. Had lost touch
with most of her school friends. In fact, the group of amazing people here she’d
gained access to through Ivy were already closer to her than just about anyone
else.

It took less than a week of running with Gib and Ben every
other day before they started treating her like a favorite sister. And Daphne
cracked her up on a regular basis. The woman dealt with delicate, exquisite
flowers, but had a down-to-earth, raunchy streak. Plus, she always kept their
freezer well-stocked with ice cream and shared Mira’s idiotic obsession with
reality dating shows. Mira ran her hands across the cool counter that signified
Helen’s domain. She’d wanted a cook. In Helen, she’d gotten an amazing chef, a
sounding board and a surrogate mother. For a woman with the lowest bank balance
of her life, Mira felt richer than ever before.

“I can’t explain it. Big family, sorority sisters, who knows?
Well, Ivy knows, because she knows all. They’re contributing to a pretty sweet
profit margin for us this month, so I don’t question.” Daphne opened the bag and
dug into one of the fritters with a satisfied moan. It made Mira bitterly regret
the sensible container of plain yogurt she’d scarfed down four hours ago.
“Today’s a marathon, not a sprint. I’m trying to pace myself. This is my half
hour to take a breather and talk about anything besides flowers.”

Sounded good. The utter quiet of working alone was getting on
her nerves. Mira welcomed the company. Otherwise she’d have to start talking to
herself. Then Sam might hear her, decide she was halfway to crazy and wash his
hands of her. A quick break was a better plan. “What do you want to talk
about?”

Daphne licked her fingers, scowling. “I’d like to not be
talking at all. I’d like this half hour to consist of hot, sweaty, mindless
sex.”

“You and me both,” Mira muttered. Ivy’s inability to hold her
liquor—well, to be fair, enough liquor for three people—kept Mira by her side in
one of the Cavendish’s romantic rooms the night of the party. Not a lot of
romance to be had holding back the hair of her best friend, though.

For the last two days, Sam had kept busy shuttling his mom to
every bingo game in the city. Mira didn’t begrudge the poor, widowed woman a
hobby. But why wasn’t Sam going as stark, raving mad with desire as she was? Why
hadn’t he found a way to ditch his mom for just one night? Heck, at this point,
she’d take quick, predawn nooky. Sam and his magical fingers and talented tongue
had set all sorts of needs and lust in motion. And Mira was strung as tightly as
piano wire, waiting for him to finish what he’d started.

“I’m in an epic dry spell. It’s like all the eligible men in
Chicago hooked up this summer and were tagged out of the dating pool. The
situation is so bad, I’m actually contemplating online dating.” Daphne
shuddered. Then propped her elbows on the counter and leaned forward with a
gleam in her eyes. “But you shouldn’t be equally hamstrung. Is the lickably
luscious Mr. Lyons not seeing to your needs?”

“You two are pretty close friends. Doesn’t that make discussing
his sex life off limits—like a brother would be?”

“Nope. Makes it all the more interesting when two of my
favorite people are involved.”

Mira almost welled up. Instead, she blinked back the damp
tickle at the corner of her eyes. God, did the Chicago River pump out extra
estrogen into the air? She’d been an emotional basket case since moving here. Or
was it just that she wasn’t keeping herself closed off for the first time in
years? It’d be nice to pick up a mental allergy pill against it—something to
pull her tear ducts out of overdrive. “I’m one of your favorite people?”

“Of course.” Daphne reached out and gave a gentle tug to Mira’s
ponytail. “It doesn’t matter how long you know someone—it’s how you connect.
We’ve cobbled together a little clan here, and you fit in as though you’d known
us all for years. You’ve got sass and spunk, you’re just as driven and Type A as
me and Ivy, and you don’t hog the remote. Easily puts you at favorite friend
status.”

Mira gave an answering tug to Daphne’s long, blond ponytail.
“Right back at you.”

“Don’t think you’re ducking the subject, though. If you want to
keep your BFF status, you’ve got to dish. Have you and Sam really not gotten
horizontal yet?”

She sat down with a sigh. “If I tell you, do you promise not to
hassle him?”

A big eye roll made Daphne’s feelings clear. “So that’s a no,
then?”

“I think it would’ve happened the night of the party—”

“Except you played nursemaid to Ivy, instead.” Daphne finished
her fritter and dusted off her hands of the excess sugar. “But that was a couple
of days ago. Why aren’t you two burning up the sheets?”

That’s exactly what Mira wanted to know. From her point of
view, they’d resolved the spat at the party. He hadn’t been shy about showing
his desire. Why hadn’t he banged down her door the very next night and, well,
banged her? “Sam’s been busy with his mother.”

“Honey, he’s
always
busy with his
mother. Sam’s the ultimate Too-Mr.-Nice-Guy. You’re going to have to jump
him.”

No way. Not in a million years. Not if they were the last two
people on the planet, and the future of the human race depended on them. To
Mira, the chance, no matter how minuscule, of rejection had always ruled out
making the first move. “Not really my style,” she said, trying to play it
cool.

Daphne shrugged. “Then you’d better tell me what toppings you
want on the pizza tonight, because I predict many more nights of hanging out on
the couch with me.”

“Not exactly the worst fate in the world,” Mira teased.
“Besides, I’ve been working so hard that a relaxing night sounds blissful.”

“Uh-huh. Blissful, maybe, but not orgasmic.”

“Well, no.”

“Your exhaustion will soon be a thing of the past. Besides the
sugar fix and the mental health break, that’s why I’m here.” Daphne glanced at
her watch, then pushed Mira off the stool with a gentle nudge. “I came for the
show.”

“What show?”

“Thanks to Ivy’s over-the-top insistence on punctuality, I’d
say you’re going to find out in one minute or less. Go pretend you’re working,
’cause the boss is on her way.”

Mira didn’t worry about Ivy discovering her on a break. Not
when she’d managed to pull the store together from nothing. Now it sparkled like
a romantic version of Ali Baba’s treasure cave, full of pretty temptations. She
had no doubt they’d be ready for the soft opening to begin on Monday. But to
pacify Daphne, she retrieved the broom and headed to the front of the store.

“You want to tell my why I’m pulling the Cinderella routine on
a floor that’s already spotless?”

The wind chimes tied to the knob tinkled as Ivy burst through
the front door. Dressed to impress clients in a burnt-orange sweater dress and
boots that made Mira drool with envy. Ivy’s look also made her self-conscious
yet again of her yoga pants and faded pullover. She could hardly wait for the
insurance check to cover all the clothes she’d lost in the hurricane. Between
not having renter’s insurance but the government insisting companies paid out to
all renters, as well as federal funds being slowly diverted to everyone who’d
suffered, the process was full of red tape and glitches. As soon as it came in,
she’d have Ivy show her all the best places to shop. Even though she’d planned
to just spend the day cleaning, Mira hated feeling like a slob.

Right behind Ivy trailed a very attractive man. He skated the
thin line between almost pretty and classically handsome. A super-tight black
tee bulged across muscles so defined Mira knew they reflected a dedicated gym
rat. Gelled blond hair lay in a careful sweep, curling up like a crashing wave
at the side. Aquiline nose, melted chocolate eyes and lashes so long Mira
suspected mascara added up to a face that could sell anything from cologne to
condoms to a luxury cruise. He did not, however, look like he belonged with her
best friend. Mira’s radar went on high alert. She slapped on a full-blown
anyone-could-be-a-client smile and aimed it at the suspiciously hot guy.

“Ivy, I’m surprised to see you. It’s the middle of the morning.
Shouldn’t you be calming nervous brides and refereeing overzealous mothers?”

“Yes. I have four more consults today, plus three site
walk-throughs. So you should be able to tell how very important this visit is.”
Ivy winked. Well, squinted with one eye. Then dissolved into giggles. “Sorry.
I’m trying to perfect a wink to surprise Ben. He does it to me all the time.
Harder than it looks, though.”

“Well, a bus ticket to New York and twenty years of practice
can get you to Carnegie Hall.” She propped the broom against the counter.

“Funny. You’ll regret that remark when I tell you that I
brought you a present.”

“Ooh, is it the tiara you promised me?”

“Nope. I’m dangling that shiny carrot for opening day,
remember? But speaking of your grand opening, this present will help get you
there.” Ivy pushed forward the silent man. “Mira Parrish, meet Hays Dellimore.
Your new store assistant.”

“It is my genuine pleasure to meet you, Mira.” Hays bent over
her hand in a shallow bow. When he rose, he trailed the pad of his thumb down
the length of her hand before releasing it. The touch straddled the fence
between flirtation and appreciation. It took practice to be able to pull off a
move so subtle. Impressive.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Daphne appeared at her side, hand outstretched and flirt switch
turned to on. “Daphne Lovell. So glad you’re joining the team as an accessory. I
mean, an associate.”

“Ivy? May I have a word?” Mira jerked her head to indicate the
back of the store. “We’ll be right back, Hays. Daph, would you keep him
company?”

“It’s why I’m here,” she said, throwing her shoulders back and
tossing her long, blond ponytail.

Ivy’s heels beat a staccato rhythm against the hardwood floor.
“What’s going on?”

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” Mira stopped in
the hallway outside the bathroom. He shouldn’t be able to overhear their
conversation, this far back. “I’ve been interviewing candidates for a few weeks
now. Have we been duplicating our efforts? You didn’t mention you planned to
search for my assistant.”

“I didn’t. Honestly. But you haven’t found anyone yet,
right?”

For a workforce supposedly in the grips of a recession, the
candidates had been few and far between. So far, none had displayed the
necessary mix of experience and personality. Frankly, nobody that she’d be
willing to share space with for eight hours a day. “No.”

“Hays practically dropped into my lap. You remember Milo, my
office manager? He’s friends with Hays, and heard the lingerie store he worked
at recently closed. Which is a shame, because I wanted to go crazy in there to
prep for my honeymoon. They carried a great line of lace tap pants and matching
camis.”

“Ivy, focus.”

“Sorry.” Ivy flashed a guilty grin, reminiscent of someone
caught licking the icing off a newly frosted cake. “I’m trying not to turn into
one of those brides whose entire life narrows down to her wedding. Hard,
though.”

“Daphne and I won’t let you turn into bridezilla. And I promise
to give your honeymoon underwear all the serious attention it deserves. But for
now, could we get back to my potential employee?”