Friends to Lovers (16 page)

“God, stereotype much? Where do you get these ideas?”

“Seventies B movies that I watch with Gib.” Their favorite was
Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama.

Ivy huffed out a breath. “It figures. Since this is your first time, I made sure to put you with a woman. Beth’s wonderful. Magic fingers. We’ve already checked in.”

“They’re letting us use the couple’s massage room.” Mira winked. “I might have dropped the manager’s name to make it happen. Don’t tell Gib. It’ll be a tight squeeze for all three of us, but more fun that way.”

Daphne pulled off her mittens. Hopefully they were the cause of her sweaty palms. But with each sweep of the second hand, she got more and more nervous about the night ahead. The spa would have to pump Valium through the air vents to calm her down. “I’m still not hearing the painless part.”

“Bellinis, to take the edge off. Thought they’d appeal to you more than cucumber water. And then I’m going to tell you all about the woman I hired this week. She’s going to be the matchmaker at A Fine Romance.”

This was news. Daphne goggled at Ivy. “I thought you hated the idea of running a dating service out of the store.”

“I did. But Mira wore me down.”

Mira cleared her throat. Loudly.

Ivy caught the hint. “That is, Mira’s keen business acumen and well-thought-out proposal convinced me. The first few Match-n-Mingle events are already sold out. If this is how Chicago wants to find love, who am I to stand in the way?”

If this was their monthly partner’s meeting, Daphne would suck it up and pay attention. Would even happily debate the pros, cons and possible profit margin. But a recounting of the strengths and weaknesses of candidates today? After a week of long hours topped off by a very, very long wedding? It would only make her nod off. No matter how hard Beth-of-the-magic-fingers dug into her back muscles.

“Here’s a little tip. I don’t find blow-by-blows of job interviews entertaining. No matter how many Bellinis you pour down me.”

Undaunted, Mira just smiled. Like she knew a delicious secret. “That’s because you’ve never interviewed Tabitha Bell. Here’s a teaser—she claims she knows everything there is to know about men because she was raised in a brothel.”

Okay, that was a new angle. “So she’s a time traveler from Regency England?”

“Nope, this is real. Nevada still has legal brothels. Piqued your curiosity yet?”

“Obviously.” This story had scooted to the top of her need-to-know list. Right up there with wanting to see a picture of Prince Harry’s latest unclothed and unauthorized photo shoot. “Who wouldn’t want to hear the inside scoop on a brothel?”

“Anyone with a modicum of civility and couth.” Sheila Irwin glared down her surgically narrowed nose at them. She looked annoyingly perfect, from her highlighted hair to her vacationing-at-the-Cape preppy combo of turtleneck and sweater. Topped off with the cliché of a string of pearls. And, because she never did anything halfway, a matching pearl bracelet. No bags under her eyes. Even though Daphne knew Sheila probably did two events this weekend. No Sunday sweats that verged on jammies for her. The only jarring note to Sheila’s appearance was the attitude coating her from head to toe. Similar to the slime that grew in flower vases when the water didn’t get changed after four days.

“Or anyone with a stick up their ass.” Ivy delivered the inflammatory words with a smile as sweet as Sam’s famous marshmallow frosted s’mores cake. It warmed Daphne to the core that Ivy stuck up for her. She just hadn’t expected it to escalate to a mud-slinging battle in the hushed and sophisticated lobby of the Cavendish.

“It’s not surprising you have such a gutter mouth, considering the company you keep.” Sheila sniffed. “It is, however, amazing they let you on television.”

Ivy’s face held on to a pleasant mask with the determination of a local affiliate’s weather girl. “RealTV
courted
me. They kept throwing money at me, begging me to do their show until I finally agreed. Not like you, having to claw your way through round after round of competition.”

Wow. Ivy’s usual sweetness-and-light personality had morphed into a leather-studded warrior princess. She was in it to win it. Daphne couldn’t help but enjoy watching.

“Your attempt to gloss over the facts is the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.” Sheila stroked the pearls at her neck. “Everyone in the industry knows RealTV only chose you because you slept with that videographer.”

Ivy widened her stance. Jammed her fists onto her hips. “Take that back.”

“Certainly. I misspoke. It was because you fucked that videographer.”

A mother exiting the elevator gasped. She grabbed the hands of her two toddlers and hustled away with a ferocious frown. Round-eyed, Mira clutched Daphne’s hand. Daphne kind of wanted to dive behind the nearest chair. But she couldn’t let Ivy take any more of Sheila’s vitriol. The snarky catfight had just turned much too bloody. “Whoa. Sheila, you’re way out of line. And we both know your grudge isn’t with Ivy. If you have to let off some steam, aim it at me, where it belongs.”

“Gladly.”

Daphne held up her hand. Not done yet. They’d need to reach some sort of a peace—even if only temporary—before RealTV turned on their cameras. Both their businesses would suffer if this nasty sniping hit the air. But she’d have to finish her thought before Sheila said something else inflammatory that might derail her.

“Don’t forget that we’re going to share a very small television screen in two weeks. It’s no secret here in Chicago that we don’t like each other. But do we really need to broadcast our problems nationwide? Can’t we call a truce? Agree to act professional while we’re on
Flower Power?
”

Sheila resettled the strap of her Coach purse a little higher on her bony shoulder. “That’s really up to you. I am a consummate professional. The reputation of Lakeside Florist is unsurpassed.”

Okay. Agreeing wouldn’t kill her. Lakeside Florist did routinely handle some of the biggest and best events in the city. They did the symphony gala every year, and for the past fifteen years had sold more Valentine’s Day bouquets than any other vendor. All reasons why Daphne had interned there in the first place. “Sheila, you are absolutely right. Your shop is top notch.”

“You, on the other hand, work at an upstart patchwork of a business.”

Too bad Daphne’s blatant attempt at ass-kissing didn’t halt Sheila’s tirade at all. In fact, she’d raised her voice. Enough to make the concierge look over with a raised eyebrow. Daphne was a fixture at the hotel, so she gave a silent shrug of apology to Monique. But better to let Sheila get it all out of her system now than in front of an audience of hundreds.

“Flowers are obviously not the priority at Aisle Bound, and it shows in your work. Your slapdash designs will make a mockery of the final round of competition. On the bright side, you’ll be exposed as a laughingstock. As someone who chases trends,” she spit out the words as if they tasted fouler than burned coffee, “and doesn’t respect the art and classic beauty of flowers. Maybe this will be enough to erase you from the NACE vendor list once and for all. And then I won’t have to risk having my name sullied by anyone remembering you used to sweep the floors of my shop.”

“Get out.” Gib clipped the words, his cool ire made all the more effective by his British accent. Daphne had no idea how much he’d heard. Equal portions of relief and embarrassment flooded through her. She looked down at her raggedy clothing, remembered she wore no makeup and had just cinched her hair into a ponytail. To look like this, on the day of their first real date—
this
was what Gib wanted to buy dinner for? Nope, embarrassment won out by a mile.

“Gibson, this doesn’t concern you.” Sheila shooed him away with both hands and a tight-lipped smile. Or at least, she tried to. Gib didn’t budge.

“This is my hotel. Everything that happens here concerns me.”

Sheila blinked a few times, then folded her hands at her waist. “Yes, of course.”

“I’m concerned that my guests—” he lifted a hand to indicate the rest of the lobby, “—have been disrupted by your verbal accosting of Miss Lovell.”

Her simpering smile grew wider. Faker. Sheila leaned in to bestow a reassuring pat on Gib’s arm. “Whoever called you down here clearly overstated the incident. I never raised my voice. Didn’t cause a scene. Trust me, your guests are undisturbed.”

A single step away dislodged her hand. “I’m more concerned with the unprofessional, shrewish way you attacked Miss Lovell. I won’t stand for any of my friends or colleagues being treated with such disrespect. So you will leave. Immediately.”

Screw shining armor. Her knight wore a gray wool suit. With onyx-and-silver cuff links. Daphne tore her eyes away to check on Ivy and Mira. They, too, were riveted by Gib’s polite but irrefutable smackdown.

Sheila looked, one by one, at all four of them. Cranked out one more halfhearted smile. “Well, despite your questionable choice in friends, Lakeside Florist maintains very cordial relations with the Cavendish Grand. I’m sure you don’t mean to do anything rash. Nothing, for example, that would impact any brides we might have in common on the books.”

“I’m sure I was quite clear when I told you to leave.” He crooked a finger, summoning Anthony from across the room. Anthony, who used to work as a bouncer at a strip club before Gib hired him to provide extra protection for the Cavendish’s celebrity guests. Anthony, who weighed probably more than every employee of Aisle Bound put together. The well-cut suit Gib provided as a uniform couldn’t disguise his muscle-upon-muscle bulk. You expected the floor to shake as he approached. Daphne wanted to do a little dance of glee to see him towering—and glowering—over Sheila.

“There’s no point demanding the apology Miss Lovell deserves. We all know you wouldn’t mean it. So Agatha will call your office tomorrow to work out details with your assistant. None of our current brides will be inconvenienced. But you will
never
set foot on this property again. Should you do so, security will toss you immediately.” Gib crossed his arms. “If I recall, brides always book a reception site first. Deciding on the florist happens later. As of today, you’re scratched from our approved vendor list.”

A hiss of outrage escaped Sheila’s lips.

“I’ve no doubt it’ll cost you clients. Every time it does, remember why. Remember that you brought this on yourself.” He turned his back to her. Anthony took it as his cue to cup Sheila’s elbow and lead her across the lobby.

Daphne gave in to the urge to dance. Jumping from foot to foot and shaking her butt kept her from going with her first instinct: sticking her tongue down Gib’s throat in gratitude. Because that would look silly. “Oh. My. God. You were tremendous.”

Gib brushed at the coat sleeve where Sheila had touched him. “She had it coming.”

“You crushed her like a bug,” Ivy said approvingly.

Mira jabbed her finger repeatedly into Gib’s diamond-patterned black tie. “You honed that rapier-sharp British accent into a freaking verbal bayonet and impaled her.”

“She’s a snide little shit. Needed to be taken down a peg.”

No. No false modesty allowed. Daphne put her cheek on his lapel and hugged him tight. “You’re my hero.”

“Nonsense.”

But he hugged her back. Rested his cheek on the top of her head. And they took a moment. Until a horrible thought slithered into her brain. Daphne pulled away so she could gauge his reaction. Watch to be sure he told the truth, and didn’t sugarcoat.

“Will you get in trouble? Could you really lose business, just because you stuck up for me?”

“Not a dime.” Gib shot his cuffs and smiled. The familiar gesture reassured Daphne. When he did it with a smile, it meant he felt cocky. When he did it with no expression, that’s when she worried. “Ivy, you know what I said is true. All wedding planning trickles down from choosing the site. She can’t touch me, or the hotel.”

Ivy nodded her agreement. “Sheila’s got a few die-hard fans at NACE. People who kissed up to her back when she was president ten years ago. But a few whispered comments at the next meeting should be the sum of the fallout.”

“This was just a warm-up round.” Gib feinted a slow swing at Daphne’s jaw. “It’s up to you to knock her out in the competition.”

“She almost ruined me, you know. Almost ended my career before it barely began. Shattered my self-confidence.” Daphne grabbed Ivy’s hand. Squeezed it with two, happy pumps. “I clawed my way back up, thanks to Ivy. But until today, I never got retribution. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“We can discuss that when I pick you up. Better yet, we’ll discuss possible ideas over dinner. Work on implementing them...” Gib dropped a kiss on the inside of her wrist, letting the pilot light of his passion flare brightly behind his eyes, “...after.”

Daphne knew she looked like she’d rolled right out of bed. Mostly because that’s exactly what she’d done. Who dressed up to eat doughnuts with their dad? So she wasn’t too embarrassed to be in the Cavendish lobby as a total mess. Especially since she’d be bundled into a spa bathrobe in a matter of minutes. Mortification, however, heated her cheeks hotter than the lavalike cheese on a Pizzeria Uno’s deep dish. All because Gib Moore had made her panties damp with a single brush of his lips. And it felt like there was a big, cartoon thought bubble over her head, proclaiming it to the world.

Ivy cleared her throat. “If you’re done saving the day, Gib, we’re on our way to a day of pampering in your amazing spa.”

“Don’t let them go overboard,” he cautioned Mira with a stern glare. “I’m quite partial to Daphne as she is right now.” Gib tangled his fingers through her ponytail. Pulled her closer. Close enough the heat of his body radiated past his shirt, through her sweatshirt. At least, she imagined that it did. “Most of all, don’t let them cut a single strand off of this loveliness.”

Daphne never appreciated it when guys ordered for her at dinner. Or picked a movie without consultation. An overbearing, alpha male didn’t appeal to her. Until today. Until Gib’s voice darkened with need as he spoke of her hair. Even though on the surface it sounded like he’d issued an order, Daphne knew differently. Knew that she held all the power. But she couldn’t let him
know
that she knew. “Uh, I’m right here. Or have I turned invisible?”