Planning for Love (10 page)

Milo rushed to pour her a cup, and handed it to her while ushering her to the wing chair. He whisked back a minute later with a tray of cream and sugar in delicate china, patterned with trailing violets.

“My name is Milo. The moment you need a refill, you let me know.” He finished off with a wink. Milo loved to flirt. Man or woman, young or old made no difference to him.

“Dripping it directly into my veins might not even get me through the day, but I appreciate your kindness. Especially since I barged in without an appointment. Checked my email in the cab on the way here, and found a mea culpa from my secretary about forgetting to set a time up with you. Not at all the way I prefer to do business. I’m Ruth Moder, by the way.” She took a long sip of coffee, closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

Ivy pushed the muffin basket closer to Ruth while she did a quick round of introductions. “Your day sounds challenging, to say the least. I hope we can help ease your stress a little. It’s our job to remove the worries and endless lists. All that’s left is for you to enjoy being engaged.”

“Ha! This is my typical Wednesday. Mondays are ten times worse. Does it sound like I have time to fawn over a man long enough to get a ring on my finger?”

Ivy bit back a grin. The woman squeezed wedding planning into a four-airport day, and it wasn’t even her wedding? Talk about dedication. Ruth didn’t look quite old enough to be mapping out the big day for a daughter. Maybe a sister? Or just here to order some of Daphne’s fabulous arrangements for a corporate event?

“Honestly, I’m amazed you have time to blink. So how can we assist you? Are you here on behalf of a friend?”

“I’m here for you, Miss Rhodes. I’d like to offer you a job.”

Random. Weird. Plus, Ivy already had the best job in the world. “Thank you, but I’m going to stop you before you go any further. I’m not interested in changing jobs.”

“We don’t want you to.” Ruth set down her cup and leaned forward, elbows propped on knees. “You remember filming an episode of
Wild Wedding Smackdown
three weeks ago?”

“Yes,” Ivy said cautiously. A flurry of other words threatened to tumble out. Things like she’d never forget the twenty-four hours surrounding that wedding. That she thought about it every day. Well, every other day she worried about what sort of an impact the show would have on their business. Had she come off as competent and approachable? A good commercial for Aisle Bound? Thanks to ruthless self control, she only allowed memories of Ben to drift into her consciousness at night. Every night, when darkness filled her bedroom and nothing could distract her from the constant replay of their brief time together. A bad habit she’d give anything to break.

“The episode was fantastic,” Ruth said. “We all loved you at the network.”

Milo started a round of applause, and the others joined in. “Proud of you, boss.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Ivy said. “Aside from the excitement before the ceremony, everything ran according to plan.” Yes,
aside
from rolling around naked with the videographer after the wedding ended. Because really, no matter how ruthlessly a wedding coordinator organized the day’s itinerary, it never included three orgasms before dawn. Ivy pinched her subconscious for drifting back Ben-ward. Bad enough to do it in the privacy of her own bedroom. Far, far worse to think lusty thoughts in front of her coworkers about a man who’d called her a naïve, unrealistic idiot. A man who didn’t know the first thing about love. A man she was glad to wash her hands of—and if repeated like a mantra, she might actually start to believe.

“Hands down, you’re the best wedding planner we’ve ever seen in action. Which is why RealTV wants to feature you on a brand new series we’re rolling out.
Planning for Love
. It’ll follow wedding planners for two months, really capture what they do, how they interact with brides, what really goes on behind the scenes at a wedding. But,” Ruth hastened to add, “without any of the negativity or backstabbing
WWS
is known for. We want this to be a feel-good show. The goal is to make every woman who watches it want to rush out and get married.”

“Somebody better warn all the single men,” quipped Daphne.

Milo snorted back a giggle. Julianna stabbed him with an evil glare that backed him away from the table to start a fresh pot of coffee. Ivy watched as her friends stilled and turned, one by one, to catch her response. The weight of their expectation and interest circled above her head, like the layer of humidity that blanketed the city on hot summer days. If only she could hit a pause button to get two spare minutes to focus. Since rewriting the laws of physics didn’t seem likely, she went with the first thing that came to mind.

“No. I’m flattered, but my answer is no.”

Ruth squinted. Drained her cup, and waved a finger at Milo to indicate a refill. “Don’t you want to be on television? Be famous?”

Interesting question. Ivy didn’t think Ruth would let her leave it at a simple “no” this time. “I want to be successful. Notoriety could as easily work
against
as
for
our business. If anything goes wrong at a wedding, it’s my job to fix it so the bride isn’t worried, and hopefully she never even finds out that Great Uncle Peter ripped the seam of his pants, or that her cousin’s child stuck her entire face in the back of the wedding cake. Your cameras would capture all of it—the good and the bad. You’d take away the bubble of peace my clients pay us to ensure.”

“Pay.” Ruth smacked the heel of her palm against her forehead. “Of course. My mistake entirely. I didn’t mention the terms. Unlike
WWS
, our contract would be with you, not the bride and groom.” She leaned forward and grabbed Ivy’s portfolio and her pen. After scribbling on the top page, she handed it back. “We’re willing to pay you the amount you see
per wedding
. Over the eight weeks we’ll shadow you, that comes to about twenty events? We’ll need at least that for a season.”

“More, in the summer,” murmured Daphne.

“We could start right away. This weekend, in fact. We’ve got a crew on standby.”

Although she wanted to resist, Ivy’s eyes succumbed to the magnetic pull of the scrawled number. Twelve thousand dollars. Enough to rent the Shedd Aquarium twice. Or enough for a six-piece band and a really spectacular cake. A Vera Wang couture wedding dress. She ripped the paper off the pad and handed it to Daphne. Whose eyebrows promptly shot straight up to her hairline.

Daphne grabbed Ivy’s hand and yanked her off the sofa. “Excuse us, won’t you? We need to have a quick pow wow. Won’t be a moment. Have another muffin.” Daphne practically frog marched Ivy all the way to the storeroom at the back of the office. Once the door was firmly shut she leaned back, palms flat against the wood. “Wow.”

Ivy nodded. “I know. The nerve, right? To barge in here, no appointment, and try to sweet talk me into making a fool of myself on national television. Again!”

“Okay, a very different wow. Want to explain why my perennially perky partner only sees this glass as half empty, while I see it as filled to the brim with vintage champagne?”

Um, experience? She’d watched a slew of the wedding shows, and the planner ended up looking like a harpy. Bossy, overbearing and selfish. Ivy had to believe the editing process created the monsters. There couldn’t be that many horrible planners out there. What if they cut and pasted everything she said until Aisle Bound looked just as unprofessional?

“It could backfire. One thing goes wrong, the press makes a field day of it, and our reputation is shot. Or what if we don’t get our clients to sign off on it? What if they don’t want to be reality stars?”

Daphne inhaled deeply, held it for a beat before exhaling. “You’re scared. I get that. But remember, she pointed out this isn’t supposed to be a drama-centric disaster. Sounds like this show will be all hearts and flowers and happy endings. And you said having the cameras around for Tracy and Seth’s wedding ended up being much easier than you expected. Most of the time you hardly noticed they were there.”

Ivy straightened the row of identical back-up ring pillows. Lined up the stack of emergency tissue packs on the shelf below. Squared the corners of three boxes of bandages. Tidying with her hands helped her tidy her thoughts. Plus, it gave her an excuse not to face Daphne. To avoid the logical, clear gaze of her best friend that all too often saw right through Ivy to things she wanted to keep under lock and key. Who could absolutely not learn the reason Ivy had been so scattered of late all stemmed from the aftermath of her last stint in front of the camera. Over margaritas that Sunday night with her best friend, she’d dismissed the incident as no more than a sexually satisfying mistake. Back when she assumed if she didn’t talk about Ben, she wouldn’t think about him. Endlessly.

“Of course I’m scared, Daph. Even if filming goes well, we don’t need national exposure. We’re not going to franchise Aisle Bound like a hot dog stand.”

“True. But we
do
need money fast. Lots of money. I did the math, being far better at it than you. If you don’t negotiate and simply accept their offer as is—even though I’m sure you could negotiate a sweeter deal—you stand to make $240,000. In two months.” Daphne poked her head over Ivy’s shoulder to whisper in her ear. “I wonder what you could buy with that much money. Seems to me it would be enough to put a down payment on a space, stock some shelves, decorate, and voila—you’ve got yourself your dream store.”

Turning around, Ivy saw the gentle humor in Daphne’s eyes. “I didn’t think of that angle.” Probably because she’d been too busy thinking about Ben and his stupidly sexy lips. Damn it, no more. No more thinking about him or dreaming about him. Daphne had a point. It would take an enormous amount of work, during their busiest time of year, but this influx of cash could make A Fine Romance a reality in a matter of months. Two months of being constantly followed by cameras was a small price to pay.

Daphne snapped her fingers in front of Ivy’s nose. “Your eyes just glazed over. You’re decorating and stocking inventory already, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. But only if you’re on board, too. With that kind of money we could make an offer on this building, own instead of rent. Shore up what we have before launching a new venture. Are you sure you’re willing to take the leap with me?”

“I’ve got faith in you. It turned out pretty great last time. Why break a winning streak? And if it goes badly, you’ll feel so guilty I’m sure you’ll pretty much do my laundry and cook me dinner for the rest of my life.” Daphne toyed with the loose end of a bandage, then looked up with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Maybe we should write that into the contract, just to be on the safe side.”

“Gee, that much faith and five dollars still wouldn’t be enough to buy me a latte.” But Ivy enveloped Daphne in a tight hug. She knew the money didn’t matter; deep down Daphne’s willingness to expand their partnership had everything to do with friendship and their love for each other. And with love in the mix, what could possibly go wrong?

The storeroom door flew open. “My only daughter’s going to be on television and didn’t bother to tell me?” Samantha Rhodes stood backlit for a moment, no doubt pausing for effect. Her mother never did or said anything without a well thought out reason behind it. Thanks to a career as a marriage counselor, Mom knew the value of measuring each word and gesture. This time Ivy figured it to be a way to force her audience to fully appreciate the pink peau de soie stilettos, a single shade darker than her St. Johns suit. Another beat, and Samantha burst in, glomming onto their hug. Her signature heart-shaped ruby brooch bit into Ivy’s shoulder. At least it provided distraction from the rose-scented perfume quickly rising to toxic levels in the closetlike space.

Ivy stifled a cough. “Mom, this isn’t a great time. Plus, you’re about two hours early for our lunch date.”

“My eleven o’clock patients canceled. Declared themselves cured and called me from the airport. They’re on their way to Bermuda for a second honeymoon. Sometimes I amaze even myself with my prowess. So, I decided lunch wouldn’t be enough to make up for you skipping Mother’s Day this weekend. You owe me the whole morning.”

Here we go. The guilt bombs she’d been dropping ever since Ivy broke the news Aisle Bound had an event on one of her mother’s favorite holidays. “You know we have a wedding. Booked over a year ago. It’s not as if I’m choosing to run off to Vegas to avoid spending Mother’s Day with you.”

“Darling, I support your career. Truly, I do. But couldn’t you make an exception this one day? Put family first?” To really drive the wheedling tone home like an ice pick to the heart, Samantha tucked Ivy’s bob behind one ear and pinched her cheek. Astounding what a drop-dead imitation of a Jewish grandmother she could do, despite being raised the daughter of a Lutheran minister.

“I’d love to. But you ask me that on every birthday, anniversary and pseudo holiday. Last month you wanted me to skip a wedding to go with you to your hairdresser’s daughter’s sweet sixteen. And I’ve never even met the girl.” Although she adored her mother, being the sole recipient of all her parental attention could be tiring. The curse of being an only child. Smothering versus mothering.

“Exactly why you should’ve come with me. You should meet Brittney. She’s delightful. She taught me how to tweet. I adore the rigid simplicity of fitting an entire thought into one hundred and forty characters. Like a modern day haiku.”

“Mrs. Rhodes, we’ve got strawberry muffins from Lyons Bakery. Probably still warm and definitely delicious. Why don’t you have Milo set you up with a plate? Ivy and I will be right behind you.” Daphne hustled her out and shut the door behind her. “Your mother is a little nutty. Especially for a shrink. Does she really think you’ll cancel your entire morning to hang out with her?”

“Yes.” Ivy sifted through her schedule in her head, trying to create a gap large enough to satisfy her mother. “But it’s impossible. This week is already jam packed. Distraction is our only hope. Have you finished sketching the centerpieces for their anniversary party?”