Planning for Love (19 page)

“Prince Charming in the flesh?” Milo added.

Maybe. Hopefully. Ivy shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s no way I could know. But I need to find out, one way or the other. I refuse to walk away and spend my life wondering if I’d just taken the time, made the effort—if I would have found my one true love.”

The ever-rational Julianna added her two cents. “But Ivy, he doesn’t want to be
anyone’s
true love. We’ve all heard him say it, and you’ve told us the same thing. It’d be like trying to convince an atheist to become Pope.”

“Nope. I don’t believe it.” Everyone wants to love and be loved. The truth of that statement resonated in Ivy’s core. Even Ben. “That’s simply his current frame of mind. The more I thought about it, I realized he’s scared. Petrified. I’ll figure out the root of his phobia, open that dark closet of scary monsters to the light of day. No doubt he’s scared off more than his fair share of women with his anti-love bluster. They didn’t have the drive, the grit, the focus to break down those titanium walls he’s built around his heart. Well, I do.”

“No way.” Julianna slammed her empty cup onto the table. Ivy’s eyebrow twitched. Although close friends, Julianna rarely contradicted Ivy. Her silence, when differences occurred, spoke volumes. She must have strong reservations to be driven to speak up. “We can’t let you do this. You’re opening yourself up to so much potential pain.”

“Or the potential for a lifetime of happiness,” Ivy countered. Why couldn’t anyone else see the glass as half-full? They worked in a business full to the brim of happily-ever-afters. This level of cynicism could be expected from divorce lawyers or therapists, but not from people whose paychecks relied entirely on the endurance of love.

Their waitress slid four platters of lingonberry pancakes, heaped with whipped cream and swimming in syrup, onto the table. The discussion hit a momentary lull while everyone dug in. Ivy hoped the break would give everyone time to chew over her rationale. She needed them on her side. After all, what good was a support system if they didn’t support her?

Daphne put her elbow on the table and propped her chin on her fist. “This isn’t how dating works. Love at first sight is a myth.”

“You’re right. But I’m not claiming love at first sight. I’ve worked side by side with Ben for two weeks now—fourteen hours at a time on event days. If you do the math—and trust me, I did—it equates to the same amount of time a normal couple would spend together over nine weeks, factoring in three dates per week. Which means I’ve experienced more than two months of getting to know Ben, concentrated into a shorter period of time.”

“Did you make an algebraic equation to figure that out?” Milo teased.

“I like to pull out my business degree every so often, dust it off and make sure I still remember how to justify the worthiness of a new concept. In Bennett Westcott, I see a treasure cave full of potential, and I won’t ignore it.”

“Some men just don’t have the commitment gene,” Daphne mumbled around a gigantic bite of pancakes. “Take George Clooney.”

“I’d love to,” Milo deadpanned back.

She stuck out her tongue, stained blue from the lingonberries. “Henry VIII. Howard Hughes—”

Ivy cut her off before the list could grow any longer. “Henry married six times. I call that mega commitment. And Howard Hughes was a certifiable nut job. He may be leery of love, but I don’t think Ben’s at any risk of starting to collect his own nail clippings in a jar. If he does, I promise to drop him like a hot potato.”

“Good to know you draw the line somewhere,” said Milo.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Daphne pushed back her plate, leaned back and crossed her arms. She raised her voice a little to be heard over the fork-clattering, plate-scraping din of the breakfast rush. “How can we talk you out of this insanity? You’re tilting at windmills. That never ends well. Fact, Ben’s going to leave the second filming ends. Then we’ll be the ones left picking up the tiny shards of your shattered heart.”

Her support team wasn’t rising to the occasion. A more apt description of their reaction so far would be raining on her parade. Ivy knew they had her best interest at heart, but would a little
go get him, slugger
be too much to ask? “You don’t think I can do it?”

“I think if anyone could, it’s you. But the risk is too great. For God’s sake, the man is the anti-Cupid.”

“The risk/reward ratio is weighted in my favor.”

Daphne huffed out a breath. “Stop analyzing this like it’s a corporate takeover. Human emotions don’t fit neatly into a spreadsheet.”

“Plus,” Julianna said, meticulously folding her napkin into an elaborate, flapped pocket and sliding in her silverware one at a time. “You can’t steal five minutes here and an hour there for a full-out strategic assault in the middle of wedding season.”

“And while planning for your new store on top of it,” Milo heaped onto the growing stack of verbal cons. Ivy pictured each of their rebuttals as logs on a pyre, with her potential romance on top, about to go up in flames. Well, she refused to let any of them light the fatal match.

“Ben claims not to believe in romance, and yet he took me to the roof deck at Pegasus and kissed me while we watched fireworks. He’s already unconsciously partaking in romance, despite his best intentions. He cracked the door open all by himself. I just need to keep showing him all the pluses of being in a relationship.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking about the hardest part of her plan. “Without, needless to say, letting him know he’s in one.”

Milo nodded his head, stroking one hand up and down his wide, navy lapel. “Sneaky.”

“Strategic,” Ivy shot back. Then nibbled a corner off her now lukewarm stack of pancakes. If they were going to continue to shoot her down, she might as well have a full stomach.

Daphne cleared her throat. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. What do you need from us? You didn’t call us together just to tell us about your dreamy rooftop smooches. How do we figure into your Machiavellian scheme?”

“As little as possible.”

“Good. Because, frankly, I’m not entirely on board. I love you like a sister. This plan of yours feels a lot like watching you drive off a cliff with nothing more than a friendly wave.”

Better than nothing. At least they weren’t flat out refusing to help her anymore. Putting them into a food coma must’ve helped diminish their resistance. “I’m going into this with my eyes wide open. First of all, I realize there’s a chance Ben might end up feeling like he’s been played. I don’t want any of you implicated. You each have your own existing relationships with Ben, and by extension, RealTV. All I need from you is one thing. And, I might add, the entire plan hinges on it.”

“Let me guess, keep our big mouths shut?” asked Milo, miming a zipper pulling across his lips.

“Got it in one. Ben already knows about your running bet about my dates. The last thing I need is for you to tease him.” To prevent any possible misunderstanding, she spelled it out for them, ticking off each point on her right hand. “That means no asking him once a week if he’s fallen in love yet, or if he’s caught me scribbling our names together. No nudges, winks or double entendres. No mention of how I picked out my wedding colors before I picked a college major. Love, lust and Ben are all off limits as conversational topics.”

“Which leaves us what, exactly? Politics, weather and religion? Oh, that’ll lead to lively discussions over coffee breaks.”

Left unchecked, Milo could babble on about his own complicated love life for hours on end. And he once spent fifteen minutes debating the merits of straight leg versus skinny cut jeans. Ivy doubted he’d ever resort to chatting about Democrats or deacons. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“So while we’re muzzled, you’ll be insinuating yourself into his stone-cold heart how?” Daphne’s cocked head, still-crossed arms and overall rigid posture broadcast on all frequencies her ongoing disapproval. Ivy had a strong feeling her roommate would corner her several more times over the next few days to try and change her mind.

“I’m going to coax him into amazing yet subtle dates that will let him experience all the benefits of a real relationship.”

“Like what? Sex three times a day?” Milo wiggled his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

Julianna bumped his ribs with her elbow. “She said a
real
relationship, not a
Penthouse Forum
letter.”

“No sex,” Ivy announced. It killed her, but sometime around four in the morning she’d realized celibacy had to be the linchpin of the entire plan.

Milo’s jaw dropped. “What? You might as well try to carve a turkey with an origami knife.”

“He’s sampled the water, shall we say, and has made it quite clear he wants to make another trip to the well.” The raciness—for her—of the euphemism tinged Julianna’s cheeks peony pink as she spoke. Ivy thought it might be the most blatantly sexual thing her very uptight assistant had ever said.

Daphne nodded, hard and fast. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot. The one thing in the plus column is that Ben’s got the raging hot and lustys for you. Why not use your…assets?”

The feeling was mutual. Distracted by his mind-bendingly succulent kisses, Ivy hadn’t even noticed when the fireworks display ended. A waitress had finally given Ben a discreet tap on the shoulder to break them up. “Sex messes up the equation. We already know we push all the right buttons in that area. I want to find out what else makes Ben tick. Getting horizontal shifts all the blood south of the belt. In order for this to work, the only organ I need him focused on is his heart.”

“In order for this to work, you need a bolt of lightning to strike Ben in the head. A near-death experience is the only way that man will suddenly embrace commitment. But,” Daphne unfurled a slow, reluctant smile, “if you get me a hot chocolate to go with extra whipped cream, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Fair enough.” Managing her friends was the easy part. The hard part started in an hour when, on less than two hours sleep, Ivy needed to roll into the office of Aisle Bound and greet Ben with a sparkle and a smile. Not to mention an irresistible date to dangle in front of him. Now to begin learning if he’d rejected
her
on that warm April day, or just relationships in general.

Chapter Thirteen

It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

Ben whistled as he added two more bottles to his iced tea pyramid. It took up the entire coffee table and didn’t look anywhere close to stable. But it would surprise the pants off Ivy and her whole team. And a pants-less Ivy, any way he could get her, was exactly what he had in mind.

Ever since they’d kissed on the roof deck two weeks ago, the angry tension between them had disappeared, replaced by an entirely different kind of tension. He wanted her. He craved her. His fingers twitched whenever she was near, wanting to reach out and touch that satiny skin. Stroke the rounded tops of those sexy breasts she displayed every day in sheer sundresses that drove him wild. Lick the valley between them until her eyes glazed over. Her hands would clutch his head closer, and she’d moan, low and breathy.

Shit. Ben reached down and adjusted his suddenly too-tight cargo shorts. His self control had regressed back to the level of a teenager, getting rock hard at the mere thought of tasting Ivy. And he thought of her all the time. Even at inopportune times, like his early morning racquetball games with Sam and Gib. When her image popped to mind even as he careened off the wall to avoid the slap of Gib’s racquet, Ben knew the problem was serious.

She drove him crazy, the way she smelled like sex covered in flower petals, the way she let her silky hair trail over his arm, which made him remember the way it felt trailing down over the rest of his body. If they didn’t have sex soon, his insistent cock might rub a hole right through his fly. It leapt to attention the moment she walked into a room. Since they worked together all day and hung out most nights, he lived in a constant state of semi-arousal. He couldn’t take it much longer.

“I do so enjoy starting the day with a leisurely ogle of Mr. Tall, Blond and Handsome.” Milo swished through the door. Hell, Milo swished more than Ivy and Daphne put together. “It’s so nice having eye candy around the office.”

“Try not to sexually harass the nice man,” Daphne warned. “Or at least not when there’s this many witnesses around.” Julianna and Ivy entered right behind in a clatter of heels and slapping sandals. This week Ivy’s toe nails were painted the same deep red she’d slicked over her lips. They peeked out from under a series of black strips that ended up tying around her ankle like ballet shoes. Which, of course, made him think about untying them, running his hands up her calf, under her floofy black skirt…Damn it. Ben dropped into the wing chair to try and hide his third erection of the morning.

“What’s with the coffee table sculpture?” Daphne dropped her bag on the floor and put her hands on her hips. Unlike the other women, whose breezy dresses indicated a full day of consults, her uniform of shorts and a tank top let him know she planned to stay wrists deep in roses and ribbons.

“Ask Ivy,” he said with a jerk of his head in her direction.

“I didn’t tell you to make…” her voice trailed off. Ivy clapped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Oh Ben, it’s wonderful! How on earth did you know this is National Iced Tea Month?”

“You’re not the only one who knows their way around a search engine.” One at a time, he pointed at each row. “There’s papaya mango, raspberry, peach, lemon, green, and of course the classic black iced tea. If I missed your favorite flavor, I can get it here by lunch.”

“Surprisingly thoughtful,” said Julianna, nipping a bottle off the top. “Well done.”

He shrugged off the praise. The happiness radiating out of Ivy’s golden tinged eyes was thanks enough. “I like working here. Beats being cooped up in my hotel all day with my nose to the grindstone. Just trying to fit in.”

Ivy dropped a kiss on the top of his head. Since she’d declared the wacked-out rule that the office had to be a no-make-out zone, Ben assumed his pyramid of plenty was the cause. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Having a good day. Gib made me run with him at the crack of dawn. Behind all that quiet British politeness, the guy’s a hard ass. Says if my shirt isn’t wet enough to wring out, haven’t gone far enough. Can’t wait til we hit July and I sweat through it in half a mile.” Ben wasn’t at all sure he liked being Gib’s personal training mission. Who cared if all this running prevented a heart attack twenty years down the road when his calves ached like a bitch today? “Since I was up, I came in early to edit some scenes from Houston’s
Planning for Love.
”

Milo stopped checking voice mail, angling the phone away from his ear. “Don’t make them more interesting than us,” he pleaded with a long, drawn-out whine on the first word.

“Not a chance. Their footage was pretty damn raw. The crew down there put way too many hours in the can. No focal point, no story arc at all.”

Julianna sniffed. Actually god-damned sniffed, like he’d farted the words. “Aren’t the bride and groom the focal point of each piece?”

One step forward, two steps back. Every time Ben thought he’d thawed the redhead an inch, she slammed right back behind the icy walls of her friggin’ fortress of solitude. She’d never forgive him for hurting Ivy. Which meant he had nothing to lose by sniping back at her. “Rookie mistake. People won’t tune in week after week to a formulaic, cookie cutter approach to the white dress and the tux. Gotta have a hook.”

“You’re trying to reduce true love to a sound bite?” Her tone held roughly as much heat as a sun right before it supernovaed. Yet she sat at her desk, outwardly calm, the borderline OCD straightening and restraightening of a stack of contracts the only giveaway of her true feelings.

“Don’t give me that knee-jerk negative spin on my job.” Ivy laid a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but the soft touch reminded him it wouldn’t further his cause any to go ten rounds with her treasured assistant. Since Julianna made herself invaluable to Ivy on a daily basis, he’d force himself to play nice. As long as he didn’t have to
mean
it. “What if you try and come at it from a different direction?”

One eyebrow the color of cinnamon candy arched high enough to buttress a cathedral. “Such as?”

“I give people a reason to tune in, by making happily ever after accessible to the non hearts and flowers masses.”

Milo swiped his finger down an imaginary scoreboard. “Touché. Camera guy one, Aisle Bound nada.”

It might be as useful as talking to a turnip, but knowing Julianna wouldn’t listen didn’t stop Ben from hoisting the flag on his favorite topic. “Documentary filmmaking is all about making people care about real life. Opening a window to a slice of life they might not know about. Or bother to care about. If I do my job right, I’ll coerce them into caring. It’s heady stuff.”

Ivy perched on the coffee table in front of him. “See? You’ve got this impassive outer shell, but deep down, you’re filled with passion. Except that instead of my obsession with love and romance, your passion is wrapped around filmmaking.”

He swatted at the finger she waved in a lazy circle in front of his nose. “Cut it out. Makes it sound like I’ve got some weird sexual fetish.”

“I mean it. You’re so passionate about capturing life with a camera, you’re like a thousand-year-old volcano ready to blow.”

“You really think talking about flowing hot lava about to erupt makes your argument sound any less sexual?”

“What happened to the office being a no-foreplay zone?” Daphne’s huffy voice preceded her down the hall. She brandished stripping shears in one hand and a bunch of fluffy white things in the other. “All the steam you two are generating is going to prematurely open my entire order of Asiatic lilies. The Yamamoto wedding’s not until Saturday, so cool it!”

Ben wiggled his hands in the air. “Nobody’s naked, and my hands are empty. To me, that sadly indicates I’m not getting any action. So why don’t
you
chill, Lovell.”

Milo shoved back from the desk. His chair banged into the wall as he bolted out of his seat. “Excuse me, but I need to interrupt your petty bickering.”

“Attitude check for a certain office manager.” Ivy crossed her arms and stared him down. His cheeks flushed to match the cherries printed on today’s ridiculous vest. A single, tiny red bunch clustered out of his buttonhole. “Milo, why so snarky?”

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got a code red on our hands. Emergency extraordinaire. Catastrophic crisis.”

“What’s wrong, Milo?” Ben leaned around the side of the chair for a better view. Guy probably broke a nail. He actually kept a manicure set in his top desk drawer. “Did ya miss an opportunity to ogle George Clooney in person when he buzzed through town yesterday to visit Oprah?”

“Before we sink deep into the quagmire that is Milo’s dating history, I need to update you all on today’s appointments.” Julianna gingerly settled her phone into the cradle. “We’ve had two cancellations for this afternoon, both from potential clients. And one more cancellation for Friday.”

Daphne cocked her head to the side. “What’s going on? We haven’t had this many holes in the schedule since the swine flu epidemic a few years ago.”

Ivy shuddered, bumped Daphne with her shoulder. “Don’t even say those words out loud. We can’t afford to get so much as hay fever—this is our busiest season.”

“Apparently not this week,” said Ben. His comment earned him a trio of glowers from the women. “Geez, lighten up, ladies. You’re not going to go under because of three missing appointments.” This time he provoked an eye roll from Daphne.

“Obviously you don’t know the nail-biting fear of owning a business. Think about it—we don’t get a lot of repeat customers in our line of work. We scratch and claw to put every single name in our books.”

“And we will continue to do so,” said Ivy, a stubborn set to her jaw. “So Julianna, do your best to reschedule the consults. Then check the news to see if there’s been an outbreak of food poisoning. There must be some reason behind this rash of cancellations.”

“Oh, I know exactly where to point the finger.” Milo moved out from behind his desk to claim the floor. “I just listened to seven straight calls from vendors. All royally pissed and using language that would make a sailor blush. Photos by Frank, Swing Time, Essential Sounds, the Bridal Bower. The little old lady who runs Sweet Confections has got some mouth on her. I tried to tell you, we’re in the middle of a situation with a capital S. The common theme in all the messages is betrayal.”

Uh oh. Ben flashed on a probable cause, and it meant he’d be persona non grata in about two minutes. If right, his chances of getting back into Ivy’s panties would be nonexistent.

Ivy crinkled her brows together. “What on earth are they upset about?”

“The first commercial for your episode of
Wild Wedding Smackdown
ran last night. They’ve got a three-second shot of you standing next to a sopping wet guy in a tux with a pissed-looking bride in the background.”

Ivy winced. “The idiot ring bearer who parachuted into the pond.”

“He’s dressed like a groom, so people assume the worst.” Daphne pressed the back of her hand against her forehead, as though trying to press out a headache. “Damn it. That show is a train wreck. Everyone on it comes out looking like an idiot. By association, all the vendors we use are worried about the fallout. What if they stop recommending us? Take our link off their websites? They probably all think you asked to be on that show.”

“How many times do we have to go over this?” Ivy began to pace between the front door and the hallway to her office in a slow circle. “I didn’t have a choice. By the time I discovered we’d be filmed, the only way out would’ve been to break our contract with the bride and groom. On their wedding day. Do I really need to spell it out? How much that simply was not an option?”

A beat of silence, electric with simmering tension. “Maybe you do.”

Ivy stopped mid-turn, bobbling on her ice-pick heels. “Seriously, Daph? We’d be a sitting duck for potential litigation. There isn’t an escape clause in our contract that covers smarmy, trash television taping. Not to mention we don’t work that way. Our job is to iron out any wrinkles in the wedding day, not create one.”

Another long beat. Then Daphne ran a quick hand of apology down Ivy’s arm. “You’re right. You were thrust into an untenable position. I’m sorry—I just so badly want to throw heaping shovelfuls of blame on
somebody
.”

Ben didn’t need to physically see a lynch mob to know one was forming. With his name on the noose. He was nothing more than a living, breathing symbol of the one thing currently threatening Aisle Bound—reality television. Sure enough, before he could beat a hasty retreat out the front door, Milo and Julianna stalked forward. They stopped on the opposite side of the table. Ivy and Daphne flanked his chair.

“What did you do?” Ivy asked, arms akimbo.

As expected, they wanted to make him the fall guy. Well, fat chance. “Nothing, I swear. For God’s sake, I didn’t edit the piece. I had no input on the finished product—and no idea what it looks like. Don’t dump this on my lap. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you can poke me with a stick. Remember, I left True Life Productions. I’ve got no ties to that crap pile of a show.”

Glossy red lips pursed together, then thinned into a straight line. Turning on her heel, Ivy clattered away toward her office. Halfway there, she paused and wordlessly jerked her chin to indicate he should follow. Ben gave a fleeting glance at the front door and the freedom that lay beyond it. But he knew his only chance of getting back in Ivy’s good graces relied on not making a break for it.

She waited, arms crossed and sparks all but leaping out of her eyes, until he shut the door behind him. Ben dropped into a chair, slouched with legs crossed at the ankles. No damn way would he stand there and be lectured, metaphorical hat in hand. He’d listen to her grievances, but he wouldn’t roll over.

“Did I not tell you from the start that being on that damn show petrified me? That it could sink my business? Six years of blood, sweat and tears leveled by a single, half-hour reality TV schlockfest!” She raised her arms to the sides in an unspoken plea. “Running a business encompasses more than showing up and doing the work. It is a responsibility. I provide a livelihood for everyone who works at Aisle Bound. I have a partner, full-time employees, the team of part timers that helps Daphne, and our interns all depending on me to put a paycheck in front of them every two weeks.”