Planning for Love (22 page)

“A Fine Romance,” she corrected softly. Ivy flipped over her hand, interlaced her fingers with his.

“Good name.” Apparently they’d ridden out this particular storm, without any collateral damage. Ben didn’t know how it happened, but the electric tension in the air had dissipated. The lack of verbal fireworks must’ve disappointed their elderly neighbor, because she rattled her paper mightily, sniffed and disappeared behind it once more.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s childish to fault you for the terms of a contract that I knowingly signed. You’re absolutely right—you don’t deserve to be sucker punched by my frustration with RealTV. I’ll do the interview.” A single eyebrow shot into a perfect vee. “Not simply to adhere to the letter of the law, but also because it’s a smart marketing choice. I appreciate you pointing that out.” Her brow smoothed out, and a hint of a smile teased at the corner of her lush mouth. “I’d also appreciate it if you would help me run through some talking points. You seem to have a good handle on how I should spin the interview.”

Wait a minute. Ben’s head spun. No tears, no shouting, no storming out. And to top it all off, an acknowledgement of the wisdom of his approach? Ivy Rhodes was unlike any other woman he’d known, in the best possible way. “How appreciative are we talking?”

Her smile grew bigger, while still close mouthed and mysterious. “Well, if you’re still up for the movies tonight, I know they’re playing a double feature of something I’m really excited to pay no attention to whatsoever. While lavishing all my attention—and my kisses—on you. Sound good?”

Ben squeezed her hand in release, then began shoveling in the reward cake he’d now earned twice over. “Best offer I’ve ever had.”

Chapter Fifteen

Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised.

—Denis Waitley

“I’m nervous,” said Ivy. She clenched and unclenched her hands over her belly. “I had butterflies in my stomach, but they got eaten by raccoons. Who then were attacked by bears. Do you hear me, Daphne? I have wild, rabid bears knotting up my stomach!”

“I was right there with you until you turned the bears rabid. You need to get a grip.” Daphne tugged at the leg of Ivy’s navy cotton pants covered with grinning cows jumping over the moon. “Besides, nobody can be nervous in their pajamas. It’s why we’re having a pajama party in the first place, remember? You’ll feel so ridiculous sitting around our place with everyone in their jammies you won’t feel nervous about watching yourself on
Wild Wedding Smackdown.
”

“A sound theory, but I’m finding that embarrassment on a nationwide level trumps my embarrassment about Ben seeing me in my distinctly non-sexy sleepwear.” Ben was the kind of man who inspired late night Internet shopping for lacy teddies. See-through camisoles and silky panties. Not the faded pajamas Daphne had given her five birthdays ago. She’d already refused to have sex with him. How could she keep him interested once he saw her dressed like an undergrad during finals week? Why hadn’t she thought of all this before they invited him to the viewing party?

“Please. He can’t keep his hands off of you. And trust me when I say that tank top clings in all the right places. Whereas I look like a linebacker.”

“You
are
wearing a Bears jersey,” Ivy pointed out. “Besides, why do you care? You aren’t trying to impress anyone.” She watched Daphne give herself a rigorous once over in the mirrored closet doors. For a night spent hanging out on the couch, she seemed overly interested in her ensemble. Ivy ran down the short list of male attendees. Ben was taken, Milo played for the wrong team, they thought of Sam as a brother, and Gib was a die hard Casanova. So why on earth was Daphne putting on lipstick and belting the oversized jersey? “Or is there a hook-up potential here I don’t know about?”

“What?” Daphne abandoned her obsessive preening and whirled to face Ivy. “Of course not. This is our crew, our regular guys. We’re all in the trenches together. I wouldn’t touch any of them if they came laid out and oiled up on a silver platter.”

“Oiled up, huh? Methinks the horny lady doth protest too much.”

Daphne threw up her hands. “Of course I’m horny. It’s wedding season. Who has the time or energy to date? Oh, wait, that’s right—the crazy woman in front of me juggling a full-time job, a start-up company, and six feet of the occasionally charming, dangerously sexy Mr. Westcott.”

“Just call me the Energizer bunny.”

“Isn’t that a coincidence? I’ve got a few Energizer D cells of my own in my rather overworked rabbit.”

“Eww. We are not going to stand in my bedroom and discuss vibrators.” Ivy shooed her roommate down the hallway. “I need some good, old-fashioned liquid courage. What are my options?”

“Well, this
is
a premiere, jammies notwithstanding. So I bought many, many bottles of champagne. But it is hard to guzzle, and I think you need to take the edge off, fast.”

“Liquid valium would be good, with the bubbly as a chaser?” Ivy suggested, not entirely kidding. Her knotted stomach, along with a racing pulse and the beginnings of a stress headache tickling her temples, made her want to huddle on her bed in the fetal position. Instead, she eased onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “I am not cut out for this, Daph. I’m serious. What if my ass looks fat? What if all of America points and laughs at my gigantic ass?”

“On the bright side, you’ll never know what most of America thinks. Ignorance is bliss, right?” Ice rattled into highball glasses.

“You’re not helping.”

“Well, this should help.” Daphne pressed a glass into her hand. “The talk of vibrators inspired me. I made you a screaming orgasm. Or has Ben taken care of that already today?”

Ivy swallowed half her drink in one, fast gulp. The icy liquid did nothing to cool the heat burning in her cheeks. “No. Which is the same answer I gave you when you asked at breakfast, and the same answer you got when I came home from my date last night. No matter how many times you ask, the answer will continue to be no. I told you, I am not going to have sex with Ben. Not unless he falls in love with me.”

“Hold on a minute. I believe your original plan rested on exploring
if
you love him, as well. Or have you already made up your mind on that point?” Daphne threw back her drink, slammed the glass onto the granite counter. “Nix that, you don’t have to answer. It’s written all over the dopey grin on your face. You’re in love with Ben, aren’t you? Damn it to hell!”

“Why are you swearing at me?”

“Because I’m on the verge of losing my best friend.”

Now Ivy’s stomach reknotted itself into something complex only a seasoned sailor could produce. Their friendship was a sacred, unbreakable bond, and it cut her to the quick that Daphne might be worried. “Oh. Oh Daph, I’m going to have to go with a plain and simple
no
again. Why would you think that, for even a second?”

A shrug, and then Daphne busied herself refilling their glasses. Fancy, cut crystal highball glasses etched with their college logo. They’d purchased them in celebration of their twenty-first birthdays, only a few weeks apart. A symbol of where their friendship had begun, lined up on the counter next to the glasses they’d had etched with the Aisle Bound logo the day they signed the partnership papers.

“You’ve wanted to be in love, tried to be in love dozens of times. Maybe even thought you were once or twice. But Ben? I’m pretty sure he’s the real deal. The mega-jackpot. Honest to God, I’m happy for you. Nobody I know deserves, or appreciates, true love more than you do.”

“Thank you.” Ivy sipped her fresh drink slowly. Probably best not to get wasted before any of their party guests showed up. Plus, it gave her something to do with her hands while trying to figure out why Daphne would assume their friendship was circling the drain.

“On the flip side, however, true love tends to be all-consuming. Natural progression, completely understandable, etc., but things will never be the same between you and me once you and Ben become official.”

“Whoa. Slow down. Ben and I are dating. Well, he wouldn’t deign to call it that. Would probably rather walk away than put a specific name to what we’re doing together. But we’re still only dating.” Ivy ticked off points on her right hand. “First, I have to convince him dating isn’t an evil, soul-sucking tool to rob him of his masculinity and independence. Second, bring him slowly to the realization he’s actually been in a committed relationship for all these weeks. However many it turns out to be. Third, figure out a way to deal with him working in another state, once he moves on from Chicago. He doesn’t even know yet where he’ll be based. Last of all, there’s still the big, hairy question of whether or not Ben manages to fall in love with me.”

A dismissive raspberry pffted out of Daphne’s lips. “Don’t be silly. The man built you an iced tea tower. What more do you need—a flashing neon sign? Of course he’s in love with you. He doesn’t know it yet, but the rest of us sure figured it out.”

“Do you really think so?” She hadn’t let herself ponder the possibility. Had, in fact, ruthlessly cut off all thought about the depth of Ben’s feelings for her. In order to protect her heart, Ivy lived in the moment. Or at least tried with all her might. If and when he declared his love for her, she wanted it to be a complete surprise. What could be more romantic?

“Look at you. Dewy eyes, mouth open just a tad as if waiting for his kiss.” Daphne laid her fingers along the crook of Ivy’s neck. “Yup, and a racing pulse. You’ve got it bad.”

Ivy batted away the hand. “Maybe I do. You’re right. I think I’m falling in love with Ben. There, I’ve said it. And will wonders never cease? I’m still sitting here talking to you, instead of running out to prostrate myself at his feet. No matter what I feel for him, my feelings for you are inviolate. You’re my partner, my roommate, my best friend. And you will always be all those things to me.”

Daphne threw her arms around Ivy, almost knocking her off the stool. “Shit. Now you’ve made me cry.”

“
Both
of us cry,” Ivy sniffed.

“Even worse. Why would you make us have red noses and puffy eyes when company’s coming over?”

“To prove you’re my best friend, and best friends do things together?” They both laughed, and grabbed for the tissue box at the end of the counter. “No more tears tonight. Agreed?”

“I’ll drink to that.” Daphne clinked her glass against Ivy’s, and the moment that had turned Ivy’s stomach inside out passed.

Back to the first stomach-churning anxiety. “What if the show’s edited to make me look like a brainless idiot?”

“Not possible.”

“Or one of those bossy consultants brides fear?”

“Running out of patience here. Worrying won’t do you any good. All you can do is wait for the show to air, and then figure out if there’s any damage control necessary. Now take this.” Daphne handed her a platter from the refrigerator. “Drinking isn’t doing the trick, so maybe work will distract you. Help me set out the appetizers. Maybe pop a deviled egg in your mouth. At least chewing might shut you up for more than five seconds.”

She slid off the stool and carried the platter to the coffee table. Daphne had covered it with red and yellow plaid material identical to what Tracy and Seth had used at their fateful April wedding. Her roommate could be a real stickler for details, even for a pajama party. “I’ve officially lost it, haven’t I?” Too wound up to eat, Ivy fanned the yellow cocktail napkins into a pretty circle.

“Oh, yeah. The infamous Rhodes icy-cool composure hit boiling point by the time we got to work this morning.”

Next Ivy moved to the mantel, shifting a dish of mixed nuts from one end to the other. Then back again. “I’m sorry. My insecurity gauge is at full throttle right now. Have I been driving you crazy all day?”

“Yes. Understandably so. It’s why I dragged you home an hour early. I didn’t want Julianna and Milo to give in to the temptation to either slap you silly, or quit.”

“Come on. I wasn’t that bad.” The front door opened, and Julianna hustled into the foyer. Ivy wiggled her fingers in greeting. “Speak of the devil. Daphne’s busy maligning your favorite boss. Tell me, did I really make you want to quit today, J.?”

An elegant figure in white silk men’s pajamas, Julianna paused, mid step. She scrunched her eyes shut and fisted a hand in her short, red hair. It spiked up through her fingers from the top of her head. “Better to quit than to be let go,” she intoned in a low, ominous voice.

Ivy goggled at her. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t we sit on the couch? You should definitely be sitting down for this. You both should,” she said, with a nod toward Daphne, still transferring copious plates and bowls from the frig to the counter.

“I don’t like the sound of this.” Ivy dropped to the sofa, and waited for Julianna to explain.

“Milo and I flipped a coin. I lost, so I came over early to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” At this point, her stomach knots reached out to ball up with whatever internal organs were closest. While hazy on anatomy, Ivy knew for certain that everything from her neck to her toes clenched in dread of whatever bomb her assistant was about to drop.

“After you left today, the phones rang off the hook. Apparently the news ran a promo about the local angle of tonight’s
WWS
episode. Not only did more angry vendors call, but clients, too. We have seven cancellations of already booked weddings. Full weddings and two day-of coordinations. They’re strung out from next month to next May.” Julianna paced in front of the fireplace. “I ran the numbers, and if we follow our cancellation policy and return the deposits, we’ll be out close to thirty thousand dollars.”

“Whoa.” Daphne sank onto the cushion next to Ivy. “Pretty big chunk of change. You know, the contract doesn’t stipulate we return their money if they cancel.”

True. But it felt wrong to be greedy in the face of someone’s very real emotional pain. “I’ve only done it three times,” said Ivy. “But each time, the bride had so much to worry about with losing her fiancé, on top of what might be her life savings, it didn’t feel right to keep the money.”

“Yes, but this time the bride isn’t the one getting dumped. It’s us!” Daphne swiveled around to track Julianna’s circuit, now extending the length of the room. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume all these dissatisfied clients gave only one reason for breaking their contracts?
Wild Wedding Smackdown?
”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Fuck.”

“I second that.” Ivy curled her toes into the carpet. The bottom had just dropped out of her world. She needed a minute to ground herself in the physical. Floor—still solid. Her hand groped out, found Daphne’s, and clutched it tightly. She took a quick assessment. Best friend and partner, still rock solid. The condo looked the same as always. The caramel-ly goodness of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food remained the most incredible ice cream in the world. Body intact, still breathing, albeit sucking in air in shallow gasps. It only felt like the earth was spinning out of control on a tip-tilted axis.

“This could be the tip of the iceberg. If running the promo created this sort of response, imagine what will happen once the episode actually airs? By this time tomorrow, we might not have any clients left at all,” Julianna wailed. Tears began to blob down her cheeks, and in the unfortunate manner of all redheads, her skin blotched immediately.

Damn it. If she and Daph were alone, Ivy could’ve fallen apart. Given in to her desperate desire to roll on the floor, kicking and screaming. Instead, she had to get a grip and be a rock for Julianna. Sometimes it sucked to be at the top of the totem pole.

“No tears allowed. Not five minutes ago, Daphne told me not to freak out about what-ifs, what might happen. Let’s wait and see. The episode might not be as bad as we fear.”