Planning for Love (25 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Always plan ahead. It wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark.

—Richard C. Cushing

“Ladies and gentlemen, we appreciate you joining us here at News Midday. Thanks to Ivy Rhodes of Aisle Bound for coming in to talk weddings. Don’t forget to tune in to her new show,
Planning for Love,
coming in September on RealTV. We’ll see you back here at four on WXCH.” Maggie Shea nodded at Ivy, nodded at the camera, then froze with a practiced smile until the director yelled cut.

Ivy’s head immediately swiveled to seek out Ben in the shadows. “Did I talk too fast? Did I talk too much? Was I dull? Was I too perky?”

“All things considered, this being your very first live interview…” Ben walked through the glare of stage lights and joined her on the set.

“Uh oh. You’re stalling. You’re stalling and qualifying. Did I suck?”

Aww. Pretty adorable in her hot pink suit, nervously tapping a matching sandal against the rung of her stool. Ben wanted to lap her up like a dish of strawberry ice cream. One of the most poised people he’d ever met, he got a kick out of Ivy’s self-consciousness about being on camera. Made about as much sense as a giraffe worrying about having a long neck.

“I give your interview a solid B plus. The joke you made about being afraid to use the bathroom while miked went over well.” He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Oh, it’s not a joke. There is nothing funny about Ollie possibly listening to me pee because I forgot to turn off the mic pack.”

“I don’t think Ollie’s any more excited about the prospect than you are.”

Ivy’s lush lower lip pushed out into a pout. “Have to say, I’m not really comfortable with a B plus. I’ve always been a straight A kind of girl.”

“A few more private coaching sessions, and we can get you bumped up to an A before your next interview.”

“The only thing I learned in your last private coaching session was how good you are at unhooking a bra with one hand.”

Oh, Ben remembered. A black bra with red lace that if he hadn’t managed to unhook on the first try, he would’ve ripped off her with his teeth. The mere sight of Ivy got him firing on all four cylinders, but the minute she removed a layer of clothing, his lust took over and clouded every brain cell until he operated solely on his basest instincts. He ached for her. He ached to touch her, to taste her, and more than anything to be in her.

She’d packed a powerful punch in that bra. His cock throbbed right now with the memory. His balls ached with the further memory of being sent home soon after he’d dispatched the bra. If Ivy didn’t sleep with him soon, internal combustion might be a real possibility. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why the holdup. Why she slammed the brakes on every damn time his fingers wandered anywhere south of her belly button. Or, what he was starting to call the Undiscovered Country.

“Good point. I’ll take the blame. Our—ah—departure from the syllabus is probably what held you back today. If you promise to keep your clothes on and not distract the teacher, we can get you up to speed.”

“Oh, so many things wrong with that sentence. The Bennett Westcott I know would never encourage me to keep my clothes on—”

“True.”

“—and for the record, you’re the one who told me I’d be less nervous if I took my clothes off while we practiced.”

“Did I say that? I think you misunderstood me. Classic theater trick to calm nerves is to imagine the audience naked, not get naked yourself. Sorry if I wasn’t clear.”

“Trust me, your intent was crystal clear. More importantly, what do you mean, the next interview? I’ve been a wreck for a week dreading these lousy ten minutes. You’re going to force me to go through this again?”

“No. Not me. I wouldn’t dream of putting you through that kind of stress. RealTV, on the other hand, will absolutely force you to do more interviews. Your episode of
WWS
was a huge hit, and you’re beautiful, you’re passionate about weddings, eloquent, and you’re not crazy. In the world of reality television, that makes you a quintuple threat.”

“Which translates to how many interviews, exactly?”

“The network’s trying to get you on a nationwide morning show, to ride the wave right now. Probably next week. Then in late August they’ll start hyping
Planning for Love
, and you’ll do a few more local spots—tv and radio, as well as at least two national interviews. Maybe a wedding magazine, or even
People
. I’d say ten, tops.”

Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

The anchor scooted her chair forward to join the conversation. “My producer just told me that you’re already on our schedule right after Labor Day. And don’t listen to your boyfriend—you did great. You were a natural. It was a pleasure chatting with you.”

The words popped out of Ivy’s mouth faster than a sneeze at the peak of allergy season. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

It stung a little, how she fast she rejected the idea. “Wow. Kind of quick on the draw, aren’t you? I’m not Attila the Hun over here.”

“I just don’t want you to feel pressured by a label.” She swiveled back around to face Maggie. “We’re colleagues.”

“My colleagues don’t usually kiss me after a segment.”

“Friendly colleagues,” she amended.

“Well, if you’re truly not dating, I wouldn’t mind getting friendly with your colleague myself.” With a smoothness Ben admired, Maggie slid her card into the front pocket of his khakis. “Feel free to call me. Anytime.”

Ben’s mental scoreboard was upside down. The woman he wanted had just definitively stated they weren’t dating, and a woman he had no interest in at all wanted him, and still had her fingers at his groin, deep in his pocket. “While you get unhooked, I’ll run to the bathroom.” He backpedaled off the set, down the hall. The studio had emptied out for lunch the moment the show stopped taping. His footsteps echoed in the marble-floored corridor.

The network affiliate took up two floors of a gorgeous old building downtown, and didn’t look like any studio he’d been in before. It did look like a set for a Tracy/Hepburn movie. Art deco touches everywhere, black veined marble on the floors and stairs. If it had been a traditional news studio, lined with posters of current shows and anchors, Ben would’ve been twitchy. He didn’t care to bump into any reminders of his old life.

Pausing at the bathroom door, he jammed his hands into his pockets. Who was he kidding? Being back in a news studio made him more than twitchy. Awareness marched under his skin like an army of fire ants. The vicious roller coaster of what-ifs and might-have-beens churned through his gut. It surprised him how much he liked his new job producing, liked carving out a spot and routine of his own here in Chicago. But being back in a news studio today, without being a part of the daily news cycle, put him off balance. Edgy.

He toed open the door, then froze, one foot in, one foot out. A man bent over the stainless steel counter beneath the mirror, sniffing…something through a rolled-up bill. Ben guessed the substance to be cocaine. He knew, however, without a shadow of a doubt that the man was Senator Lawrence Newsome. Senior Senator from Wisconsin, chairman of the Appropriations Committee. A proponent of the three strikes law in his state, and he cited drug abusers as a main reason for the harsher sentencing guidelines.

The man jerked at Ben’s appearance. Rubbed his nose, and whisked the bill into his pocket in a quick, practiced gesture. “How’s it going?” he asked in an overly jocular tone.

“Sorry to barge in,” Ben said. Above all else, he didn’t want to spook the guy. Didn’t want to give him any reason to think he’d been recognized. For that matter, Ben hoped the senator didn’t recognize him as the Cowering Cameraman. “Everyone deserves a little private time in the john.”

Senator Newsome pointed at the remaining thin, white line on the counter. “Care to join the party?”

Surreal enough that he’d walked in on the uber-conservative lawmaker doping up. Far weirder to be invited to get high with him. How many lines had the guy already sniffed to be so openly offering drugs to a perfect stranger? Without any apparent care for possible reprisals? The Senator had to be higher than the proverbial kite. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Ben forced himself to walk to the sink and wash his hands, pretending to scrub at an ink spot. Normal, everyday trip to the bathroom. Nothing to see here.

To his amazement, Lawrence shrugged, then did the last line right in front of him. A few sniffs, then a swipe at his nose with a balled-up paper towel. “Have a good day.”

“You, too,” Ben said as the older man left the room. Ben continued through the motions, drying his hands, taking his time in case Newsome returned for any reason. When he couldn’t come up with a way to stall, he left the room and returned to the set, checking in every doorway to be sure the senator wasn’t around.

Ivy and Maggie stood by the makeup table, still chatting. “Sorry to cut this short, but do you have an empty office we can use?” Ben held up his phone. “There’s a crisis back at the office.”

Maggie nodded and led them to a room at the end of the hall. “Hope nobody got jilted,” she said with a half-laugh as she closed the door.

Ivy immediately sat in the desk chair and picked up the phone, finger poised to dial. “Who called you? What’s wrong? Is it Lily and Simon? Did his crazy mother finally drive that girl away? Last week, I told her the only way to cut the mother out of the planning process was to elope. I should’ve made a bet with Daphne on it.”

“Slow down. There’s no crisis. Well, there is, but not related to Aisle Bound in any way.” Nervous energy kept him on his feet, pacing a loop between the desk, a file cabinet and a window with a view of Lake Michigan. “I just caught Senator Lawrence Newsome doing drugs in the bathroom.”

“Oh my.” She absorbed the news for a beat, then shook her head. “Doesn’t surprise me. It’s always the most vocal opponents who are unmasked as having problems, whether it’s sex, drugs or alcohol.”

“This is huge. We have to do something. We have to report it.”

“Oh, Ben.” Ivy looked at him with sad, dark eyes. “You can’t. You’ve told me that, right or wrong, your credibility is shot. Without any proof, without another eyewitness, you can’t take it to anyone.”

The instinct and adrenaline that kicked in full force the moment he recognized the senator drained away, as if someone flushed his emotional toilet. He leaned against the window frame and stared, unseeing, but unwilling to look at Ivy.

“I forget sometimes. For months, I spent every waking second thinking about my career tanking. Then I spent a few more months actively trying
not
to think about it. Just in the last couple of months, I’d finally gotten to the point where I didn’t have to work at it. I could go days at a time without getting a crushing sense of failure every time I saw the news.”

“You’re not a failure. In fact, I think that’s the single stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He felt the comforting weight of Ivy’s arms circle around his waist. She stood on tiptoe to tuck her chin up over his shoulder. “Forces beyond your control changed your life. Zigged when you wanted to zag.”

“Dress it up in whatever pretty words you want. Story still ends the same way. My career ended a year and a half ago in Alaska, the minute I passed out and dropped my camera. I failed.”

“Nope. You flourished. Against all odds, you persevered. Forged a new path for yourself. Succeeded so well you were promoted after a year. You’re not a quitter, and you’re certainly not a failure. That took courage, and strength, and drive and talent. I’m so proud of you, Ben.”

The break in her voice undid him. He turned into her embrace, wrapped his arms around her and hugged like he’d never hugged before. How did she see things in him he didn’t even know were there? Ben breathed deep of her sunny scent, burying his face in the silken brown strands cascading across his face like a soft river.

“You make me sound like an amazing man. A guy I’d like to sit down with and have a beer.” He pulled back to drop a kiss in the center of her forehead. Better lighten the mood, before he broke down into a blubbering fool at Ivy’s knees to thank her for propping him back up. “And then pick his brain for tips on women, because anyone that awesome must have an easy time scoring.”

“I don’t think you require any help in that department. Your bedpost is probably whittled down to the width of a toothpick from all the notches it’s racked up.”

“Ouch. From hero to man-slut in two sentences. You know how to keep a guy’s ego in check.”

“All part of the package.” She pinched his cheek, then eased out of his arms to balance on the wide sill. “But I do have a serious question, if you don’t mind.”

Uh oh. Nothing good ever came out of a serious question. And perversely, women loved to ask them. Ben hitched himself onto the corner of the desk. Otherwise he’d start nervously pacing again. “Sounds ominous. I can’t promise I’ll answer—or give you an answer you want to hear—but give it a whirl.”

“Do you truly hate your job?”

“Are you kidding? I get paid to stare at your beautiful face all day. Where’s the downside in that?”

“Come on, I honestly want to know. After traveling the world filming crisis after international crisis, weddings must be, well, tame in comparison. Do you dread getting up in the morning, or have you accepted this unexpected twist in the road?”

Part of Ben wanted to make another joke and slither around an answer. Introspection wasn’t his thing. On the other hand, after what Ivy had just done for him, she deserved a genuine answer.

“If you’d asked me this when we met, I’d have given you a different answer. I wasn’t happy. It’s why I applied for the producing job. And that was the right move. It was a shot in the dark, but I’ve discovered I really like it.”

“Why?”

“News coverage is about recording the moment. With reality television, we still film the moment. But also the reaction to the moment. Then someone else’s reaction. I get to weave all of these disparate pieces together. Make one, wonderful story out of them. It’s challenging, and fun. Plus, I kind of enjoy not worrying about getting shot at, or having a deadly snake drop onto my head. So no, I don’t hate my job.” Surprisingly, just the opposite.