Planning for Love (27 page)

Deep down, Ivy realized the enormity of this offer. It meant his colleagues had restored faith in his abilities. It meant validation. But, given that he’d been a coward and waited to spring the news in front of a crowd, she was pretty sure it also meant they were over. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

She tightened her grip on Daphne. “You’re leaving me.”

Ben dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I planned to tell you later tonight. I didn’t want to spoil the party.”

“Great plan,” Daphne scoffed, sarcasm as deep as Lake Michigan. “How’s it working out so far? Everyone still full of the romantic celebration vibe?”

“Stay out of it,” Gib warned in a low voice. “Ivy and Ben have enough trouble right now without interference from onlookers.”

Ivy reminded herself not to leap to conclusions, not to fall into a full-blown panic. By its very nature, Ben’s job was transient. But jetting off to San Diego for a week was one thing. It was another thing entirely to disappear for five months into a country so dangerous he might not survive.

In a tone that surprised her with its steadiness, she asked, “Am I supposed to wait for you?”

Ben’s gaze slowly roamed the room in a full circuit. When it finally landed on her, his eyes had darkened to the indigo of a fresh bruise. Just like the one blossoming on her heart. “No.”

“Why don’t we go take a turn around the dance floor?” David suggested.

“No.” Ivy cracked out the response like a whip. Damned if she’d let him hide her in a corner like an embarrassment, or worse yet, just walk out on her. “Ben, you’re the one who decided this special occasion filled with my friends and family would be the appropriate place to break your big news. So you might as well finish it here. Saves me the trouble of re-telling the story to everyone later.”

His eyes softened with regret. “Ivy, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t make a scene? Don’t care? Don’t wonder what made you decide to turn your back on an amazing relationship?” Oh, she’d make a scene, all right. Certainly not in the place of her choosing, but the man of her dreams wouldn’t walk out on her without providing some answers, and she’d do whatever it took to shake them loose.

“We could never have a real, lasting relationship. I’m Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right. Look at all this.” He flung out his arms, waved at Samantha and David, then at her grandparents seated at the next table. “I could never live up to your expectations for a relationship. I’m not built that way. This is why I left you back in April. This is why I said on that rooftop in Greektown, plain as day, we should enjoy ourselves for
six weeks
. Don’t act surprised—I told you flat out that I’m not a long-term kind of guy. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not capable of being the man you deserve.”

Did he really think she was that stupid? Ivy stood and stalked over to stand in front of him. “That’s a gussied-up version of
it’s not you, it’s me.
You are not laying that trite line on me. You don’t get to disappear halfway around the world with nothing more than
it’s not you, it’s me.
”

He sighed. Did the whole finger-under-the-collar, lapel-smoothing thing again to give himself a minute to regroup. “Look, this job is a once in a lifetime opportunity. The second chance I never thought I’d get. A do-over that could completely change my life. You know how important my job is to me.”

Did he even realize how his subconscious took over that last sentence? She doubted it. She doubted Ben realized anything except how easy running away would be, compared to staying put.

“Correction. I know how important your news job
was
to you. Not one week ago you told me how much you enjoy your current job. The one where you have artistic freedom, and yet don’t have to stare death in the eye on a daily basis. I know you’re passionate about politics and world events. The world needs more people in it who give a damn as much as you do. But come on, Ben. Five months in the Sudan? There probably isn’t a more dangerous assignment on the planet. Is getting back into the news worth risking your life? Or is it that you’d rather shadow murderous tribesmen than stay with me?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Ivy wouldn’t let him leave until she damn well knew why. No way would she spend the next few weeks sobbing her eyes out without knowing the reason. “Have enough respect to at least be honest, with yourself and with me.”

“Fine.” Ben shoved back from the table and stood as well. “I’ve been upfront about this from the beginning. You represent everything I can’t have—security, family, the perfect home behind a picket fence. Seeing what you have shows me what I’ll fail at without even making an attempt.”

“Or you could make the attempt, and surprise yourself. You work so hard, make such a point of not caring about anything. You’re more scared to let yourself truly feel than anyone I’ve ever met.” The harsh words flew out of her mouth. She’d harbored these thoughts since that weekend in April with him, but foolishly hoped he would change. And had feared pushing his self-reflection too far would end up pushing him away. No reason to shy away from confronting him with the truth now, though. “You’re not just afraid of commitment—you’re afraid of emotion.”

“Sure, I’ll cop to that.” Ben shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Safer that way. These statistics are outside your comfort zone, but do you know the divorce rate? Somewhere just short of astronomical. Hell, not even marriage. Do you know how many ugly, squabbling couples I see at weddings? Bitter, angry people who are so miserable together, they can’t keep from fighting at their friend’s big event? People who get more scarred and bitter with each failed relationship? I can’t get hurt if I don’t open myself up in the first place.”

Yup. Bottom line—he was scared stiff. This man who’d traveled the world staring death in the face was nothing more than a yellow-bellied, emotional coward. “Please. Go back to filming floods, famine, a daily dose of death. You think that won’t hurt? Won’t eat away at your soul? You can’t escape pain—but you can embrace joy to temper it. Where’s your joy, Ben?” Ivy poked her finger into the center of his chest to drive home the question. Tried not to think about how it could be the very last time she touched that wonderful, muscled chest, even if in anger.

“The higher you fly, the farther and harder you fall. Joy’s an aspiration I don’t seek. My family’s chased it for years, and never got within two miles of it. I got too damn close to it here in Chicago. Should’ve known the shit was about to hit the fan.”

“Oh, right. Chicago’s treated you so horribly. You’ve made a circle of friends, have a rewarding job, and you get to be with a woman who loves you. Nobody is pulling the plug on that life but you!”

“Ivy, you don’t love me. You’re in love with love itself.”

All the burning pain and anger within her iced over. She lifted her chin. “Do not dismiss my feelings. You don’t have to return them, but you certainly don’t get to judge them.”

“I don’t buy this off-hand declaration of love. You’re just spouting off in the heat of the moment. A last-ditch effort to make me stay. If you really were in love with me, you would’ve said so. Hell, you would’ve shouted it from the rooftops. You’re physically incapable of keeping that emotion a secret.”

He thought he knew her so well. She’d wipe that supercilious smirk right off his face. “I hadn’t told you yet because I didn’t want to scare you. The plan was always to wait until after you told me you loved me. After we made love, I’d tell you. The culmination of the perfect plan.” Whoops. She hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. Even to her ears, it sounded a bit absurd. Her profession had taught her over and over again that there was no such thing as a perfect plan. Which is why she usually had contingency plans and back-ups for those. Except this time, when it mattered most, Ivy had no backup. No way to fix the yawning chasm between her and Ben, growing wider every second.

“A plan? You had a plan for our relationship?” Ben choked out a laugh, a harsh, scornful sound. Looked up at the ceiling, then drove his fingers through his hair. “Of course you did. Now I realize why you’ve been such a tease, why we haven’t made it back to the bedroom after all these weeks.”

His voice rose to a near shout. The musicians sputtered to a stop. Twelve tables of guests swiveled their heads to watch the action. “Well, what you call a plan? I call a trap. I’m not a puppet for you to manipulate. My life is my own, my choices my own. You can’t plan for love, Ms. Rhodes. And you’re sure as hell not going to get it from me.”

Ivy stared, motionless, while the man she loved turned his back on her and stalked out of the ballroom. She watched his lithe, lionlike grace, his hair burnished the gold of ancient Roman coins by the crystal chandeliers. One last glimpse of his profile, those generous lips she adored locked down into a thin, grim line. Then he was gone. Forever.

Hand flailing, she reached out to grab the nearest wine glass and lifted it high in the air. “Since I’m quite sure I have everyone’s attention, I’ll take this opportunity to make my toast. Congratulations to my parents, Samantha and David Rhodes. They’ve stayed happy together for forty years. I think we’ve all just had a glimpse of what a rare, amazing accomplishment that is.” Sheer willpower kept her tears at bay. Her parents deserved nothing but joy this night, and she’d already contributed too much sorrow to the evening. “They are a remarkable couple who make each other happy every single day. Thank you for being an inspiration to all of us, and wonderful parents to me. Here’s to forty more blissful years.”

As the entire room cheered and clinked glasses, Ivy kissed each of her parents on the cheek. Then the twisting, clawing knot in her stomach reached up through her throat. She tamped it back down by draining her glass. She wouldn’t let Ben ruin her enjoyment of excellent champagne. No, she’d kick up her heels, dance with her father, and Sam, and Gib. Gib especially, since he was a whiz on the dance floor thanks to his fancy schools back in England. Yes, Ivy would stay to the end of this party, to have one last happy night before the empty string of tear-laden nights alone began. She’d just lost her best shot at happily ever after. Worst of all, it was her own fault. Her brilliant plan had backfired in a way she’d never anticipated.

Chapter Twenty

The proper basis for a marriage is mutual misunderstanding.

—Oscar Wilde

Ben hated mornings. On the best of days, with the ferocity of a rabid tiger, the sun had a way of getting its claws into you and shaking until your head pounded and you wanted to beg for mercy. This morning proved to be a fresh level of hell.

After leaving the party, he’d hunkered down at a dark, squalid dive bar. Half a dozen shots and as many beers later, he concluded the answer to his problems didn’t lie at the bottom of a glass. Staring sleeplessly at the ceiling for four hours hadn’t exactly improved his filthy mood. Now his stomach turned over from the drinks, and his head throbbed from…well, everything else. Especially squinting at his laptop while firing off emails to get him the hell out of town.

Ollie could shoot without him for a few days until RealTV sent a replacement. He didn’t care if they docked his pay, but he’d be damned if he’d show up at Aisle Bound with a camera on his shoulder. It took some serious web-surfing to snag any flight, thanks to a day’s worth of backups from some East Coast hurricane. Now, with only one day left in Chicago, he could at least try to calm his stomach by laying down a layer of sugar and grease from Lyons Bakery’s epic donuts.

He pushed through the door just shy of dawn, then paused at the threshold when he saw Sam loading the bakery case. Too late to cut and run, thanks to the damn tinkling bell on the door. Sam locked eyes with him, then jerked a chin toward a table at the back. Ben paused in front of the donuts.

“Does a condemned man still get one last meal? Because I don’t think I can do this without a cruller or ten. And a vat of coffee.”

Sam gave a nod, wiped his hands on his apron. “I’ll set you up. We’ve got a special cherry fritter this morning that’ll turn your world upside down. Take a seat.”

Looked like Sam didn’t plan on decking him anytime soon, and the prospect of a cherry fritter to top it off? There was a god after all. Ben rested the heels of his hands against his eyes. Whatever Sam dished out, he could take it. Couldn’t be any worse than what Ivy served up last night.

“You look rough around the edges. Tough night?” Sam slid a plate onto the table, then deposited two giant mugs of coffee.

“One time in Afghanistan we spent the night with an Army battalion pinned down between two groups of rebels who didn’t realize they were on the same side. No food or water. Our radio got shot, so we couldn’t call for help. The lieutenant had a fractured leg, which meant running like hell wasn’t an option.” Ben took a long, life-giving gulp of coffee. “That night was a cakewalk compared to last night.”

“Good to know you’re keeping everything in perspective.”

Here we go. “Let me lay it out for you. I only came here because Ivy told me you never work the early shift. I don’t want to cause any trouble, and I don’t want to rehash what should be a private matter between me and Ivy.”

Sam did a spit take with his coffee, spraying it onto the floor. “Private? Buddy, stripping naked at center court at a Bulls game is more private than that show you and Ivy put on for all of us. So many people know about it there’s probably a review in the
Tribune
. But I’m not going to bust your balls.”

Another quick peek around the room confirmed Ben’s suspicions. They were all alone. “Crap. No witnesses. You are going to beat me up, aren’t you? Is Gib all lined up to swing by in half an hour to help you dump my body in the Chicago River?”

“We didn’t have a formal schedule laid out, but…” Sam’s voice trailed off, then after a second he burst out laughing and clapped Ben hard on the arm. “Don’t be an idiot. Ivy didn’t put a hit out on you. We’re sure as hell not going to work you over. We’re friends. Aren’t we?”

He’d wondered all along if everyone accepted him because of Ivy, or if he’d made genuine friendships. Assumed, after last night’s debacle, that the whole crowd would take Ivy’s side without question. Throw a parade as soon as his plane took off from O’Hare tomorrow, waving
Good Riddance
placards. “Yeah, I guess we are. Does this mean I can eat my donuts in peace?”

“Nope. But on the bright side, I have no intention of talking about Ivy—”

“Great.” Ben whooshed out a sigh of relief. The entire day loomed ahead of him, and he didn’t have a damn thing to do, except avoid everyone connected to Aisle Bound. If he wasn’t going to get the third degree, he’d stay. Hanging out with Sam wouldn’t be a bad way to pass the morning. Most importantly, it’d distract him from second guessing his decision about Darfur.

“—or what an incredible tool you were to her parents. Timing is not your strong suit.”

“Hey, I didn’t intend to ruin the party. Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes kept yammering at me about the future, trying to lock me down. You were there—you heard them. How else could I shut them up?”

“Not getting into it. But I do want to talk to you, as a friend, about your career.”

Ben bit into a fritter, then bit back a moan. The cherry goodness exploded in his mouth, and lifted an ounce of the multi-ton lid of darkness currently suffocating his heart. “You want to tag along? I’m sure we could find room for a guy who knows his way around a camp stove.”

“No way. The mean streets of Chicago are all the danger I can handle.”

“Wuss.” Ben licked his fingers and started in on the second fritter. If Sam wanted his fair share off the plate, he’d better be quick.

“Sure. But I know I’ll live to see forty. Can you say the same thing?”

“I don’t need a mother, Sam. Hell, I don’t listen to the one I’ve got.”

“Listen to me—as a friend—for five minutes.”

After all the money he’d skimmed off him in poker, he owed Sam that much. “Okay.”

“No secret I’m a news geek. It was a red-letter day when I discovered I could follow my favorite reporters on Twitter. I’ve been a fan of your work for years.”

Weird. And strangely humbling. He’d never had a groupie before. After the incident, he’d shut down his Twitter account and Facebook. Enough people vilified him in newspapers and television. He missed Tweeting with other fans during ball games, but Ben sure as hell didn’t need anyone snarking to him directly. “Want me to autograph your apron before I go?”

“You got a raw deal with the whole Cowering Cameraman label. But fair or not, the industry turned its back on you. Could’ve been the end. Instead, you turned it around, and made a whole new life. From what I can tell, you’re good at it, and you like it.” Sam leaned his elbows on the table. “Why walk away from a good thing?”

“Granted,
Planning for Love
is heads and tails a better show than
Wild Wedding Smackdown
. But it’s still reality television. You going to sit there and tell me reality shows are as respected and important as the news?”

“You going to sit there and tell me you’re going to risk your life in one of the most dangerous places on the planet because you’re a television snob? Out of pride? What happens if this documentary goes nowhere? The news industry will still bar their doors to you, and you’ll have shot yourself in the foot with RealTV. Then what? You’ll be stuck coming here and helping me roll out pie crust for a living, because no one else will have you. If you even survive.”

“I’m getting vaccinated, for Christ’s sake. Chances are slim I’ll die of malaria, or tuberculosis, or anything else.”

“Right. Because rebel guerillas and pissed-off Sudanese National Guard always ask their victims to show a passport before shooting.”

Ben dropped the rest of his fritter back onto the plate. Guess the sugar didn’t agree with his roiling stomach after all. “I appreciate the concern. But I’ve been in more dangerous places and come out okay. Risk comes with the job. It’s what I do.”

“Is it? It used to be. Until circumstances forced you to try something new, something more artistic.”

“
Wild Wedding Smackdown
was humiliating. Several steps below rock bottom. Maybe a hair above shoveling fries into a sack.” But he’d had no choice. The networks castrated him, professionally speaking.

“Sure. But RealTV saw your talent, and gave you a chance to shine. A job that still challenges you, but in different ways. A job you admitted fulfilled you on a surprising level. You told us at poker last week how much you love producing. You’re on the cusp of a whole new career. Why toss that chance away?”

“I’ve never heard you string so many sentences together at one time. Thought you were the one guy I could count on not to talk my ear off.” No doubt about it, Ben couldn’t get out of Chicago fast enough. He’d always been a lone wolf. All these people circling him, thinking they had the right to stick their noses in his business? It rankled him. Starting first and foremost with Ivy the puppet master. Well, he fucking refused to let anyone pull his strings. And he wouldn’t sit here and suffer through a lecture, no matter how well meaning.

He pulled a couple of crumpled bills out of his shorts and tossed them on the table. “Thanks for breakfast. Since I doubt I’ll be making my way back to the Windy City anytime soon, here’s a tip to even the score: you’ve got a poker tell. I noticed it after just an hour of throwing cards with you. When you bluff, you start by taking three swigs of beer. See you around.”

Ben slammed through the door with its damn tinkling bell and headed for the El stop. This morning officially sucked. Riding public transportation at dawn with a bunch of drunks coming off benders couldn’t make it any worse.

* * *

“Aha.” Gib poked his head around the fitness center door. “Thought I’d find you here, old chap.” The rich, plummy tones of his hearty greeting immediately raised Ben’s antennae.

“Old chap?” he grunted as he continued to sweat through a never-ending set of pull-ups. “This is a weight room, not a nineteenth century club for members of the peerage. What unfurled the Union Jack up your ass?”

Gib crossed the window and leaned against the frame, crossing his ankles. “I see we’re still in a mood. To be expected, I suppose.”

“My workout, my mood. If you don’t like it, go prop up somebody else’s wall.” Why wouldn’t people leave him the hell alone? Shouldn’t they all be shunning him, treating him like a pariah for breaking Ivy’s heart? Ben grabbed his towel off the machine and swabbed his forehead. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were off today.”

“I am. These are my off-duty clothes.” He smoothed a hand down the lapels of his blue sport coat. “See? No tie.”

Ben moved to the weight bench machine and lay down. “Wow. You’re really slumming it. Surprised the dress-code police didn’t put out an APB on you.”

“Your life may be little better than toxic sludge right now, but you’ve no call to take it out on me.”

“My life’s great.” Bracing his feet on the floor, he began counting his bench press reps. Out loud. Maybe that’d shut Gib up.

“Bollocks.” Gib snatched the barbell and placed it back on the rack.

Why couldn’t he work out in peace and quiet? His sole goal for today was to avoid people. He’d texted Ollie instructions at midnight about flying solo for a few days. Emailed RealTV his plan to finish up the edits from New York for the next few weeks, and that they’d need to send another cameraman to Chicago to take his place. Then he’d turned off and packed his phone. In theory, that should’ve been enough to keep him off everyone’s radar. In reality, it felt like he had a freaking homing device in his shoe.

Sighing, Ben rolled up into a stretch. “Seriously. Cut the Brit speak. You’re freaking me out.”

Gib sat on the fly machine across from him. “How are you?”

“Told you already. Life’s great. My career’s back on track, all’s right with the world.” Ben took a long pull from his water bottle.

“Don’t be flip. Look, I came here today to check on you.”

The troops were circling. Did they want him to have a security escort? Make sure he didn’t do anything else to upset Ivy? Maybe they’d settle for house arrest—keep him here in the Cavendish. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a flight out of town tomorrow morning. I’ll give Ivy a wide berth until then. You don’t have to protect her from me.”

“Clearly the Queen’s English isn’t doing the trick.” Gib rested his left foot on his knee, after straightening the pleat in his pants. “I’m not here about Ivy. I came to see how you were doing. Quite a bit of dirty laundry got aired last night. Wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

Ben assumed he’d been shifted to persona non grata status by Ivy’s entire circle of friends and family the moment he left the ballroom last night. While he’d braced for a black eye from Sam, Gib wasn’t the type to lead with his fists. Ben did expect he’d be blackballed from every Cavendish around the world. But first Sam surprised him, and now here was Gib acting suspiciously solicitous. “What’s it to you?”

Something…off flickered in Gib’s eyes. A moment later, his expression cleared. “We’re friends. Friends look out for each other, offer a shoulder when one of them takes some lumps.”

“You’re Ivy’s friend,” Ben corrected.

“Quite right. In my capacity as Ivy’s friend, I’ll be popping by her place this evening with a cheery yet elegant bouquet. And a couple of bottles of chardonnay.”

It took a lot to slam the door on the memory of Ivy’s smiling face peeking over the rim of a wineglass. “Aren’t you supposed to pick sides? Love her, hate the guy who walked out on her?”

“Not everything in the world is black and white. You’re walking away from a rather nice life. Can’t be easy. Are you sure this new job is worth losing everything you’ll leave behind?”

Why did everyone insist on second-guessing him? “I’m returning to my old job, the one that put its foot on my ass and booted me out the door. If I don’t grab this opportunity with both hands, I’ll never get another one.”

Gib stood. “Would that be so bad? You closed that door once, Ben. Just because it opens again doesn’t mean you’re obligated to walk through it. Think about what—and who—you have here. A second chance at life-long happiness doesn’t come around very often. You sure you want to risk it?” He shook Ben’s hand, grimaced, wiped his hand on a fresh towel and left the room.