The Man Plan (16 page)

A CD of her artwork tumbled out along with a piece of white stationery. Turning it over, she read the name embossed at the top and enough of the canned reply below to make her throat squeeze tight. Tears she’d told herself she wouldn’t shed welled in her eyes, streamed down her cheeks, warm and wet.

She collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs and blubbered.

She was sniffing into a crumpled wad of tissues, her face swollen and miserable, when Neil found her twenty minutes later.

He rushed to set aside the sack of groceries in his arms. “Hey, cupcake, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

She saw his eyes land on the scattered contents of the envelope on the table, watched his instant recognition.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry,” he said.

She buried her nose in the tissues, squeezed out a few more tears.

“Here.” He reached out, gathered her in his long arms. “Give me a great big hug.”

She did, taking comfort.

“Better?”

“Not much, but thanks anyway.” She pulled back, wiped at her reddened eyes.

He took the chair beside her. “Well, they’re idiots and you should be glad they didn’t want you. Obviously, they can’t see talent when it’s staring them right in the face. They must be cousins of the casting directors who keep giving my parts to other people. How else can you explain overlooking a pair of artistic geniuses like you and me?”

The remark earned a tiny smile. “Thanks. You know just what to say.”

“Hey, I’ve had loads of practice. Now, let’s see that great smile of yours.”

She forced her lips to curve upward to mockingly show him her teeth.

He laughed; then she did too, her spirits lifting fractionally.

“Now, that’s more like it,” he said. “You have a shining gift, Ivy. The whole world will see it for themselves one of these days. Until then, your mission is to keep painting and not give up.”

“You either. You’re a fabulous actor.”

“Damn straight. No way am I going to wait tables the rest of my life.”

He stood, crossed to unload groceries from the brown paper bag he’d abandoned when he’d first arrived. “In the meantime, how about one of my famous mile-high hoagies? Hot ham, salami, and provolone cheese with spicy peppers and onions on an Italian roll. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. Want help?”

He shooed her back into her chair. “No, no. The master must work alone.” He picked up the glass of grape juice she’d forgotten on the counter and handed it to her. “Yours, I believe.”

She sipped her juice while Neil assembled the sandwich.

He rolled the hoagie inside a cocoon of aluminum foil then popped it into the hot oven. After rinsing his hands in the sink, he tossed her a probing look. “All right. Out with it.”

“Out with what?”

“Whatever it is that still has you looking so gloomy.”

She glanced away. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to the gay man, dear heart. We’re intuitive, you know, like dogs before an impending earthquake. Our senses are finely honed.”

“Is that so? Then why don’t you work your magic and tell me what’s wrong?”

He studied her for a long, hard moment. “I’d say you’ve got man trouble.
Old
man trouble, if I don’t miss my guess.”

She scowled at his accuracy. “James is
not
old.”

“Well, now, that’s a matter of opinion. My oldest brother’s younger than him, and I’m the baby in a family of seven kids.” He met her expression. “Okay, okay, I’ll quit teasing you. What’s Mr. Sunshine up to these days?”

“Nothing. And that’s the problem. I haven’t heard from him in days.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve been refusing to take his phone calls.”

“Well, all he ever does is scold me and I—” She paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Oh, Neil, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. I have a job. I’m proving myself, but it isn’t making a bit of difference. James is farther out of my reach than ever. He was supposed to realize by now how much he misses me, needs me. But all he wants is for me to move back to my old apartment and go on the way things were before, before . . .”

“The
night
,” he inserted.

Neil knew all about her messed-up romance with James. She’d confided in him only days after the event, needing a sympathetic ear and a sturdy shoulder to cry on.

“Yes, the
night
.” She spun her empty juice glass between her thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps I ought to give in, go back. At least I’d see him every once in a while. At least I wouldn’t be shut out of his life completely.”

“And what good would that do?” Neil folded his arms, leaned back against the counter. “You want him to love you and respect you. He isn’t going to do either
if you go crawling back on his terms. He treats you like a child. If you do as you’re told now, it’ll only prove to him he’s right, that you are too young, too inexperienced, too immature, especially for him. Call him up. See him if you want to. But don’t go back, not like this.”

Her shoulders drooped. “If only I didn’t love him so much. If only it didn’t hurt so much.”

“I wish it didn’t, sweetie. Personally, I think you could do a whole lot better than Mr. Arrogant Richie-Rich, but there’s no explaining the ways of the heart. Give it time. Give him time. If it’s meant to be, he’ll realize what an asshat he is and come to your door to sweep you off your feet.”

“What if he never does? And he isn’t an asshat,” she defended.

He shrugged as if agreeing to disagree. “Look, worst-case scenario, you’ll have your work and your pride and, eventually, you’ll find someone else to love. If I were you, though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because from what I’ve seen of the guy, he’s got a real case on you. Jealous, possessive. He practically snarls anytime another man so much as glances your way. Hell, he even tried to scare me off, and we all know I’m no threat in that department. And he
hates
Fred. Do the boy a favor and give him a heads-up if your billionaire boyfriend decides to drop by. Otherwise I fear Fred’s dancing days may be numbered.”

“If you’re implying James would hurt him, you’re wrong. James isn’t the violent sort.”

“Baby cakes, we’re all the violent sort given the right provocation.”

“Well, he’s not. And the whole issue’s neither here nor there. I’m not interested in Fred, and James knows that. I’ve told him Fred and I are friends, nothing more.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’d love to have heard how that went down. He’s got to know Fred would be all over you if you’d just crook your little finger in his direction. A man in lust never entirely gives up hope, my dear. And neither should you.”

“No, I suppose not. You’re right, and I’m going to try to cheer up, starting now.”

“That’s the ticket. With that in mind, I suggest you go out and start having some fun.”

“I have fun,” she protested.

“No, you work. Either you’re up at that dress shop selling clothes or here at the apartment locked away in your room, painting.”

“I enjoy painting.”

“Yeah, but even Michelangelo needed a break every now and again. Josh is playing at a new club tomorrow night. Lulu’s in a great off-Broadway musical, and although ballet’s never been my favorite, Fred’s good for matinee seats at his latest event. You’re attending them all.”

“When will I have time?”

“We’ll make time. Do you want James, the giant poophead, to think you’re sitting around moping over him?”

“Neil, behave. James is not a poophead any more than he’s an asshat.”

He grinned. “Hey, love is blind. So, are you going to fade away in this apartment?”

She straightened her shoulders in sudden decision. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then get with it, cupcake. There’re some people I want you to meet at a coffeehouse nearby. I think you’d like them. They’re artists like us.”

“All right.”

“Good.” The timer dinged for their sandwich. He crossed to pull it out of the oven. “After we eat, we’ll head over, see who’s around. If we run into a girl named Bianca, don’t let her shock you.”

“Why would she shock me?”

“Her hair, for starters. Takes some getting used to.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her hair?”

“She wears it à la the Medusa, as she calls it. Little braids that stick out all over her head like a coil of snakes.”

“Sounds different.”

“Oh, it’s different, all right, especially since she dyed it green.”

Ivy laughed.

He divided the sandwich onto plates and passed one to Ivy. “Eat up, cupcake. The night is young, and so are we.”

“D
o you need me for anything else tonight?”

James glanced up from the stock reports he was reviewing, shifted his attention to his executive assistant. “No. I’m fine, Tory. Go on home. And thanks for sacrificing your Friday evening to finish up those contracts.”

“All part of the job.” She moved farther into James’s expansive office. “It’ll be dark soon. Shall I turn on a few lights before I leave?”

The late-summer sun was beginning to lose its brilliance, rays of mellow gold casting a shimmery haze over the horizon, glinting against the broad glass walls that separated the room from the outside world.

“No, I won’t be much longer.”

She seemed relieved by his statement. “Good. Then I won’t need to worry about you falling asleep here again tonight. Imagine my surprise, walking in and finding you on the couch this morning.”

He gave her a wry half smile. “Sorry about that. I promise I’ll be good and sleep at home this evening.”

Instead of saying good night, she lingered, a small frown on her face. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but is everything all right? You’ve seemed a little on edge lately.”

Edgy. Moody. Taciturn. Gruff.

He’d been all those things and more.

Ever since his lunch with Madelyn more than a week ago, he’d been short-tempered and distracted. Just yesterday he’d come down hard on a new employee—a fresh-faced kid barely out of graduate school—for misquoting a series of industry figures in a report.

Easily caught with no lasting damage, the mistake was the sort he should have let pass. Normally he would have, remembering to put a word in the right ears later on to make certain the error got fixed. Instead he’d made an issue of the matter in the middle of a meeting. His few clipped sentences enough to bring mortified color into the young man’s cheeks and a sheen of moisture to his overeager eyes.

James thought now of those eyes, a wave of guilt assailing him for taking his personal frustrations out on a young guy just starting out.

He sighed. “It’s nothing, Tory. A lot on my mind lately, that’s all.”

“Maybe you should take a vacation,” she suggested. “You haven’t had a real break in months.”

He picked up his gold fountain pen, turned a page of his report in dismissal. “Yes, but I haven’t got the time right now. I’ll give it some thought though.”

“All right. Let me know if I can clear any of your calendar.”

“I will. Have a good weekend.”

“You too.” She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “James.”

He looked up. “What?”

“Do something impulsive this weekend, will you? Just for the fun of it.”

“Impulsive, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to act like a kid every now and again, even if it’s not always so easy to feel like one.”

“Good night, Tory.”

“Good night, James.”

He continued working after she’d gone, after the outer office lights had been dimmed and the only sound in the corridors was the distant droning hum of a vacuum cleaner being used by one of the night cleaning crew.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then laid down his pen. He watched it roll across his desk and come to a stop against his empty coffee cup.

I have to quit thinking about her.

For weeks now Ivy’d filled his mind, his life. First with her vibrant, unpredictable presence, sweeping in like a warm wind to stir up his carefully arranged—albeit mildly tedious—existence. Spreading laughter and sunshine in her wake, beauty and surprise. And passion. She’d brought that to him as well. A pure, unjaded want that for those few brief hours had made the world go away.

But then it had been over, leaving a void inside him
he didn’t understand and hadn’t anticipated. He’d known her her whole life, and yet suddenly he no longer seemed to know her at all.

Who was this girl who made him smile? This woman who turned him inside out and upside down?

Was Madelyn right? Did he love Ivy?

Ever since Madelyn had made the suggestion, he’d been unable to get her words out of his head. They’d been there, whizzing around like pinballs, setting off bells and whistles and alarms all over the place.

He still wanted Ivy; he knew that.

Even after all this time, he had dreams. Hot, sweaty, aching dreams that plagued him day and night. It was one of the reasons he’d crashed here on his office sofa last night. He hadn’t wanted to face another night alone, lying in his bed where she’d once slept.

Dear God, maybe I really do love her.

The idea shot a tremor straight through him.

And if I do love her, then what?

She claimed to love him.

Maybe he should see where it took them despite all the obstacles in the way.

Do something impulsive this weekend
.

Tory’s words echoed in his ears.

Impulsive, hmm?

What would Ivy think of Paris?

If they left by eleven, his jet could have the two of them there in time to watch the sunrise crest over the Seine. They’d find a quiet patisserie and breakfast on delicate brioches and fresh, warm croissants with
butter and jam and cups of steaming café au lait. Then he’d show her the city as she’d never seen it before.

He reached out to turn off his computer, then dialed a phone number before he had enough time to change his mind.

*   *   *

He rapped his fist on the door to apartment 419. While he waited for an answer, he eyed the quarter-sized spot of brown paint that had worn away beneath the pitted chrome knocker.

“They’re all out tonight.”

He swiveled his head toward the Queens drawl.

A lanky blonde with a pair of the longest legs he’d ever seen exited the apartment across the hall. She yanked her door closed with a hard slam, then jiggled the key in the lock until the bolt finally slid home with an audible click.

She turned, rolled her gray eyes, and gave him a wry smile. “I’ve complained about this lock a hundred times. Do they fix it? Of course not.” She opened her purse, dropped the keys inside. “Who’re you lookin’ for?” She angled her head toward 419.

“Ivy. Ivy Grayson. Do you know her?”

“Sure, I know her. I know all my neighbors.” Eyes alert, she gave him a quick once-over from head to toe. “You aren’t her brother, are you?”

His jaw firmed. “No. I’m not her brother.”

“I just thought . . . both of you being so blond and all.”

“Ivy and I, we’re . . . old friends,” he explained, seeing her curiosity. He held out his hand. “James Jordan.”

“Lulu Lancaster. A pleasure.” She smiled broadly, taking the hand he offered. “Ivy sure has some nice taste in friends. Attractive, well dressed, and polite. We don’t see much of that around here. Though we don’t see many classy girls like Ivy around here either. She’s a sweetheart.”

“Yes, Ivy’s one of a kind. You wouldn’t happen to know where she’s gone this evening, would you? Or when she might be planning to return?”

“Hmm, not sure. She had a date. I know that. No telling where they went. She probably won’t be home for hours, if at all, if you know what I mean,” she finished on a wink.

“A date?” One hand squeezed into a fist at his side.

“Yeah. Some guy she’s been seeing for the past couple weeks. I can never remember his name.” She waggled a finger in the air as she thought. “Kirk, Karl, something like that, something with a K. He’s an artist.”

His gut squeezed, hard and sick. “Is he?”

“Neil introduced them at this coffeehouse where he and Josh hang. Ivy really seems to have hit it off with the guy. They talk art, old masters and all that boring la-la stuff. You should hear them. Very intense—brushstroke this, contrast that. I listen for five minutes and my eyes begin to roll to the back of my head.”

She flexed a foot, displaying a long, shapely leg. “I’m more physical. Dancing’s my passion.”

He stood silently, her words ringing in his ears.

Ivy was on a date.

Ivy was seeing another man.

“Hey, you don’t look so good all of a sudden.” Lulu stepped closer, tipped her head back for a better angle. “Are you okay?”

He gathered his grim emotions around himself like a heavy coat. “I’m fine. I need to get going.” He turned away.

“I’ll tell Ivy you stopped by,” she called after him.

His footsteps slowed. He tossed her a last look. “No. No need. My visit wasn’t important. Nice to have met you, Lulu.”

She nodded, a troubled frown on her brow. “Yeah, back at ya.”

He took the stairs at breakneck speed; he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Reaching the bottom floor, he pushed outside into the warm, muggy night air. A cat yowled, spooked by his abrupt exit. It darted away on quick, silent paws, disappeared around the corner.

A couple, arms looped around each other’s waists, strolled around him where he stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He barely noticed their intimate murmurings as they continued on.

So, he’d been right.

A little more than a month and already she’d found someone new. Kirk or Karl from the coffeehouse, who shared a common interest in art and who knows what else.

Twentysomething, no doubt. Handsome. Charming and penniless as well.

But Ivy wouldn’t care about that. She’d never cared about money, never been impressed by it the way so
many others were. That’s one thing he’d always found so refreshing about her; she didn’t like him for his money.

She said she loved me.

Obviously, once she’d moved away, had a chance to rethink her feelings for him, she’d realized her mistake.

A crush, just as he’d figured.

What an idiot he was, believing even for a second that there could have been something real and lasting between them. Thank God she hadn’t been there tonight. Thank God he hadn’t had a chance to tell her his plans, reveal his newfound feelings, his ridiculous dreams.

Well, those dreams were dead. His feelings, he knew, would take a bit longer to erase.

He walked to his black Mercedes parked at the curb. He turned off the alarm, clicked open the locks, and climbed inside. He sat for a moment, then dialed a number on the car phone.

“Yes, this is Jordan. I ordered the jet for this evening. My plans have changed. I won’t be needing it after all.”

*   *   *

Ivy tapped discreetly on the dressing room door. “How are you doing? Is the pant combination working out better than the dress?”

“Hmm. I believe it is.”

The hinged three-quarter door opened from the inside, and Ivy took a look at her customer, an energetic, chestnut-haired mother of two. She had small breasts, broad hips, and a no-nonsense attitude that defied anyone to hold her figure flaws against her.

The woman had come into the shop needing something for a party—her party—being hosted in honor of her forty-fifth birthday, which was due to arrive in six days, whether, she’d told Ivy with a mock growl, she liked it or not.

Relaxed yet stylish with just enough kick to make it fun. Dramatic but not outrageous, that’s the sort of outfit the client, Rhonda, had told Ivy she was looking for.

So far they’d been through ten outfits.

This was the eleventh.

Rhonda turned in a slow circle, showing off the long-sleeved organza blouse with ruffled collar and cuffs. The material was dyed in feminine swirls of apricot and pink, the wide-legged trousers cut and colored to match in the palest of peach. “What do you think?”

“It’s not what I think that’s important,” Ivy said. “How do
you
feel in the outfit? Does it make you feel pretty?”

“No, no. I’m not saying a word until you give me your unbiased reaction.”

She met Rhonda’s inquiring brown eyes. “I think it’s smashing. Honestly.”

“You don’t think the ruffles are too much?”

“On anyone else, yes. On you, no way. The cut of the blouse is just right, emphasizing your shoulders and drawing attention to your face. While the pants show off your height and slim your hips. If you didn’t have the confidence to carry it off, I would never have suggested it.”

Rhonda grinned like a schoolgirl sharing secrets with her BFF. “This is the one. The material’s so soft
and the color’s to die for. When you brought it in, I nearly laughed and sent it back. But you were right. It’s exactly what I need for my party. You’re a miracle worker, Ivy.”

She dismissed the notion with a hand. “Just glad we had what you wanted.”

Rhonda pivoted for another look in the set of full-length mirrors. “You have a real eye for design and especially for color. Brilliant.”

“Probably a by-product of my art training.”

Rhonda cocked her head. “Art training? What sort of art?”

“Oh, painting, drawing. I studied in college. That’s my real passion. I’m working here until I can get my art career going.”

“Have you tried at any of the galleries?”

“A few. No luck yet.”

“Well, it’s a tough profession. Even the great ones struggle at first.”

Ivy nodded. “Yes. Well, I’ll wait for you out front, unless there’s something else you’d like to try on?”

Rhonda flipped over the price tag. “No, this will do more than enough damage for one day.”

Ivy gathered an armful of rejected clothes from the hooks in the dressing room, then left Rhonda to change.

Her conversation with the other woman had her feeling abruptly disheartened. She was having a hard time lately buoying her spirits even with Neil’s determined campaign to keep her busy and active. She had him to thank for a new friend and confidant though, fellow artist Kip Zahn.

He was a sculptor by choice, waiter by necessity. She and Kip had been drawn toward each other by common interests and backgrounds. The youngest son of two distinguished West Coast attorneys, he’d also traded privilege and comfort for a chance to prove himself and succeed at his dream on his own terms.

With less than a semester to go, he’d abandoned college and the career in law his parents had wanted for him. And just like Ivy, he was nursing a bruised and bleeding heart; the girl he loved had been unwilling to leave her old life behind to start a new one with him.