The Man Plan Page 21
“What? They’ve left too?”
“Some scheduling mix-up with their sitter. And Brie received a call from the office. Some problem with one of the legal briefs. She said to tell you she’d phone in the morning before her flight.”
Ivy’s spirits deflated as fast as a balloon jabbed with a pin. Apparently, everyone was deserting her. Instead of celebrating tonight, it looked like she’d be taking the train home alone and catching up on her sleep.
She worked hard not to let her disappointment show.
“Here she is,” her father announced, coming to a halt next to her mother. “Our very own artistic genius.”
“Dad, please,” Ivy admonished.
“Don’t turn modest now. I’ve got eyes. I know genius when I see it.”
“So do I,” Laura Grayson declared, leaning over to brush a kiss against her daughter’s cheek. “I didn’t want to say it before, but these other people who’re sharing your show, well, they don’t hold a candle to you.”
“It’s not my show. It’s all of our shows. And they’re very good too.”
“Good perhaps, but not as good as you.”
Ivy studied her mother, finding her as lively as usual. For a woman who was supposed to be tired, she didn’t look it.
Her father cupped a hand around her mother’s elbow. “I told Ivy we were leaving. Since you’re so worn-out from last night.”
She watched as her parents exchanged some sort of silent communication.
“Yes, yes, I am tired.” Laura raised a hand to cover a yawn. “Practically dead on my feet. I hope you’ll forgive us, sweetheart, for running out on you on your special night.”
“Sure. It’s fine.” She faked a smile.
But as she looked between them again, she paused, suddenly suspicious. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they were lying. But no, why would they lie? Unless—
“Congratulations again on your marvelous show,” her mother said, interrupting the thought. She pulled her into her arms. “We’ll talk tomorrow before we head home, dear.”
Ivy returned the hug, then gave one to her father. “Get some rest.”
She watched her parents depart, then stood alone in the rapidly emptying room. A sudden wave of depression hit her. Where had her brilliant evening gone?
Then she saw him, a glimpse of gold wandering among the canvases; James was here after all.
He wore one of his trademark suits, looking debonair in dark charcoal gray—very GQ, as Lulu had once called him.
Her feet were moving before she realized she’d taken a step. She followed him as he disappeared around one of the broad, white partitions that split the room into a maze of diagonals. Carefully angled track lights shone from above, illumination pooling like tiny spotlights on each of the artistic offerings displayed.
She found him, his chin tilted upward as he gazed at one of her paintings. She glanced to see which one. His portrait, hanging there like a two-dimensional twin.
He didn’t turn his head as she approached, her shoes silent on the gallery’s white-on-white tile floor.
“When did you do this?” he asked softly.
“Not long ago. It was the last piece I finished before the show.” She stopped a few paces away. “What do you think?”
Nervously, she waited through the long quiet that followed.
“I think you see things in me I barely recognize in myself.”
His words surprised her, pleased her. “And the painting? Do you like it?”
He turned. “What’s not to like? It’s as splendid as all the rest of your work. Not for sale, I see.”
“No.”
She could never bear to part with a piece so dear to her heart. If she couldn’t have him, at least she would have this painting and all the memories that came with it.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “It’s late. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I said I’d be here. You needn’t have worried.”
“And you didn’t stop to say hello when you arrived.” Her tone was a gentle reproof.
“You were busy talking to your parents, and I wanted to see the paintings. Where are they? Did they leave?”
She nodded. “Mother’s tired, or so she says.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I’m not sure. She and Dad were both acting a little peculiar.” She narrowed her eyes, her earlier suspicions returning. “You don’t know anything about it, do you?”
“Know about what?”
“Whatever it is that’s going on.”
“Why would you think something’s going on?” he said, his face a perfect mask of innocence.
She narrowed her eyes. “Now I’m even more suspicious. What gives?”
James held out for another few moments. “All right, but promise you’ll act surprised.”
“Surprised by what?”
“The party they’re throwing for you at my place. That’s why I’m late. I had to stay to let the caterers in.”
“A party? For me? I had no idea.”
“At least not until I spilled the beans. I told them to draft somebody else to play decoy. I’m no good at this sort of thing.”
“It’s not you. It’s my parents. They’re the ones who can barely keep a secret.” A thought occurred to her. “So how were you going to lure me up to your penthouse?”
Their eyes met. They both looked away.
“I was supposed to tell you I’d bought one of your paintings and needed help deciding where to hang it,” he explained. “Hardly convincing, considering the hour.”
“Still, it might have worked.” Even a transparent excuse, she reckoned, would have been enough to convince her to go with him. “Were you really prepared to buy one of my paintings?”
“I bought two before the show even opened. It wouldn’t have been an issue.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You bought two? Why?”
“Why else? Because I like them. It wasn’t done out of pity, if that’s what you’re thinking. You ought to know me well enough by now to realize I don’t make frivolous purchases. The ones I bought are worth every penny, and I suspect they’ll be a bargain once word gets around about you.”
She should be angry with him, she supposed. A sale to James wasn’t the same as a sale to a stranger. On one level it smacked of cheating. Then again, she had no desire to be cross with him, especially when she knew he sincerely respected and appreciated her talent.
A spot warmed deep inside her. “Which two did you buy?”
“The Street Vendor and the painting of Estella. I couldn’t see it going out of the family. It’ll be my Christmas present to her and her family.”
Her heart swelled with even greater delight. “She’ll be so pleased.”
Her lips curved.
His curved back.
The connection between them was electric, as magnetic as the pull of the moon and the stars. She watched him watch her and nearly forgot how to breathe, her senses quivering beneath her skin.
He reached out, ran a gentle finger over the strand of creamy pearls encircling her neck. “Is this the necklace I gave you all those years ago?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
She remembered the day, the moment, as if it were yesterday. Standing with him beneath the study window in her parents’ house, sunlight streaming over them both to chase away the late-winter chill. She’d been only fifteen, the pearls his birthday present to her. They’d been far too indulgent a gift for a girl her age, but she’d treasured them then as she treasured them now.
His fingers moved as if compelled by a will of their own to trace one of the large, luminescent pearl earrings in her ears; he’d given the matching set to her as a sweet sixteen.
She shivered beneath his touch.
Then his hand fell away and he stepped back. “We’ve probably given everyone enough time to get settled,” he said. “Why don’t you say good night to Rhonda; then we’ll be on our way.”
Ivy worked to steady herself, feeling as if she were emerging from a fog. “She’s not attending the party?”
“No. Prior engagement. She already offered her regrets, but don’t let on that you know. It’ll spoil the card and gift she sent along.”
“I’ll do my best to put on a convincing show.”
She wished she were a better actress because getting through the night with James so near was going to take an Oscar-caliber performance.
* * *
James didn’t know how much more he could take.
Ivy needed to leave.
Soon, very soon.
All evening he’d gritted his teeth, watched her laugh and cavort with her friends. For hours he’d kept a smile pasted on his face, pretending it didn’t matter that she sat hip to hip with her new lover on his sofa, flaunting their relationship right under his nose.
What on earth had possessed him to invite her crew in the first place? Her friends and that guy, that Kip. What the hell kind of name was Kip anyway? More like something you name a puppy dog than a full-grown man. Then again, the kid in question barely deserved to be called a man. James doubted the boy needed to shave the peach fuzz off his skinny cheeks more than once or twice a week.
He considered pouring himself another glass of champagne, then changed his mind, setting his glass down on a nearby table.
He’d had enough to drink for one evening, he decided. Besides, what was the point? Alcohol solved nothing. Lord knows it didn’t deaden the ache or wipe away the want.
When Laura Grayson had called three weeks ago with the idea of having Ivy’s party here in his home, he should have given her a flat-out “no.” Instead he’d ignored his instincts and gone along with the plan.
Now look what it had gotten him: a miserable evening and a likely hangover in the morning.
But at least Ivy was happy, enjoying herself. No matter what had gone on between them, he wished her nothing but happiness and success.
Unable to stomach another instant of the Ivy and Kip Show, he turned away.
* * *
Across the room, Ivy snuck another look at James.
Only a little while longer, she told herself, and she’d be able to leave. Just a little while longer and she could quit pretending she was having the time of her life.
Considering all the trouble her family and friends had gone to to surprise and please her, it wouldn’t have been right to let them see how miserable she actually was.
Since the car ride over from the gallery, James had barely spoken to her, spending the entire evening on the opposite side of the room. Desperate, she’d made a show of flirting with Kip, but James hadn’t even seemed to notice. Maybe he should have invited that cow Parker Manning to keep him company.
Her stomach burned at the idea.
The night hadn’t been all bad, though. The party decorations were lovely—no doubt courtesy of her mother. The food and drink was delectable. The company festive, cracking jokes and telling stories.
She’d sniffed back tears at her parents’ prideful toast. Blushed and laughed when her sisters passed around embarrassing baby photos of her, followed by examples of her earliest attempts at art—crayon stick figures and finger-painted smears. No one but she and James were aware the party hadn’t come as a delightful surprise.
Only she and James knew a lot of things.
“If you keep looking at him like that,” Kip whispered in her ear, “everybody’s going to know you’re not the least bit interested in me.”
She turned her head and met his soulful brown eyes. “Sorry, and thanks for being such a good sport.”
“Always glad to help a pal. Sorry Melissa’s not here so you could do the same for me.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “What do you say to some cake? It’s chocolate.”
When she hesitated, he jumped to his feet and yanked her up off the couch.
She overbalanced and gasped out a laugh. “Well, all right, if you’re going to be that way about it.”
* * *
“So what’s the deal with James and Ivy?”
Brie selected a triangle of the pale, creamy cheese that shared her name from a silver tray and set it on her plate next to a clump of juicy purple grapes. She plucked one of the grapes off its stem and popped it into her mouth as she waited for her sister to reply.
Madelyn took her time swallowing a bite of cake, then patted her mouth. “What do you mean?”
Brie pinned her with the look she used to break reluctant witnesses. “Don’t pretend with me. You must have noticed the way they look at each other, or rather, don’t look at each other. The tension between them’s so thick, you really could cut it with a knife.” She ate another grape. “So what’s up?”
“Privileged information, Counselor.”
“Privileged—ha. This concerns family. Nothing’s privileged when it comes to family. So give me the 411 already.”
Madelyn set down her half-eaten slice of cake. “You always were a nosy pest.”
“Hey, lawyer’s prerogative. Is he in love with her or what?”
Madelyn looked across the room at James, now deep in conversation with their father. His jaw was squared in a way that could mean only one thing: They were talking politics.
“Oh, he’s in love, though I don’t think he’s very happy about it.”
“What about you? Are you happy about it?”
Madelyn arched an eyebrow and stole one of the grapes off her sister’s plate. She let the sweet flavor of the fruit dissolve in her mouth before she answered.
“At first I was shocked, even outraged,” she admitted to Brie. “Then I started to think about it and realized they’d be great together. He needs someone like Ivy to put a little pizzazz back in his life. And she’s adored him forever, though I suppose until recently, I didn’t want to see it. I think, if they’d let themselves, they could make each other very happy.”
Madelyn told Brie what she knew of their relationship, how she’d discovered James and Ivy that first time, what James had confessed to her the day she’d met him for lunch.
“Hmm,” Brie mused, savoring a forkful of delicate cheese. “Maybe they could use some help.”
“Don’t interfere.”
“I won’t. I’m just going to give them a gentle nudge in the right direction.”
“Brie,” she warned, “stay out of it.”
“I could, but since when have I ever stayed out of anything?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed out the hour.
One stroke. Two. Notes played in a stentorian bass that echoed through the empty quiet of the apartment.
Party over, James tugged himself free of his tie and tossed it, together with his suit jacket, over the back of one of the living room chairs. He switched off the overhead lights, leaving a quartet of table lamps to burn throughout the room; then he slumped onto the sofa.
Eyes closed, he leaned his head back and waited for the sense of relief to come.
But it wasn’t relief he felt, only sadness sweeping through him as raw and unforgiving as a bitter winter wind. He pinched a pair of fingers over the bridge of his nose and fought the ache.
It will pass, he told himself. It has to pass.
He sat for another long minute, then decided he might as well go to bed.
“Where is everyone?”
He jerked, spun around. “Ivy? Where’d you come from?”
“The powder room. Where’s Brie? She and Malynn were supposed to wait for me while Zack went to get the car.”
He climbed to his feet. “Are you sure? They all left minutes ago.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course I’m sure. They were supposed to wait.”
“I assumed you’d gone home with your—” He broke off, unable to say the word “boyfriend.” He swallowed and began again. “Why didn’t you leave with your friends?”
“They wanted to go late-night clubbing. I wasn’t in th
e mood. Brie said I could tag along with her and Zack and Malynn. They said they’d drive me out to my place and drop me off.”
He tucked his hands in his pants pockets, tried to ignore how fresh and pretty she looked despite the late hour. “Maybe you misunderstood.”
“One of us obviously did.” Her arms dropped to her sides. “I guess I can take the train.”
He frowned. “Not at this hour. I’ll drive you home.”
“There’s no need for both of us to be up all night. Look, I’ll take a cab, if it will make you feel better. Okay?”
He straightened. “I said I’ll take you home.”
A small war of emotions raced over her features; then she shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
She looked away. “By the way, if I didn’t say so before, the party was lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But the person you ought to be thanking is your mother. She did the majority of the work.”
Ivy nodded. “Still, it was very generous of you to put up with all of us, particularly my friends. I don’t imagine you were jumping up and down with excitement being asked to invite them into your home.”
“I don’t have anything against your friends.”
She arched a skeptical brow.
“I’ve never objected to them personally. Well, not all of them,” he corrected, thinking of Fred and Kip. “It’s your living arrangements I’ve taken exception to. You’re entitled to be friends with whomever you like.”
Silence fell—the awkward kind that came so often between them these days.
His sadness returned. “I suppose we ought to go.”
“Yes.” Her gaze fell on the trays of food, the used plates and cups and glasses scattered around the room. “Why don’t I help you clean up a little first?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’d feel guilty if I left you with this.” She crossed to the coffee table, began gathering dirty dishes.
“Estella will take care of it tomorrow.”
“Why don’t we give her a break for once? If we work together, it won’t take us long to clear things away.”