Always & Forever: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection, Books 1 - 4)

by Brenna Jacobs

  She didn’t.

  At one point, about ten minutes before they were supposed to close, Bentley raised his eyebrows and asked, “Is this the busiest Tuesday night in history?” The customers didn’t stop coming. Since Ivy had decided to bring up the date, there had not been a quiet moment. And Lexus still didn’t leave.

  Ivy turned the Open sign on the front door to Closed, and only by the force of her will did she avoid picking up half-consumed drinks and desserts from the customers at tables.

  Go away, she thought at them. Go home.

  Maybe they heard her thoughts, or maybe it simply got late, but people started wandering out of the shop. Ivy turned the lights to half power, which did not impel Lexus to get up and leave.

  Bentley said good night to people as they walked out, which Ivy found to be a polite touch. And it seemed to work, because within ten minutes of official closing time, the only person left in the shop was Lexus.

  It occurred to Ivy that Lexus was Bentley’s ride home, and that her big plans for reminding him that he wanted to take her to dinner were a bust.

  But on a day with so many misunderstandings, Ivy decided to ask.

  “Are you riding home with your sister?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Lexus watching them. “Yeah.” Then he brightened. “Do you need a ride?”

  “No, I’m covered.” She untied her apron and tossed it in the bin. “Thanks, though,” she said, almost as an afterthought. I’d never get into an enclosed space with your terrifying sister was left unstated.

  “Okay, so I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bentley asked. The edges of his mouth curled up into a smile that seemed to try to stay hidden, but it couldn’t. Ivy felt her own smile begin.

  “Um, no. I’m not working tomorrow.” Had he heard how sad that sounded? She couldn’t decide if she hoped he had or not.

  He ducked his head in this move that was either natural shyness or perfected practice. “Oh, I didn’t mean at work. Dinner?” He rubbed his mouth with his hand. “I mean, I didn’t really give you a chance to answer. Earlier. Do you want to do dinner with me tomorrow?”

  Ivy found that, even though this was what she wanted, and almost expected, she could not speak. Her voice deserted her, but her mind said yes, yes, yes. She thought how pleased Lucille would be, and she nodded.

  “Perfect.” He pulled out his phone and keyed in something. Handing it to her, he said, “Put in your number?” as though maybe she’d say no. He’d typed in her whole name. Ivy Morehouse. Wow. She felt a little shudder of happiness that he’d found out her last name. She keyed in her number and handed the phone back.

  “Great,” he said, pocketing the phone. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Good? Thanks? What was the matter with her?

  She tried again. “Okay, so I’ll lock up.”

  Bentley waved and walked out from behind the counter. Ivy made sure she was bent inside the pastry window when they left so she didn’t have to acknowledge Lexus. Only when she heard the door close did she allow herself a little squeal of happiness.

  She had a date with Bentley Hollis.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You two are the epitome of opposites attract,” Lexus said, clicking her seatbelt and pressing the start button. Bentley pretended to be consumed with the task of putting his bag by his feet.

  Lex didn’t wait for his reply. “I mean, look at you. And look at her.” The bored drawl that most of her sentences carried made room for an audible sneer.

  Bentley closed his eyes and turned the air vent toward his face. “I know you’re having fun, Lex, but please. Stop it. She’s a nice person. I like her.”

  “You like her.” Lex didn’t turn to look at him. “Really?”

  He watched her flick the turn signal. “If I say yes will you be nice?”

  She tossed her hair off her shoulder. “I’m always nice.”

  “Not lately. You’re acting threatened.”

  She made a noise of contempt. “By her? The coffee girl?”

  Bentley pulled a piece of gum out of the glove box. “By whom, I couldn’t say, but you’re reverting to your mean girl phase. Not your best work. And I’d like to remind you—again—that you loved the idea of me dating her. It’s PR magic, as I recall.”

  “Benny,” she whined. “That was when I knew you’d never do it!”

  He glared at her.

  She shook her shoulders. “Sorry. Sorry. Okay. I’ll be nice. Now can we talk about your meltdown this afternoon?”

  “Only if you’re prepared to tell me how the misinformation got spread. Did you call Gary?” Gary Northrup, an old friend of their father’s, was on the board of Cameron Enterprises and knew everything that happened and everything that didn’t happen.

  “I called Gary. What did you think, I wasn’t going to call?” Lex’s little-sister persona overtook her PR-genius persona for a minute.

  Bentley didn’t say anything, but his silence was censure enough.

  Lex sighed. “Sorry again. I called. He wasn’t in, so I left a message.”

  “What did you say?”

  She looked over her shoulder before changing lanes. “Something about you freaking out about some old people getting thrown into the street and needing to hear that it wasn’t true. Close enough?”

  “And what did he say?”

  Without taking her eyes off the road, she reached into her Jimmy Choo purse and handed him her phone.

  He keyed in her password and read the text message from Gary. “Exceptional offer of entire city block. Purchase is official. One empty lot, two buildings need renovating, one must come down. Great investment.”

  “I bought a block?”

  Lex didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

  He tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice and simply ask a question. “What am I doing with a city block?”

  Again, she said nothing.

  Bentley changed tactics. “I will need all the information about the current properties first thing in the morning. If I’m really kicking a bunch of elderly people out of their home, I should at least be ready for the sharks of the media.”

  Now she looked at him, smiling like she was looking at a new puppy. She reached out a ringed finger and stroked the side of his face. “Benny, leave the media to me. That’s what you pay me for, remember?”

  “I remember,” he said. She always knew what to say to get her way. That was one reason she was so good at her job.

  Bentley sat at the boardroom table trying to ignore his phone. He rarely felt like he was too young for this job, but today he was channeling his inner fourteen-year-old. He’d texted Ivy before coming to the meeting with the board, and she hadn’t replied.

  It had been hours. HOURS.

  Now he was watching Gary Northrup narrate a slideshow detailing the quarterly earnings. He’d do a projection for the next quarter, and then Bentley could leave. Or at least look at his phone without feeling like the teacher was going to take it away or give him detention.

  He glanced across the table and saw that his dad was watching him. Bentley gave him a smile and a thumbs-up.

  Gary could be nothing but pleased with the quarterlies. Bentley already knew what was in the numbers, of course—he had his hand in every aspect of his business. Even so, it was nice to see Walter Hollis and the rest of the board looking pleased. Pleased was good for Bentley’s next steps.

  The board had overseen every venture Bentley had made since he was twelve and set up his online business buying inexpensive Chinese electronics and reselling them. His seed money, borrowed from his dad’s corporation, had seemed like a fortune to him then, but now his shops were making that much money daily, almost hourly. Over the ensuing years, every business became more and more successful. Now Bentley had more money than he’d ever envisioned, and he didn’t ever need to seed his ideas with his father’s funds; however, Cameron Enterprises still resided under the Hollis Holdings umbrella.

  When h
e’d franchised the coffee shop with immediate success, some of the board members voted to give him proprietary control of the company, but his dad’s suggestion that Bentley could become significantly more effective by working the same way his employees did convinced the board. The vote carried for the sixty-day trial. For this reason, and because he trusted his dad’s business sense implicitly, Bentley went to work secretly for the store he’d invented.

  Gary Northrup clicked into the last slide of the next quarter’s projections, and Bentley soaked in the sense of pride that came from the board’s respect. Many of these men and women had worked for the Hollis corporation since before Bentley was born. Their esteem meant a lot to him.

  As Bentley was counting to ten in his head before he could push his chair from the table and excuse himself, Gary clicked onto a new slide.

  “Cameron Enterprises has made a few exciting purchases lately.” He pointed out a new construction of a strip mall outside of Phoenix where Velvet Undergrounds would have a store, and he mentioned the conversations that were in place for a deal with a luxury cruise line that wanted shops in their ships. “And locally, we’ve secured a very lucrative possibility, here in a renovation district.” He zoomed in on a map where Bentley saw a shabby city block from above. Gary clicked his presentation, and a colorized overlay showed restorations to the neighborhood, including a Velvet Undergrounds flagship store, two high-rise office buildings, and a parking structure.

  This was it. The block that Ivy had told him about.

  Bentley leaned forward across the table. “Gary, I have a few concerns.”

  Gary did that fatherly thing Bentley hated—he nodded and smiled as if he’d anticipated Bentley’s worries. He clicked another slide into place, and the parking structure was replaced with an elegantly shaded greenspace. “I knew you’d want to make it pretty,” Gary said, making the words sound condescending, “so we’ve made a plan for Cameron Park and Parking. The cars go underground, and the trees grow above.”

  Gary was right about the park. Bentley liked the idea of an underground parking structure, too. The high-rise buildings were standard practice for these gentrification projects: someone would always need new offices in parts of the city that became appealing with renovations.

  “What can you tell us about the current properties?” Bentley needed to tread carefully here. If Ivy was mistaken about the care center, Bentley didn’t want to carry forward the misinformation.

  This was one of the trickiest parts of the whole Cameron Enterprises arrangement. Bentley bounced between feeling that he was in charge and understanding that he wasn’t in charge at all. Frustration made him appear young and weak, so he worked hard to curb his annoyance. But at the same time, he didn’t want to look like a doormat, eager for the older board members to walk all over him. He felt the internal struggle in every meeting, phone call, and email message.

  Gary clicked his presentation again and the overlays disappeared. The shot was taken in the driest part of summer, and it could not have looked worse. Parched trees spiderwebbed across the photo, partially sheltering one building, while the rest of the block held a vacant lot, an abandoned strip mall, and what appeared to be a graveyard for junk cars.

  “The strip mall became redundant when the big box stores moved in a couple of blocks away. None of these properties is up to current code, and for this one,” he flashed a laser pointer at the projection, “demolition is the only reasonable solution. With the property movement happening near the district, this is a guaranteed win for us. Even with significant outlay of funds to demolish and rebuild, we should make our money back within the first year of leases, and the city will love the new park,” Gary added, nodding his head in a show of humility.

  “Let’s talk about the interior of the flagship store,” he barreled on, not leaving an opening for Bentley to ask about what Ivy had told him about the care center or its residents. The next slides were renderings of truly fantastic angles inside an enormous Velvet Undergrounds. Many of the features were reflective of the current shops, but this was at least four times the size of the others. Gary pointed out a segment of the shop that housed a bookstore. “Book people are all about independent sellers. And books and coffee are a perfect match.” Bentley’s eyebrows went up in appreciation.

  And that was only the beginning. This shop, instead of a glass-front pastry shelf, had an actual bakery onsite. As opposed to the few hangers and shelves holding Velvet Undergrounds T-shirts and hoodies in current shops, this space had an entire merchandise store.

  “My favorite bit of irony for the youth of today is this,” Gary said, his eye-rolling practically audible. He showed a vintage-style record shop stocked with vinyl and record players. “Can’t you see kids coming here to buy music, paying for it by scanning their phones? Each of which holds access to every song ever recorded and fits into their pockets?” Bentley heard the subtext of “kids these days” through Gary’s speech, but couldn’t deny that this would be a gigantic hit.

  The huge shop had more spaces for customers to mingle, and so many more spaces for customers to spend money.

  It was a great idea. He understood it, and looking around, he could see that everyone at the table got it, too. If he brought up his concerns again, he’d cast a shadow on the room—an unnecessary shift away from this positive direction.

  Bentley scanned the slides again and knew it. The new store was going to be a huge success. Many of those ideas had been his: things he wanted to add into the smaller shops, and ideas for more spaces for customers to gather.

  Seeing it all rendered like that, having it all visible in front of his eyes, Bentley felt a renewed sense of excitement as well as a regained trust in the board. These people knew what they were doing.

  Lexus bumped his leg under the table. “Good, right?” she whispered.

  “So good.” Bentley nodded and spoke to the whole room. “This is fantastic. I love it. I move we vote to go forward with the flagship project.”

  Motion carried.

  A pinprick of nagging doubt settled in the back of Bentley’s head, but he was used to that. Being a smart and successful businessman didn’t preclude him from feeling doubt and regret now and then. And he’d have a chat with Gary about what that tree-lined property was currently. Just in case. They’d figure out the best way to move forward. The best way for everyone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ivy checked her makeup in the mirror one more time. It was still fine. She felt self-conscious bubbles in her stomach, but that was normal, right? Date butterflies? She looked down at the blue dress and wondered if it was appropriate. She had no idea. It was easy to dress for work at Velvet Undergrounds. Black, black, black. And even easier to dress in scrubs for the Glen. But this was territory she hadn’t traveled for a while. The dress was subtle, not flashy, but she still felt conspicuously dressed up. Maybe if she changed her sandals for her Docs….

  When Bentley had sent a text earlier in the morning, she’d read it over several times to see if there was a subtle hidden meaning.

  Can’t wait for dinner tonight. What’s your address?

  Can’t wait for dinner? Or for dinner with her? And when he saw where she lived, was he going to make assumptions about her, beyond what he’d certainly already made?

  Or, she thought, in her more lucid and rational moments, maybe he was just excited to try the new restaurant and needed to know where to pick her up.

  No. There had to be more.

  There was always more.

  Bentley had been cute in his buttoned-up way that first day in the shop. He’d seemed a blend of confident and nervous. Charming and nerdy. “Adorkable,” as Deirdre would say. And when he’d let her help with the look, the hair, the shirt, the beanie and glasses, she’d felt his gratitude, and—maybe—more. He’d looked at her for longer than required. She’d felt his eyes on her while she was taking orders and making drinks, but she’d brushed it off. He was learning the ropes of the store, that was all.


  Only he’d gotten the menu down faster than anyone she’d ever worked with. He didn’t seem to really need much help. He was good at this.

  And then she’d googled him.

  Finding out that he was a Hollis Hollis? That had rocked her more than a little. Thinking back, she couldn’t decide what she’d expected. That he just happened to share a name with the country’s biggest hotel chain? That he was a distant cousin? As soon as she found out who he was, it all made perfect sense. His straight-laced formality was now more than a cute characteristic: it was his real world. Ivy was willing to bet that Bentley Hollis had “dressed for dinner” every day of his life. Like in the movies. Long, formal tables holding fresh flowers and too many forks.

  So what was he doing making coffee at Velvet Undergrounds? Why in the world had he shown up on her shift and started working with her?

  He didn’t need the money.

  Maybe, she thought, he’d been disinherited for some breech of rich-guy protocol. Maybe he’d disappointed the family somehow.

  Maybe there was a terrific scandal and his parents were keeping it hushed up, but as penance he had to go out and earn his way in the world.

  Except that when she’d stalked him online she saw that he had an Ivy League MBA. Earning his way in the world meant something different to people with east-coast business degrees.

  Maybe he was slumming. Like Stupid Rich Chad had done. Or maybe in a more benevolent way. It was possible that he just wanted to see how the other half lived, those who had to choose between paying the utilities and eating dinner that didn’t come out of a can.

  Maybe the whole rebuilding of the poorest parts of the city had gotten inside his head somehow, and now he was on a weird mission to bring his brand of wealth and class to the deserving masses.

  Maybe he just really liked coffee.

  Ivy checked herself in the mirror again. Still fine.

  She thought she heard footsteps on the metal stairs outside her apartment. She felt her heart rate increase. It could be him. She forced herself to slow her breathing and remember that this was a big building. It could be anyone.