by Laura Simcox
He stared back. She wasn’t going to make this easy, but God, she was pretty. Her hair looked like buttery silk, and her eyes were full of wry humor.
She smiled at him, raising an eyebrow. “Have a seat,” she said, her voice slightly raspy and sexy as hell.
Oh, shit. This woman was dangerous.
He tore his gaze away from her mouth and shrugged out of his trench coat, laying it carefully across the back of a broken-down sofa. He sat on a wooden chair and adopted a casual pose before he launched into his pitch.
“First of all, congratulations on winning the election. I’m glad to know that I’ll be working with you.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. You thought you were going to buddy up with my dad.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. Her full breasts pillowed on the blotter, and Marcus glanced away. This would have been a lot easier over the phone.
“And as for our working together, I doubt it. But this meeting was scheduled, and I intend to be fair and hear you out. Even though it will end with a no,” she said. “So…”
He cleared his throat. “I’m here to invest in the future of Celebration. I have a plan that will replace all the jobs lost by the closing of Parliament Bakery.”
She doodled on a piece of scrap paper. “Not a chance. Megamart won’t pay even a third of what people were making at the bakery.”
Marcus shifted in his chair. “You have to understand, Ivy. Celebration has been targeted by a well-respected corporation. Megamart is steady and a proven moneymaker. Layoffs of workers are almost unheard of.” He leaned forward and smoothed his tie. “Sound good yet?”
“It sounds like hell.”
He scowled. “It won’t be. I’ve identified a parcel of land on the outskirts of town. As soon as I can wrap up the sale with the owner, construction can begin.”
Ivy rearranged papers on the desk. “Not without zoning approval from the town council. If you’re so interested in investing in Celebration, why don’t you consider throwing some money at our downtown-renewal project?”
He froze for a second before crafting a careful answer. “While that would be a win-win, I’m afraid that the corporation won’t allow it. New locations have to include new construction.”
“I wasn’t talking about Megamart’s money. I was talking about yours.” She smiled, tapping her finger lightly on the desk.
Shit. He needed to think fast and sitting four feet away from that beautiful face wasn’t helping. Marcus stood up and began pacing. He didn’t have a pile of money to just throw around. He had a hundred-thousand-dollar cushion, but he didn’t want to tap it.
“I see. Well, we do have a community outreach program once a store is in place, and as I said, this business is a proven—”
“The only thing that’s been proven is that when Megamarts move into small towns, they kill them. So I’m afraid the answer is no,” she said politely. “Are we finished?”
“I still have fifteen minutes of your time.” He smiled and winked at her, and she narrowed her eyes in response. Oops. Wrong audience.
He went back to pacing. “Megamart is an industry leader, and employee satisfaction ranks very high.”
She sighed. “For crap’s sake, I’m not buying a one-way ticket to hell. Just wind it up, already.”
For crap’s sake? He grinned. “I can guarantee you that the minute I open the doors, unemployment in Celebration will be slashed by thirty percent.”
Her lovely jaw dropped open in mock surprise. “All because of a big-box store? In Celebration?”
He frowned. “Yes. And you’d be wise to present that fact to the town council and see what they say. It’s a good deal with excellent incentives.”
“Are you kidding?” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “The town will never allow it and neither will I.”
Well, shit. No wonder the town was in the toilet. Stubborn pride ruled the roost here more than he’d thought it had, but they would give in. They weren’t fools. He turned to her and adjusted his shirt cuffs.
She shook her head. “You’re not going to change my mind, James Bond.”
Like hell I’m not. “Here’s what I can offer. Steady jobs. Lots of them. A place for the entire town to shop for anything they might need without having to drive to Syracuse. Tax money pouring into the town’s coffers. Donations and partnerships with local charities. And finally, a point of pride. Something for Celebration to…ah, celebrate.”
She stood and braced herself on the edge of the desk. “Minimum-wage jobs with no room to move up. Most of the town wearing smocks to work. Cheap, mass-produced merchandise. A proven killer of family-owned businesses. And finally, a soul-sucking monster that would turn our citizens into automatons. No, thanks.”
He smiled again and walked to the large window. The yellow For Rent signs stood out like beacons in the thickly falling snow. He began to count. “One. Two. Three. Four. Hmm. Five, six, seven. Oh. Three more…That’s ten. And what’s this? There’s more.”
Behind him, he heard movement, and he smiled. A few seconds later, she stood at his elbow.
“What are you doing?” Ivy asked.
“Inventory. I’m counting all of the For Rent signs downtown.” He glanced at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Point taken. But you’re still not going to build a Megadeath here.”
“It’s a Megamart.”
“Duh.”
He took a deep breath. She smelled like sugar cookies. “Look. I flew in from Chicago to make this proposal. Couldn’t we at least discuss it some more?”
“Not unless you want to discuss a sizeable investment in the downtown renewal.”
He leaned closer, hesitating for just a second. It was his money, not the company’s. He just couldn’t spend too much. “I’m prepared to discuss it. But you’ll have to get behind the Megamart first.”
Her chin lifted, and her breath fanned across his face as she rose up on her toes to meet his stare. “Don’t think I won’t play hardball,” she whispered.
A light knock sounded at the door, and Ivy lost her balance. She stumbled forward, her breasts pressing against his chest. He sucked in a breath as his arms came around her for the second time that day. And for the second time, he wanted to haul her soft curves against his body and bury his mouth in the crook of her neck.
“Excuse me, Mayor Callahan.” Sherry, the woman with the frizzy, gray lion’s mane, stopped in the doorway. “Oh. I’ll come back.” She turned to go.
“Wait!” Ivy shoved against him and skirted around the sofa. “Was that call I’ve been expecting…from, um…you know?”
Sherry grinned and stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth. “Oh, you mean the corporate office from that Fortune 500 company? The one who’s interested in…you know.”
Ivy cleared her throat. “Yes. The one with the plan for union jobs and excellent health insurance. That one.”
They were bluffing. He’d done his research, and there wasn’t any competition, certainly not of that caliber. He snorted.
Ivy turned to glare at Marcus. “Why is that funny?”
He wiped the grin from his face and buttoned his suit coat before she could see the effect that her little fall had on the lower half of his body. “It’s not.”
Sherry glanced between them with raised eyebrows. “Did you need me to take notes?” She tapped a pencil on a legal pad.
“Uh, no. We’re almost finished, but thanks.” Ivy walked Sherry to the door and closed it behind her. She turned to him, her eyes sharp. “Okay, Marcus, here’s the deal.”
He folded his arms and leaned on a windowsill. “I’m listening.”
“I need support for a competition. A sponsor of sorts.”
“Sponsor?”
She leaned against the edge of her desk. “Yep. Our downtown sucks. We need new businesses, and I want to dangle a carrot.”
“Like what kind of carrot?”
“Like no rent costs. For six months. As long as the part
icipating merchants can run in the black. If they turn a profit, their rent is covered.” She looked at him. “By you.”
He couldn’t hide the shock that passed over his face, but he quickly turned it into a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m not going to do that.”
She glared at him and pushed off the desk. “You will if you want to build a Megamart.”
“You’re forgetting something.” He pushed off the windowsill and walked slowly toward her.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
He stopped inches from her. “You’ve made it very plain that the town council won’t get behind my proposal. So from my perspective, the attraction just isn’t there.” He let his gaze travel over her face.
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t forget anything. There are five members of the town council. Three of them own property downtown. And of those three, not one of them is collecting any rent at the moment.”
“Who are they?”
“Ronald Watkins. Your uncle Herman. And Preston Parliament.” She counted them off on her fingers.
“Preston is trying to rent Parliament Bakery?” Marcus lifted an eyebrow.
“Well…no. But he’s not doing a great job of selling it. It’s been empty for years.”
“So what happens if it does sell? Because that would put a pretty big dent in the workforce for my Megamart.”
She shifted under his stare and gave a short laugh. “You think that will sell before you can throw up a discount store? That place is like the kiss of death.”
He didn’t respond, but a thrill ran through him. He’d won. Quickly, he added numbers in his head.
“I’ll provide fifty grand. And the money is a loan, not a gift. After the six months are up, the merchants will pay me back.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Like student-loan deferment?”
“Exactly.”
She glanced away. He could almost hear the gears in her head churning. “Fine. I want that downtown solid as a rock before you open your castle full of crap on the highway.”
“When do you want to make the announcement?” he murmured, shifting closer to her. He couldn’t help it. She lifted her head, and her lips parted. Oh, God.
“I’d rather shake on it if you don’t mind,” she said.
The door banged open, and Marcus jumped back.
“What’s going on, Ivy?” Preston Parliament marched into the room with a sneer on his face. With that stupid sweater looped around his shoulders, he looked like one of those preppy bullies from a nineteen-eighties sitcom. All he was missing was the turtleneck and feathered hair.
“Preston, I’ve told you over and over to knock first.” Ivy backed up and bumped into the desk. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “What do you need?”
As Marcus watched, Preston flicked his hand over a sofa cushion and sat down. “I’m here for the meeting.”
“Well, you’re late. And it’s over.” She walked around the desk and picked up the phone. “Sherry, could you bring a copy of my downtown-renewal proposal in here for Mr. Weaver? Thanks.”
Preston shot up off the sofa. “Oh wow. So you’re going to invest.” He nodded as if it came as a surprise. “I would have been here sooner to explain the details to you, but I got caught up. You know how it goes. So if Ivy was unclear about anything, then just give me a call, okay, brother?” He crossed over to Marcus and stuck out his hand, not unlike a robot.
Marcus shook it and forced a smile. He couldn’t resist being a dick. “Sure. And you are?”
Preston’s face fell. “I’m the town planner.”
Marcus heard Ivy cough, and he grinned down at Preston. “Oh. Of course.”
With a huff, the man turned on his heel and marched right back out of the office.
Ivy walked around her desk and shook her head. “Okay. Let’s try this again.” She held out a hand to Marcus. “Deal?”
He grasped her hand gently. “It’s a deal, sweetheart.”
Chapter Four
Blaring Christmas music greeted Ivy before she could even push open the battered back door to her parents’ house. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and willed away the tension that loomed just above her brows like storm clouds ready to let loose. Oh yeah, there was a 100 percent chance she’d have a headache, and soon.
She’d forgotten about her mom’s favorite tradition—as soon as the Thanksgiving turkey was bought, the holidays began. And at the Callahan home, that meant listening to the radio station that started playing twenty-four-hour Christmas carols on Thanksgiving Eve. Her grandmother hated it, but Mom insisted. If Mom had it her way, the Christmas tree would be up year-round.
Ivy would find a place of her own soon. With both her and her grandmother back in Celebration now, the house was crowded. Her father was still recovering, and really, the mayor shouldn’t be living with her parents. Correction: The mayor didn’t want to live with her parents, as much as she loved them.
She stepped from the tiny concrete porch onto the kitchen linoleum and kicked off the torture devices that passed for shoes. “Ahhh.” Shrugging off her coat, she flopped it onto the table of the built-in booth by the back door. She reached across the table to the portable CD player that sat next to the napkin holder. Music…off. Phew. “Mom?”
“Coming!”
Ivy threw her gloves on top of her coat and limped toward the kitchen island. She hoisted herself onto a stool and stared down at the surface. There was about one square inch of tile visible. The rest was covered with stuff—neatly piled, of course—but it was classic Mom. Cookbooks, two pencil cups stuffed with every writing utensil known to man, baskets of random crap, and notebooks full of “dream kitchen” magazine clippings. Piled around the edges were bags of groceries for Thanksgiving dinner—cans of yams and corn and two frozen bags of green beans stacked on top of the can pyramid. How could four people eat so much food? She clutched a bag of beans and lowered her forehead onto it as she listened to the approach of familiar footsteps.
“Sweetie, are you sick?”
A warm hand gently rubbed Ivy’s back. “No. Just a headache.” Ivy turned her head to the side and looked at her mother. Delia Callahan was grinning.
“Mom. You’re asking me if I’m sick with a smile on your face. That is sick,” Ivy mumbled.
Delia laughed. “I’m just amused to find you in the exact same position you were in pretty much every afternoon during high school.” She gave Ivy’s neck a light squeeze. “Need some aspirin to go with those green beans?”
Ivy nodded and handed her mom the bag, watching as she grabbed the second bag, opened the freezer, and threw them both in. The freezer was as jumbled as the counter. Ivy smiled.
“Thank God I have the next four days off.” She sniffed the air. “What’s that?”
“Chili.” Delia patted her frosted hair, pulled a glass from the cabinet above the stove, and filled it at the sink. She handed Ivy two pills and sank down onto a stool next to her. “So what happened today at the meet and greet?”
Ivy groaned and swallowed the medicine. “The meeting was fine.” Except for the fact that she’d yelled “fuck” out on the street. But maybe her mom hadn’t heard about that. Yet.
“Of course it was fine.” Delia flapped a plump hand. “Get to the good stuff.”
“What good stuff?”
“Don’t play coy with your mother. Who’s the handsome stranger?”
At the mention of Marcus Weaver, an uninvited thrill shot through Ivy’s middle. She took a breath. “Wow, word travels fast.”
“Who is he?”
“Gosh, Mom. He’s just a potential investor. He wants—” She bit her tongue. He wants to waltz in and turn Celebration upside down. And I just threw the door wide open for him.
Delia nodded. “Mmmhmm. Sherry told me he’s gorgeous, but she wouldn’t give me his name. She said it would be more fun coming from you.”
The familiar creaking of a walker sounded in the hallway. Thank God. Saved by the Gramma. Ivy hopped down fro
m the bar stool and grabbed a chair from the corner. She dragged it forward as Colleen Callahan appeared in the doorway.
“Hi, Gramma.”
“Hi, yourself.” Her grandmother, thin and stooped, but with a sparkle in her green eyes, shoved the walker toward the wall. “I hate that fucking thing. Give me a hand, Ivy.” She stretched out fingers that were manicured with red, sparkly polish.
Delia let out a suffering sigh. “Colleen, please stop cursing.”
Colleen winked at Ivy as she settled into the chair. “Why should I? It’s fun.”
With a tsk, Delia pulled open another cabinet and rummaged through a spice rack. “You never answered me, Ivy. Who is this mystery man?”
Colleen cackled. “Oh, goody fucking gumdrops. I know some gossip that you don’t, Delia.” She paused for dramatic effect. “It’s Marcus Weaver. The dreamboat Ivy had the hots for when she was a teenager.” She turned to Ivy. “Is he still worth stuffing your bra for, honey?”
Ivy’s eyes went wide, though she shouldn’t be surprised by her grandmother’s comments—she knew Ivy too well.
Ivy shook her head no, but her brain screamed Hell, yes. Not that her bra needed stuffing these days.
Delia dropped a container of salt-free substitute on the counter. “Oh, my. Herman’s nephew?”
“Yep.” Ivy crossed her arms. “And, no, I didn’t throw myself at him. Or giggle.” She stood up with a smirk. “I just cornered him in a deal to fund my downtown-renewal project.”
Delia gasped.
Colleen let out a whistle and clapped loudly. “Hot damn. On your first day in office? Wish I could have been there to see that. But your mom wouldn’t take me.” She shot Delia a glare.
Delia glared right back. “You know we agreed to give Ivy some space today. She didn’t need us cluttering up her first town meeting.” She lowered her voice. “Plus, Brian isn’t supposed to exert himself. What were we supposed to do? Leave him here all alone?”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Mom, you wouldn’t have been cluttering anything. I told you that you all were welcome and Dad would have been fine.”