Home Ice

by Rachelle Vaughn

  “Hello?” Ally answered. She sounded happy and Izzy hated herself instantly.

  “It’s me,” Izzy‘s voice came out as a squeak and she cursed Dom. “I know you just got back, but…” Her voice broke as she stifled a sob.

  “What’s wrong, Iz?” Ally was concerned now and this time Izzy cursed her own weakness.

  “Everything Al…Oh God, I’m such a freakin’ idiot…,” Izzy bawled into the phone, not able to hold it inside any longer.

  “I’ll be right there,” Ally said and the line went dead.

  Izzy staggered over to her beige sofa, plopped down on the plush cushion and curled herself into a ball.

  When Ally arrived, she let herself in and noticed an ivory, baroque mirror propped up next to Izzy’s front door. It wasn’t quite Izzy’s style. The only mirrors in her modern condo had geometric metal frames.

  “Nice mirror,” Ally said out loud and ran her fingers over the intricate carvings on the frame.

  “I stole it,” Izzy grumbled from behind a mustard yellow accent pillow.

  “What?” Ally snatched her hand away as if the mirror had grown teeth and was about to bite. Ally looked over at Izzy on the sofa and she had raccoon eyes from smeared eyeliner and mascara.

  Izzy sniffed. “From Dom’s house. I wasn’t thinking. I just felt like I needed to take something from him.”

  Ally should have known. This was about Dom. She sighed and asked, “What happened?”

  Izzy flinched at the mental picture hovering around in her mind. “I walked in on him having sex with some bimbo.”

  Ally sighed again. She had been waiting for this to happen. It was only a matter of time with a guy like Dom. “Are you okay?”

  Izzy didn’t answer the question. She threw a wadded tissue onto her sleek, bronze coffee table. “Ally, she had humongous fake boobs.” Izzy cupped her own breasts. “Mine may be small, but they’re proportionate! They get the job done just fine and I’ve never had any complaints before.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Ally sat down beside her and embraced her in a hug. “No one is complaining now. He’s just a jerk.”

  “More like a man-whore.” Izzy’s bottom lip quivered. “You wanna know what the funny thing is? I would’ve had a threesome with him if he would’ve asked me.”

  Ally grimaced. “Izzy, you don’t need to have a threesome to make a man happy. You’re plenty of woman all by yourself.”

  “It’s not like we were exclusive or anything, but he didn’t even bat an eye. He just kept pounding away at her with that smug grin of his. What an ass!”

  “He is an ass,” Ally agreed wholeheartedly.

  “I know. I was just hoping that maybe he’d change and want to be with just me. Like how Ben is with you.” A wistful look settled on her face.

  Ally agreed. She had struck gold without ever having to mine for it. She knew that under Izzy’s tough shell, there was a girl who really did want to find love in the form of a monogamous relationship. “Too bad there aren’t more men out there like Ben.”

  “Yeah,” Izzy sniffed, “Dom just wasn’t that kind of guy.”

  “You have to admit you had fun, though. While it lasted.” Borrowing logic from Gram, Ally tried to look at the bright side.

  “It was fun. Right up until the part where it ended. God, Ally. I’ve always been okay with shallow and meaningless relationships. But, just once I…” Her voice cracked and the tears started to flow again sending a black stream of mascara down her cheeks. Ally’s grip tightened around Izzy as she sympathized with her friend. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”

  “He strung me along like…like Christmas lights,” Izzy mumbled between sobs.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  After a minute, suddenly Izzy sat up ramrod straight and took a deep breath. “I’m done,” she announced.

  Ally leaned back in surprise. “Done with what? Men?”

  “I’m done with empty relationships and one night stands and men who only care about themselves and sex. I mean, I care about sex and it’s a huge part of my life, but I want more.”

  “You deserve more.”

  “Yes I do.”

  An hour later, after Ally determined that Izzy was sufficiently comforted and stable, Ally got into her car to drive home. Before she started the ignition, her cell phone rang. It was Ben.

  “Hey, how are you?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she sighed. I’m on my way home from Izzy’s.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. I just got off the phone with Dom. He’s pissed about his mirror.”

  Dom’s interior decorator, the one with the great legs, had given the mirror to him as a housewarming present when she was finished decorating his house. They had definitely warmed the house that night.

  “She was upset,” Ally explained. “She walked in on him having sex with some random girl. I’m surprised that was all she did.”

  “Yeah. Well, that’s Dom for you,” Ben said. Ally noticed that he wasn’t the least bit surprised either.

  * * *

  Izzy arrived at her office early the next Monday. She was ready to delve into her work and forget about men altogether. She didn’t need a man. What could she possible need one for? She made her own money and she had a rabbit vibrator in her nightstand. Ah, hell. Who was she trying to kid? She was a mess. She had known that things with Dom weren’t going to last forever, but he had been so…so yummy. He was the ultimate alpha male with a handsome face and spectacular body. And she had lost him in a sea of implants and peroxide. What a pity.

  When Izzy breezed through the office door, Marcus raised an eyebrow. In all his years at Red Valley Real Estate Group he’d never seen Izzy come into the office before eleven a.m. Never.

  “Girlfriend, I’d better run home and get my Ralph Lauren coat and gloves because it looks like hell has officially frozen over.”

  Izzy shot a glare through her Dior sunglasses that could have melted an iceberg. “I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured on the way to her office down the hall. Marcus was following close on her heels.

  “If it’s any consolation, you look great. In fact, you look like Harper’s Bazaar personified.” He cocked his head to one side. “Cute dress. Jill Sander?”

  Izzy nodded.

  “Mmm. If I weren’t gay…,” he lowered his voice like it was a big secret.

  “Honey,” Izzy replied, “If you weren’t gay, we’d be the best dressed couple in Red Valley!” She paused and grew serious again. “If you weren’t gay, I wouldn’t have to keep humiliating myself with cheating bastards.”

  Marcus raised his neatly groomed eyebrows. “What happened? Not something with your Canadian Cutie, I hope.”

  “Yes. And from now on, he is to be referred to as Dickhead Dom.”

  Marcus perched himself into the chair across from her desk. “What did King Dickhead do anyway?”

  “I walked in on him screwing the brains out of some ditzy blonde.”

  “I’m so sorry, Izzy. Damn, he was so pretty, too.”

  “Marcus, are you sure you only like boys?”

  Marcus laughed. “Honey, you’ll be the first to know if anything changes.”

  Later that day, Marcus sauntered into Izzy’s office looking pleased with himself.

  “Listen, Miss Sinclair,” he commanded and Izzy looked up from the papers on her desk. “I know you’ve been bummed about your hockey hunk du jour and his wandering wang. So, how would you like to literally get the ef out of town?” He leaned over and put a finger to her lips before she could answer. “I’ve signed you up to attend the annual National Realtors Conference in Sacramento.” Izzy grumbled and he put his hands on his hips. “I know it’s not as glamorous as a weekend at a spa in Napa, but this is something I can write off for the company.”

  “Marc--”

  “Honey, I want you to take your fabulous self to this state’s fine capital and have a mah-velous time dah-ling,” he exaggerated, making her laugh.

  Izzy thought for a moment an
d then said, “Okay.”

  Marcus almost toppled over in his Kenneth Cole boots. He had been preparing for a fight, or at the very least, a witty war of words. “Okay?”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Oh, honey, this is going to be good for you. There’s nothing like networking and a little out of town retail therapy to get over a douche-bag. Especially when you can expense it to the agency. Now, tell me about the Kate Spade sample sale last week…”

  * * *

  Waiting for the National Realtors Conference to start, Izzy looked around the room and surveyed her fellow esteemed real estate agents. Unfortunately, the room was filled with paunchy, balding older men and middle aged women with bad perms. Ugh. One woman was actually wearing a suit with shoulder pads.

  Marcus may have had good intentions, but this was not the way for anyone to cheer themselves up.

  “Hello there,” a warm voice said.

  Izzy didn’t even notice the man who had snuck up and took a seat next to her. And would you look at that, the man just so happened to be famous real estate mogul Pierce Spencer who had made his millions in Las Vegas. Izzy recognized him from the variety of magazine covers he graced. Most recently he’d been on the cover of People magazine as the wealthiest person in Nevada. Very impressive. What was even more impressive was his impeccably tailored Versace suit and Italian shoes.

  Suddenly, things weren’t looking so grim.

  “Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Spencer,” Izzy said.

  “Ah, you know my name. I’m afraid that gives you the advantage.”

  Perfect. Izzy preferred to have the upper hand.

  She batted her eyelashes. “Good for me then.”

  “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Izzy.”

  His lips curved into a smile at her answer. “Izzy,” he repeated.

  Of course it was. She was too unique to be a Sarah or Debbie.

  “Izzy Sinclair.” She stuck her hand out and instead of shaking it, he pressed his lips in between her knuckles. Izzy marveled at the fact that two minutes earlier she’d been planning her escape route.

  “It’s nice to meet you Izzy.”

  Pierce Spencer’s eyes were ice blue and they twinkled when he smiled. She noticed because he was looking into her eyes and not down at her cleavage.

  Wow, this guy was good.

  “Please, you can call me Pierce.” He released her hand.

  Pierce. She mulled his name over in her head. It suited him. And it was exactly what his eyes were doing to her from the next seat over.

  “Is that what your friends call you?” she asked.

  “I don’t have many friends, Izzy.”

  “Well, I’d like to be your friend.” She coyly fingered the stem of her wine glass.

  “Turns out this conference is going to be worth the trip after all.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. When I first saw you, you almost made me forget my own name.”

  “You’re as charming as the tabloids say you are.”

  “Ah,” he waved his hand. “Pay no attention to the filth they publish.”

  “Yeah, they also say that a three hundred pound baby was born in Idaho last week.”

  He smiled. “Exactly.” He took a sip of his wine. “Are you an agent?” His blue eyes were on her face again.

  “Yes. Red Valley Real Estate Group.”

  “You must do very well,” he said with a wink. “With that smile, who knows what you could talk me into buying.”

  “The night is still young.”

  Before they could continue their stimulating conversation, Pierce Spencer was called up to the stage to make his presentation. Izzy couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was impeccably dressed and quite possibly the most sophisticated man she had ever met. And, for being an older man, he was gorgeous. Thinking of the experience he must have, in and out of the bedroom, Izzy shifted in her seat.

  And those eyes. She almost felt uncomfortable under his gaze because she was afraid he could see right through to her very soul. Izzy had never been ashamed of her past and her previous “relationships” before. But when Pierce looked at her she didn’t feel quite good enough. Or rich enough to be associated with him. The feeling was new to her. She always felt good enough, if not better than, everyone else. Especially men. They were lucky to have her. But Pierce was different. He was uber-successful and distinguished and had flawless taste. She worked hard and made a good living for herself, but she would always just be the girl from Red Valley with no family and no legacy. As for Pierce Spencer, he was a legend.

  When Pierce stepped down from the podium, Izzy realized she hadn’t heard a word of his speech. She clapped politely with the rest of the audience and tried to compose herself. If she would’ve been listening to his speech, she would’ve learned that he was in town to promote a convention in Las Vegas.

  Pierce made his way through the maze of tables and sat back down in the empty seat beside her.

  They exchanged smiles and she fiddled with her quilted Chanel bag.

  I’m in way over my head.

  “Have dinner with me, Izzy.” It was more of a command than a question. She could tell he was used to getting his way. After all, money talks and he had enough of it to run marathons around the earth’s equator.

  She raised her glass to his. “I’d love to.”

  What harm was there in just one dinner?

  They made their way out of the Convention Center and out to his waiting car. Car, meaning limousine. He didn’t travel any other way, except by his private jet or personal yacht, of course.

  Izzy climbed into the limo as gracefully as she could, sat down and looked around. She hadn’t been in a limo since Senior Prom. And this time, she wasn’t wearing taffeta and sparkly eye shadow. Thank goodness for that.

  Pierce got in after her and sat in the seat across from her. “Champagne?” he offered.

  “Please.” She could smell his cologne in the close quarters of the limo. He even smelled wealthy. Izzy imagined a bottle of Tycoon No. 5 on his dresser.

  He poured two glasses of bubbly and handed one to her. Looking every bit at home on the leather seat, he spread out his legs and rested an arm on the back of the seat. “How do you like French cuisine?”

  “Mmm. Very much.”

  “Good. There’s a great little bistro I’d like to take you to. I always try to visit it when I’m in town.”

  “That sounds lovely.” She looked out of the heavily tinted window and could still feel his blue eyes on her.

  “Tell me. What is Izzy short for?”

  She looked back at him and into those blue eyes. “Isadora.”

  “Isadora.” He let her name roll off his tongue. “Exquisite. It suits you.”

  “Thank you. I think the name Pierce suits you, as well. You are very…,“ she searched for the right word, “…direct.”

  “It’s the only way to get what you want.”

  The restaurant was a Parisian-styled bistro that boasted a refined atmosphere. Izzy instantly fell in love with the quiet and classy setting. She and Pierce were promptly led to a cozy table in the back of the restaurant. As they passed the other patrons, she could hear the whispers follow them.

  “Is that who I think it is? That’s Pierce Spencer. The Pierce Spencer?”

  He competently ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the wine list. And for dinner, he ordered the New York Strip. Izzy read over the menu and went straight for the least expensive item. She ordered the Butternut Squash Gnocchi with sautéed wild mushrooms. Izzy was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a gold-digger. She would never take advantage of a man, no matter how incredibly wealthy he was.

  They chatted about the real estate market, new tax laws and new housing construction. He was pleasantly surprised at her knowledge of the market. She liked proving that she wasn’t just a pretty face. Most men didn’t spend time to talk to her long e
nough to find out that she had a brain, too.

  The chef was a friend of Pierce’s and came out to say hello when he heard they were in the restaurant. Pierce received personal attention wherever he went but he wasn’t pompous by any means. The chef went back to the kitchen to bring them an assortment of desserts.

  “I’m glad we met today.” Pierce reached for her hand and caressed it with skilled fingers. Izzy’s breath caught in her throat when he began massaging the v between her index and middle fingers. She felt her cheeks flush. Throughout the evening, the chemistry between them had been undeniable.

  “I’m really glad we met, Pierce.” She liked saying his name. It was so commanding and masculine.

  “Which hotel are you staying in?” He glanced down to her lips and back up to her eyes again.

  Her stomach fluttered. So much for having the upper hand.

  “I’m not.” She shook her head. “I mean, I didn’t make any reservations anywhere. To be honest with you, I thought the convention was going to be a boring as hell schmooze fest and I planned on skipping out early and driving home tonight.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Skip town or book a room,” he said with a smile.

  “Me too.”

  His voice softened. “I have an extra suite at the hotel if you’d like to stay the night and drive out tomorrow.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I don’t want to take advantage. You’ve already paid for dinner…”

  “Please. It’s been my pleasure. And it’s not often I get to mix business with pleasure. I’d love to spend some time with you tomorrow before I fly back home.”

  There was that fluttering feeling again. She never got that feeling. Unless it was for someone she really liked. She hadn’t felt this way since Mitch Hurley in high school. Mitch had shaggy black hair and drove a motorcycle and hung out with the “cool kids”. He was also a great kisser who played guitar and was awarded a music scholarship. Then he had moved away to college and Izzy never saw him again. And here was that fluttery feeling again all these years later. Who would have thought it would be back in response to a man nearly twice her age?

  “I have a feeling I could get used to letting you spoil me.”