The Man Plan

by Tracy Anne Warren

  He was about to call her one more time when Parker exchanged air kisses with Arlene and headed his way.

  Inside the car minutes later, he sensed Parker watching him.

  “Is anything the matter?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  He slowed for a red light. “No. Everything’s fine.”

  “You’re so quiet. I just wondered.”

  “It’s late, that’s all.”

  “Hmm, but not that late.” She reached out and laid a palm on his thigh.

  He covered her hand to prevent it from straying, stroked his thumb over the top.

  The light changed to green.

  He returned her hand to her lap, stepped on the accelerator. “Would you be terribly hurt if I didn’t come in tonight?”

  She crossed her arms. “I thought we were celebrating the holiday. It’s been weeks since we made love.”

  “You were away,” he hedged. “I’ve been busy and our schedules just haven’t meshed. And tonight . . .”

  She shifted in her seat and glared at him. “Yes? What about tonight?”

  “I’m . . . well, actually, I’m not feeling well.”

  “Not feeling—oh, you poor baby.” She settled her palm across his forehead, then his cheeks, checking for fever. “I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to spoil your evening.”

  “Don’t be silly. You should have said something. If you’re sick, you need to be in bed.”

  He couldn’t help feeling guilty. “You’re right. As soon as I drop you off, I’ll go straight home and climb under the sheets.”

  “Why don’t we save time and go directly to your place? That way I can mother you a bit.”

  He shook his head. “You know I hate being fussed over.”

  At least that wasn’t a lie, he thought. Since childhood, he’d detested people hovering over him when he wasn’t feeling well.

  “You won’t be able to do anything but watch me sleep,” he said. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  She hesitated. “Well, if you’re sure?”

  “Positive. It’s probably just a touch of food poisoning. Queasy stomach. You can’t be too careful these days, especially with shellfish.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  He slowed the car and doubled-parked in front of her brownstone.

  She sat without opening the car door. “You’ll call if you feel worse? Food poisoning can be very serious, you know.”

  “I’ll phone you in the morning.”

  She leaned over and brushed her lips against his. “Feel better.”

  He waited to make certain she made it safely inside her building, then pulled away from the curb.

  Since when, he asked himself, had he started lying to women?

  Lately, he seemed to be making a habit of it. If there was one thing he prided himself upon, it was his honesty. Yet tonight he’d blatantly deceived Parker, a woman who trusted him.

  He didn’t like the feeling.

  But he couldn’t tell her the truth. If he’d mentioned Ivy’s name, she would have worked herself into a snit and drawn all sorts of erroneous conclusions.

  Dialing Ivy’s number again, he listened as the familiar message played one more time.

  He scowled. This just wasn’t like her.

  With a curse, he disconnected and called the security desk at his building.

  “Did Miss Grayson go out tonight?” he asked the guard once he’d identified himself.

  “Just a moment, Mr. Jordon. Let me check the logs. Yes. Looks like she left around six.”

  “And has she returned yet?”

  “No, sir. Not yet. Is there a problem?”

  “No, no problem.” At least not one the guard could resolve.

  Disconnecting, he tossed his phone onto the empty passenger seat. At least he’d had the good sense to ask exactly where her friends lived.

  Hooking a left onto Lexington, he headed south.

  * * *

  “Look, this has been fun, but I’ve really, really got to get going,” Ivy told Fred a couple of dances later. She glanced around, wondering how she’d ended up on the wrong side of a large potted palm in a secluded corner of the living room with him.

  Fred planted a forearm against the wall next to her head. “Not yet, babe. There’s still a lot of party left to go.”

  If he hadn’t been drunk before, he was now. In between dances, he’d procured more than one round of drinks. While she’d taken only occasional sips of hers, he’d emptied each of his own.

  “It’s late,” she said. “I think people are starting to take off. Anyway, don’t you have dance class in the morning?”

  He nodded. “I always have dance class. A danseur has to keep his muscles strong and limber. Of course, there’re other ways to keep in shape.” His voice deepened, eyelids drooping, as he lowered his head toward her.

  She held him off with a hand. “Sleeping, for one. Can’t be at your best without enough sleep. If I have any hope of being more than a zombie tomorrow, I need to get some rest.”

  “Sleep here.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed.”

  “Sure, we can use your bed,” he said with a drunk’s logic. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Neil’s taking me home.”

  Fred glanced over his shoulder. “Neil looks busy.”

  “Josh, then.”

  “Josh looks busy too.”

  She glanced past Fred’s broad shoulder and spotted the two men wrapped in each other’s arms, slow dancing. “Fine. I’ll take the train.”

  Fred scowled. “You can’t go out this time of night, not alone. You need an escort. Someone strong to protect you, like me.”

  “You,” she said emphatically, “aren’t in any condition to go anywhere except to bed.”

  She tried to spin him around and point him in the right direction, intending to give him a good shove. But he was immovable, a mass of solid muscle.

  Misinterpreting her touch, Fred wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah, my bed. Let’s go, babe.”

  He leaned in for a kiss.

  She turned her head so that his lips landed on her neck. “No, Fred. Wait.” Perhaps a bit of trickery was called for, she thought. “Why don’t you go on ahead to your room? I’ll follow in a minute. I need to make a detour first. Bathroom break.”

  He smiled. “Oh, okay. But you won’t be long, will you?”

  “Barely an instant.”

  “Promise?”

  “Definitely. Now, let me go.”

  “Yes,” said a hard, male voice. “Let her go.”

  She and Fred both turned their heads.

  “James!” she said on a squeak.

  Meeting his eyes, she saw a look burning within them that she’d never seen before. A mixture of surprise, fury, and worst of all, contempt.

  He inclined his head. “Ivy.”

  She’d always loved the sound of her name on his lips. Hearing it now sent a chill down her spine. “What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t answering your cell. It’s late, so I came to find you. I was worried.” He swept a condemning glance over her and the man in whose arms she still stood. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been.”

  “He’s drunk.”

  “I can see that.”

  She swallowed, feeling unaccountably guilty. With clenched fists, she gave Fred a hard push.

  Fred was distracted enough to release her. “You know this guy?”

  “Yes, I know him.”

  Fred’s cocky attitude returned. He draped an arm over her shoulders. “Yeah? Well, whoever you are, F off. I saw her first.”

  James pinned the other man with a scornful look. “I sincerely doubt that, unless you were around to change her diapers.”

  “Huh?”

  Ivy shrugged out from under Fred’s embrace. “Stop it, both of you.”

  James turned on her. “You want to stay with him?”

&
nbsp; “No.”

  “Let’s leave, then, while I still have a car. Assuming it hasn’t already been boosted for parts.”

  “I need my purse.”

  “Get it.”

  “Hey, who are you to give her orders?” Fred demanded, swaying with a grace only a drunken ballet dancer could muster. He tossed Ivy a sappy smile. “Don’t you listen to him, sweet thing. I told you before—there’s hours left of this party.”

  James visibly ground his teeth. “Ivy. Your purse.”

  Neil suddenly appeared, Josh in his wake. “Hey, what’s going on? We sensed a little tension emanating from this side of the room. Problem?”

  James swung slowly around. “No problem. I came for Ivy. And you are?”

  “Oh, I’m Neil. Neil Jones. This is Josh Moran.” He nodded toward his partner, who waggled a set of fingers. “I guess you’ve already met Fred Pike.”

  Fred reprimanded him with a loud shushing noise.

  Neil rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “I mean Frederick Picarovsky. This is our place.”

  “Ah, the roommates,” James drawled as he surveyed the apartment and its party-pleasured occupants. “Thank God she was spared from taking up residence in this dump.”

  Neil’s friendliness disappeared. “Hey, where do you get off making comments like that? Who the hell are you anyway?”

  Josh jumped in. “It’s for sure you weren’t invited to this party.”

  James raised a superior brow. “Lucky me.”

  “If you don’t like our place, then get the fuck out,” Josh said. “Here. We’ll help you leave.”

  Taller by several inches, James glared down at him, his stance intimidating. “Touch me and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

  The other men bristled at the challenge, fists clenched.

  Ivy stood, stunned by the brief, nasty exchange. She’d never seen James act in such a snide, arrogant way. What on earth was the matter with him?

  She planted herself in front of James and held out a hand. “Don’t! There will be no fighting. All of you, stay where you are.”

  “Let me knock him around,” Fred urged. “I’m trained in judo.” With a bloodcurdling scream, he leaped into the air and twisted, nearly kicking over a lamp. He stumbled on the way down, but caught himself at the last minute. Miraculously, he regained his balance, no harm done.

  “Ivy, who is this guy?” Neil demanded, jerking a thumb toward James. As Neil glared at him, his expression abruptly changed. “Jesus, he’s not your dad, is he?”

  “No!” she and James exclaimed in horrified unison.

  “Your brother, then?”

  James glowered. “I’m not her brother either. I’m her friend. An old family friend.”

  Josh snorted. “Old’s certainly right.”

  She stood her ground, determined to make sure there was no bloodshed. “James is my friend. Just as the rest of you are my friends. And I want my friends, all my friends, to get along. Do you gentlemen think you can do that?”

  James crossed his arms over his chest.

  The other three looked away; Josh actually shuffled his feet.

  Neil was the first to speak. “Yeah, all right. If it’ll make you happy, Ivy.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “It will. Thank you.”

  Josh and Fred mumbled like a pair of boys caught brawling in school, forced to shake hands and make up.

  James remained silent.

  She prompted him. “Don’t you have something to say?”

  “Yes. It’s late. Let’s go.” He placed a hand on the nape of her neck, curling it there in a possessive grip.

  Neil frowned, eyeing her and James for a moment before unexpectedly reaching out to pull Ivy into his arms for a hard hug. “I hope you had a great evening, cupcake.” Under the cover of kissing her cheek, he whispered, “You sure you’re safe with that one?”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course. I couldn’t be safer.”

  He studied her for another long moment, then nodded. Rather than return her to James, he passed her on to Josh, who hugged her with the same defiant exuberance as Neil.

  Then it was Fred’s turn.

  Ivy waylaid him by holding out her hand. “Tomato juice, Tabasco, and a raw egg in the morning. My brother swears the combination works miracles.”

  He clasped her palm between both of his. “Sounds nauseating.”

  “It’s supposed to. Sleep it off, Fred. I mean Frederick.”

  He grinned crookedly. “Sure you don’t want to help me? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  James grabbed her free hand, tugged her away. “Let’s find that damned purse of yours and go.” As an afterthought, he nodded. “Gentlemen.”

  As soon as her purse was in hand, James towed her along behind him, forcing her to trot to keep up.

  “James, slow down.”

  He kept walking.

  Shocked, she realized he was furious. James was never furious. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never so much as raised his voice. He could be annoyed, irritated, even grudgingly angry upon occasion, but she’d never seen him like this.

  Blazing mad.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the drive home, Ivy began to suspect Fred wasn’t the only one who’d had too much to drink this evening.

  It wasn’t James’s driving that clued her in—his reflexes appeared as sharp as ever. No, it was the glitter in his eyes that caught in the reflection of an occasional passing streetlamp.

  She remembered a New Year’s Eve more than a decade ago when he’d drunk the entire Grayson clan—hollow-legged Scotsmen every one—straight under the table. She’d been young and wasn’t supposed to know anything about it, but long after her bedtime that night, she’d snuck out of her room to watch the spirited goings-on from a stealthy vantage point on the stairs.

  With plenty of empty bottles to attest, James had pushed away from the table the winner, rock steady on his feet, acting no different than usual. But when he’d come out into the foyer to don his coat to leave, she’d glimpsed a feral, overbright gleam in his eyes.

  The same look he wore now.

  They completed the trip home in silence. He parked; then they walked, still not speaking, through the dark to the entrance. In the elevator, he twisted his key in the panel and sent the car racing upward. He hadn’t punched the button for her floor, she noticed.

  Once inside his penthouse, he slammed the door, then slammed his keys onto the entry table, a lovely old French provincial piece worth a small fortune.

  She winced as he rounded on her.

  “What in the hell was that tonight?” he demanded.

  Her fingers cold from nerves, she set her purse on a small Louis Quatorze chair, then drew a breath to compose herself. “What do you mean? Why are you so upset?”

  “Why am I upset? It’s”—he broke off to check the face of the grandfather clock stationed just outside the study door—“two forty-five in the morning and you want to know why I’m upset?”

  Without waiting for her to reply, he marched down the hall into the wide expanse of the living room. Reluctantly, she followed.

  “I’m upset because I had to drive all the way to Brooklyn and pull you out of that crack house.”

  “Crack house!” she repeated, her eyes wide. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. There weren’t any drugs at the party. Neil’s very strict about that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, is he? And what about the booze? He clearly doesn’t take issue with that drug of choice.”

  “I wouldn’t be too critical on that score if I were you, not in your present condition.”

  He froze. “What condition?”

  “Your inebriated condition.”

  “You think I’m drunk?” He laughed. “I don’t get drunk on a few glasses of wine.”

  She held her ground. “Well, you’re not sober. I know that much. And as for having to drive to Brooklyn to find me, you didn’t have to do anything.”


  “What else am I supposed to do when you don’t answer your cell and I find out from the guard desk that you’ve been out all evening and haven’t come home? It was either look for you at that damned party or start calling hospitals.”

  “You called the guard desk about me?” she said, stunned.

  “You bet your sweet ass I did.”

  Anger burned in her chest. “Well, as you can plainly see, my ass is fine. And not that’s it’s any of your business, but I was about to leave for home when you showed up.”

  “Yeah, I could see how much progress you were making. Wrapped up like a present in the grip of that ten-armed ape.”

  “You mean Fred?” It was her turn to laugh. “Please. He’s harmless.”

  “You think so?” James sneered. “I doubt you’d have found him so harmless once he had you pinned under him on his bed.”

  She squirmed for a moment, since that’s exactly what Fred had been trying to do. “That wouldn’t have happened,” she stated. “I had the situation well under control.”

  “Oh, I saw the kind of control you had, like a kitten caught inside a sack. Maybe you’d have gotten lucky and escaped, maybe not.”

  She rubbed her arms, chilled in her sleeveless sundress. “Fred would have respected my wishes.”

  “I saw the way he was respecting you.”

  “He would have let me go or else I’d have gotten away.”

  He reached out and yanked her close, his arms fastening at her back, strong as steel bands. “Try to get away from me,” he challenged.

  She laughed but without humor. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Testing your theory. I’m a man. Get away from me.”

  “It’s not much of a test, since I know you’d never hurt me.”

  “You didn’t think Fred would hurt you either.”

  “And he didn’t.”

  “Because I stopped him.”

  “You had nothing to do with it,” she said. “He was ready to follow my lead and toddle off to his bedroom, supposedly to wait for me, when you interrupted. If you hadn’t, he’d have been in his room, sound asleep, and the morning sun would have been streaming through his window before he realized I’d never shown up.”