“Yeah, we’re probably in the War Room.”
“The what?”
“Back here.” Pepper gestured and Ivy followed her down a hallway to the Jaycees offices, where she had never been allowed to go before. “We’re all set up in the conference room. The committee pretty much commandeered the space with all the event planning. The next two weeks are going to be great.”
“Great,” Ivy repeated, hoping to gather as much enthusiasm as Pepper had. She was being hit with a little small-town stage fright. The committee was likely made up of town politicians, busybodies, and control freaks—a very different crowd from the folks that hung out at Woody’s. The younger Rosewood generation laughed off the song about Blake, giving him a good ribbing every now and then. She hadn’t seen any of these people in years and had no clue how they were going to react to her. Odds were that this would be the crowd that disapproved of her choices. They were the ones who might see her as abandoning her roots for ill-gained fame.
Pepper opened the door and Ivy had no choice but to take a deep breath and follow her into the crowd. There were at least fifteen people in the room. A quick scan confirmed that she recognized all of them, and every single one stopped talking the moment they saw her. The long, awkward silence continued as more than a dozen sets of eyes looked over her with varied expressions.
“Miss Ivy!” a man’s voice shouted, interrupting the awkward silence. It was Mayor Otto Gallagher. He had been the mayor of Rosewood for her entire life. The loud, boisterous man was probably in his seventies by now, but there was no slowing him down.
He rushed over to her in his gray linen suit. There was more belly and less hair than she remembered, but it was the same old Mayor Gallagher. He gave her a firm handshake, his cheeks slightly reddening as he got closer to her.
That last album cover with the corset and garter belt probably had something to do with it. No matter how much she fought to be a genuine singer-songwriter known for her music and not her body, her stylists were always pushing her to be sexier.
“Mayor Gallagher,” she said with a smile. “So good to see you again.”
“We’re so thrilled to have you back in town to help with our fund-raiser. You wouldn’t believe how expensive it is to build a gym or a stadium these days. Insurance covers some of the expenses for the building itself, but not much of what was inside. And since we’re rebuilding, we wanted to do some updates. The student body has grown so much since the school was built in the fifties; we need bigger locker rooms and better equipment. Since no one was injured in the twister, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.”
“It was a blessing because it brought Ivy home.” A middle-aged woman pushed through the crowd and Ivy immediately recognized her favorite history teacher, Mrs. Everett.
She came up to Ivy with her arms spread wide. Oh Lord, she was going to hug her. Ivy braced herself, trying not to be too stiff. She’d been gone for so long that she’d forgotten how touchy-feely people were in the South. They loved a good hug. New York? Not so much. LA? How about a fist-bump followed by some hand sanitizer.
As a celebrity, she was even further removed. Fans would ask for hugs or pictures, but at most events, security didn’t allow it. There would be no buffer here. She needed to prepare herself for the onslaught, because she had no doubt every person in this town would hug her before she boarded a plane home.
“Mrs. Everett,” Ivy said, taking a step back to reclaim her personal space. “How are you?”
“You’re not in school anymore, Ivy. You can call me Gloria. I’m the principal at Rosewood High these days. No more history lectures for me.”
Mrs. Everett—er, Gloria—was always good to all her students, and Ivy was certain she’d make an excellent principal. “That’s a loss for history,” Ivy said. “I learned more from you about the Middle Ages and the Black Plague than anyone else.”
Gloria’s light brown eyes lit up. “That was my favorite lesson. Everyone gets so fired up about the Civil War around here, they forget the human race existed for millennia before the War of Northern Aggression. But enough of that. We need to get you acquainted with the plans. That’s why you’re here, right?”
“Absolutely.” Ivy let Gloria escort her over to the large conference table where they had big stacks of papers and drawings for activities.
“We’ve got a lot of great things scheduled. I’m certain we’ll earn enough money to rebuild the athletic facilities and then some. I’ve always fancied a pool so we could start a swim team. Dream big, right? Well, anyway, before we get into the details . . .” Gloria paused, looking around the room with a frown. “Where’s Coach?”
“He should be here any minute,” someone offered. “He had to wait for his health class to end.”
“Oh, all right,” Gloria said, continuing on. “I’ll just repeat all this to him later. Ivy, you’ll be working closely with Coach for nearly all these events. You’re the spokespeople of sorts.”
That wasn’t too bad. Ivy had always liked Coach Ford. Working with him wouldn’t be bad at all. “That all sounds fine.”
“Did I hear someone say Coach? Sorry I’m late, it’s sex ed week. You know how that goes.”
Ivy turned her head toward the voice in the doorway and knew, just knew, she was being punished. Or she was the butt of some hidden-camera practical joke show. The Fates weren’t that cruel . . .
Blake was looking right at her with the same knowing blue eyes from her dream. He smiled as if he somehow knew what she was thinking and knew she’d dreamed about him. The mere thought made her face heat with embarrassment and unwanted desire.
She was wrong. The Fates were vindictive bitches.
Blake didn’t even need to see Ivy to know she was in the room. The moment he stepped inside, he could smell the warm, enticing fragrance of her favorite perfume. His chest immediately tightened as memories flooded into his mind. Ivy had millions of dollars at her disposal and yet she still wore the same thirty-dollar perfume he’d bought her at a Birmingham department store. It was called Love Song, and he’d given it to her for their first Valentine’s Day together.
The moment he tested it in the store, he knew it was perfect for her. She must agree, considering she still wore it. He doubted that had anything to do with its sentimental value. Or maybe it did. When his eyes found her in the group of people, there was something unexpected reflecting at him—desire. It was short-lived, though, replaced by something just short of horror and disgust.
“Blake is the head football coach?” Ivy nearly choked on her words. Her face flushed an ugly red, which seemed to be its normal state whenever he was around. That was only fair, since tight and uncomfortable pants were the norm for him when she was around.
“I am,” Blake said with his widest, most confident smile spread across his face. He’d been told that it was an all-American smile, as wholesome and endearing as apple pie. His whole life, this smile and the dimples that came with it could charm anyone. Well, judging by Ivy’s pinched expression, almost anyone. “I’ve been the head coach of the Rosewood Panthers since the start of the school year, when Coach Ford retired and moved to Orange Beach.”
“Coach Chamberlain!” Gloria said, oblivious to the emotional fireworks exploding around her. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was just going over some of the plans with Ivy. I was telling her how closely you two will be working together over the next couple of weeks.”
“Say what?” Blake jerked his smug gaze away from Ivy and forced it onto his boss. He hadn’t heard her right.
“The fund-raiser,” she said, her brows drawing together with concern. “You’ve been told about the plans, haven’t you? Your grandmother assured me you were fine with everything.”
His grandmother. Of course. The grand dame was scheming; he could feel it. She wanted to pull off this event her way and that meant keeping him—and apparently Ivy—out in the cold when it came to the details. “I apologize, but there must have been a family miscommunication.” As i
n, the stubborn old woman hadn’t told him a damned thing.
“Oh,” Principal Everett said. “I . . . I mean . . . I thought both of you were aware of the situation and had agreed to it. This is unfortunate. We never would’ve . . .”
“Gloria?” Ivy spoke up. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us what you have planned? I realize this might be awkward, but I’m certain both Blake and I are willing to do whatever is necessary to help the town rebuild.” Her dark green eyes were fixed on him as she spoke, laying down her challenge.
Well played. Now, if he balked, he’d look like a selfish ass.
We’ll see how agreeable she is when she realizes the extent of what she just signed up for. “Absolutely. Please continue. I hope I didn’t miss much.”
Looking visibly relieved, Gloria sighed and brushed her hand back over her neatly coiffed light brown hair. “Thank goodness. I was telling Ivy how critical you two are to the upcoming events. To be perfectly frank, we’re milking your success for all it’s worth. Not every little town has a famous singer and an NFL quarterback to call their own. It kicks off with the county fair on Thursday night. The fair itself will run through Sunday, but your main role will be that first night. You’ll be at the ribbon-cutting ceremony to open the fairgrounds and welcome everyone to the celebration. Friday,” she continued, “we’d like Ivy to judge the Miss Rosewood pageant and Coach to judge the pie bake-off. Both will end, of course, well before the football game Friday night.”
“Can we trade?” Blake jested. A couple of people in the room chuckled at his joke.
“No way,” Ivy retorted. “I can’t sit around all day eating pie. My personal trainer would kill me.”
“Saturday morning,” Principal Everett interjected, “we’re having the parade where we present the new Miss Rosewood to the town. It’s not really a fund-raiser, per se, but we’d like both of you riding in the parade.”
Blake nodded along as his boss talked. This was all basic stuff. Smile for the cameras, show-pony chores. No problem.
“Saturday night is the dance.”
“Dance?” Ivy asked.
“Yes!” Gloria’s eyes lit up. “We are so excited about this. We’re hosting a retro Second Chance Prom. The theme is ‘Flashback to 1986!’” She grabbed a flyer off the table and showed it to them both.
Blake had seen it before, but hadn’t paid a bit of attention to it. He thought it was a school dance. His students seemed so obsessed lately with eighties style.
But apparently Gloria was just as enamored with the decade as the kids were.
“Ticket sales for this have been wonderful. Everyone is so excited to dress up for the dance. Not everyone got to go to their prom, so this is a rare opportunity for a lot of folks.”
Ivy didn’t seem to share Gloria’s enthusiasm. She was frowning at the flyer. “So, am I singing at the dance?”
“Oh no!” Gloria said. “If they want to hear you sing, they need to buy tickets to the concert next weekend. We want you and Blake to reprise your roles as prom king and queen.”
“Wait a minute,” Blake said, his hands going up defensively. “We’re being good sports, but don’t you think that’s pushing just a little too far?”
“I was worried about this one,” Gloria admitted. “But it isn’t as intense as it sounds. There’s one spotlight dance. Just one. The rest of the time, you don’t even have to be together. It’s more of a figurehead role. A prom needs a king and queen and it made sense for it to be the two of you.”
“Just one dance?” Ivy repeated for confirmation.
“Yes, just one.”
“But it’s a slow dance,” Blake interjected. “You’re going to have to touch me for three to four straight minutes without cringing.”
Ivy crossed her arms over her chest, pushing the firm flesh of her breasts up until they were deliciously displayed by the V-neck of her top. “I do believe I can manage that as long as your hands stay where they belong.”
“More’s the pity,” he said, thinking of a couple of places he’d love his hands to stray.
“Then there’s the concert,” Gloria interjected. “During the week leading up to that there aren’t official activities, so you have a little downtime after the big weekend. Blake will be teaching, of course, and we were hoping Ivy could do some press events to stir up publicity for the concert and the cause.”
“I’m hoping you can put me in touch with your publicist,” Pepper added. “I’d like to work with her to get you on a couple of high-visibility morning shows and celebrity entertainment news programs. Perhaps we can schedule it so Blake can appear in a couple of those as well.”
“Yes,” Gloria continued. “This is really an important part of the fund-raiser, because although not everyone can come to the concert, everyone can call or go online and donate directly to the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund. It really broadens our target audience.”
“And then the concert?” Ivy said. “And that’s it?”
“That’s it!” Gloria smiled wide, as though she thought her excess enthusiasm might spill over into the two of them. It didn’t.
“Okay.” Blake sighed and started counting on his fingers.
“Ribbon cutting, pie eating, pageant judging, parade waving, prom dancing, interview chatting, and concert singing. Does that about cover it?”
“That covers it.” Mayor Gallagher stepped forward and slapped Blake on the back. “Easier than winning the state championship. Before you know it, we’ll have a new, state-of-the-art facility for your kids to practice and play so they can win that trophy. Easy as pie.”
Blake nodded and eyed his ex-girlfriend across the room. She was trying to look upbeat and excited about this whole thing, but he knew her well enough to know it was a struggle. She wasn’t happy about any of it. Winning the state championship would be easier than getting through the next two weeks with her.
Easy as pie? Yeah, sure. Maybe one of those blue-ribbon-winning pies that the ladies in town agonize over and practice baking for weeks.
It wasn’t even lunchtime and Blake needed a drink.
Chapter 6
Ivy had come home from her meeting with a jumble of emotions inside. Primarily panic. Her hopes of avoiding Blake over the upcoming days had been dashed. He was the central focus of her time here, and for her to demand otherwise would make her seem selfish and shallow. She wasn’t going to walk away. That was what everyone, including Blake, probably expected her to do.
Despite what people might think, she genuinely wanted to help her hometown. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to come out of the tornado shelter and find half the high school destroyed. She was going to do whatever it took to raise every penny she could. If that meant dealing with that smug, cheating bastard, so be it.
Ivy was first and foremost a professional. She had the ability to turn off pain and focus on music when she was performing. That was what she intended to do in Rosewood. She would smile for the cameras, stand by Blake’s side, raise a fortune for the new gym, restore her career, and get the hell out of here.
She was wrestling with those thoughts when she approached the front steps of her cabin and found an ivory envelope lying on the bristly welcome mat. The beautiful, heavy stationery with the gold embossing and elegant scripted handwriting left no question it was what she thought it was.
But why on earth would Ivy receive such a thing?
Adelia Chamberlain had invited her to tea this afternoon. The same Adelia Chamberlain who had called Kevin personally to request that Ivy perform at the charity concert. Blake’s grandmother was the epitome of an upper-class southern lady. Refined and elegant, she ruled over the Chamberlain family with an iron fist that felt deceptively like a silk glove.
Receiving an invitation to tea with Adelia was something women in town waited for their whole lives. That kind of thing didn’t happen to just anyone, and when it did, you sure as hell didn’t turn her down. Even on short notice.
Ivy eyed the time on her phone. S
he had three hours before she needed to be at the Chamberlain mansion.
Crap. Had she even packed anything appropriate for a formal tea? Ivy burst into the cabin and went straight for her closet. She flipped through hangers, frowning at every piece. Jeans and leather pants were the uniform for a rock star, most days. Occasionally she’d change it up with a skirt or a bustier. If she wore a dress, it was a loaned gown for a red carpet event.
Ivy eyed the invitation again. She needed to RSVP first. And then she would tackle her outfit.
Ten minutes later, she was back on the road to town. She managed to keep all four wheels on the pavement as she squealed around the turn from Second Avenue onto Magnolia Way and came to a sudden stop in the parking spot outside her mother’s salon.
Ivy leaped from the car and blew through the front door. The bells announced her arrival, but it wasn’t necessary. Ivy’s desperate shout of “Mama!” the minute her feet hit the tile floor did that for her.
Sarah looked at her with wide eyes. She had a woman’s hair in one hand, scissors in the other. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Ivy caught her breath and nodded. Instead of explaining, she held up the ivory invitation. That said it all. “Help.”
“You got invited to Miss Adelia’s for tea?” Pepper said, coming out of the back room with a bottle of perming solution. The stationery was distinctive and infamous enough for the citizens of Rosewood to recognize it and its significance by sight.
Ivy swallowed and nodded. “Yes. For today. What do I do?”
Even the woman in Sarah’s chair was wide-eyed with surprise. She’d obviously never been invited, either. “You need to go next door and get a dress from Beverly. She’ll know what to do.”
“She’s right,” Sarah chimed in. “Go ask Miss Beverly for help. She’ll find something just right. When you get done, come back here and we’ll do your hair and makeup. That ponytail won’t do.”
“Okay.” Ivy spun on her heel and headed back out of the salon to Dressin’ Up, a ladies’ clothing boutique owned by Miss Beverly Perkins.
Facing the Music: A Rosewood Novel Page 7