Chapter 23
Ivy
Gray and I spend every moment we can together. Which isn’t really any different than our normal routine, only now our moments involve bouts of hot, sweaty sex. And it isn’t nearly enough for either of us. Gray’s classes are done for the semester, but intense workouts and training regimens to prepare for the playoffs take up most of his time.
“I swear to God, my quads and hamstrings feel like they’ve been torn from my bones,” Gray tells me over the phone as I make chicken salad.
I stare down at the chicken breast I’ve been pulling meat from and, with a grimace, toss it aside.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be partaking in any shenanigans until you can catch a break,” I say—reluctantly, because I pretty much want Gray all the time.
He makes a rude noise that nearly vibrates my phone. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Mac,” he drawls. “Otherwise my fragile feelings might get hurt.”
I scoff at that. “Don’t worry, Cupcake, I’m basically thinking about your cock in my mouth right now.”
Gray makes a strangled sound. “Jesus, Ivy. You can’t be saying that when you know I’m stuck watching footage and studying plays for the rest of the day. Are you trying to kill me? You’re lucky I’m soaking in an ice bath right now.”
“Gray! You shouldn’t be on the phone while in a bath. I’m hanging up right now.”
He laughs. “Okay, okay. Geesh. I’ll hang up, but tell me one thing first.”
“I’m not having phone sex with you. Again.”
“You loved it. But not the question. Have you talked to your parents about not wanting to return to London?”
I frown down at the counter. Gray is right to bug me. I’ve been avoiding telling them. Mainly because I’m a total coward, but the guilt is getting to me. Hell, I need to tell them about Gray, as well. One thing at a time, though, and letting them know about Gray isn’t the news I dread.
“Fuck it,” I say to Gray. “I’ll tell them today. After I hang up with you.”
“Honey,” Gray murmurs. “It will be all right.”
A breath gusts out of me. “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
The sound of water sloshing fills my ear, then Gray’s voice, low and soothing. “Ivy Mac, you couldn’t be a disappointment if you tried.”
“Gray...” My hand slides along the cool counter, and I wish it was his skin I was stroking. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know?”
“That’s just my thick and creamy frosting. Tell them. And call me afterward, okay?”
Fi is home, an increasingly rare occurrence. But I take advantage of the occasion and track her down in her room. Where mine is an oasis of whites, hers is a dark nest of plums and pinks. It’s disturbingly womblike and features an excess of satin fabric hanging from windows, her wrought-iron canopy—because we both have a thing for canopies—and even skirting her chairs.
Curled up like a little Thumbelina on one pink satin chair, Fi is reading a textbook and making notes on her iPad.
“What’s up?” she asks, not taking her eyes from her work.
“I invited Dad over. He’ll be here in five.”
Her brow furrows as she finally looks at me. “Yeah. So?”
I set my hand against my fluttering stomach. “I’m going to Skype Mom. You know...tell them about not wanting to work with her.”
Fi sets aside her things. “You need a little moral support?”
“Yes.” It’s a burst of breath.
From the living room Dad’s voice booms out. “Anybody here?”
“We’re coming,” I shout back as Fi glares at the door.
“We need to get that key back from him,” she says.
“He never comes when he isn’t invited.” Well, almost never. I think about Gray pressed on top of me, his gaze on my lips, and Dad finding us.
“Yeah,” I say a little raggedly. “I guess we should ask for it back.”
“Well.” Fi stands. “He’s here now. No use stalling.”
Right. Only I drag my feet as I follow her out.
I don’t tell Dad why he’s here before Mom is on the computer screen. I set the laptop up on the counter, facing it out toward us, which makes it seem as though her head is a hovering specter in the room.
Although my mother is blonde and green-eyed, I look the most like her. Fi has Mom’s coloring, but Dad’s features.
“Hello, my darlings,” she says to Fi and me as we sit on the couch. “While I’m happy to see you both, is everything all right?”
“You’ve got me, Helena,” Dad tells her. His attitude with her is, as always, slightly stiff but cordial.
I take a deep breath. “It’s me. I’m just going to say it. Mom, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to manage the store.”
“What?” Dad snaps.
“Darling, why?” Mom says in a shocked voice.
It’s hard to explain to them my reasons, but I do, with Fi holding my hand the entire time. It’s funny, usually I’m the one holding her hand while she disappoints our parents.
And disappoint them I have.
“Oh, Ivy,” Mom says with a sigh. “I don’t understand this. You’ve spent so much time learning the business. And you love baking. Are you quite certain this is what you want to do?”
“I do love baking. But, Mom, baking and running a bakery aren’t the same things, are they?”
Her mouth presses flat in the same way mine does when I’m annoyed. “No,” she says. “They aren’t. But you cannot run a successful bakery without loving baking.”
“And there’s the fact that I didn’t have a social life when I worked with you,” I say softly. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. Early to bed, early to rise. Everything becomes about the bakery.”
I glance to Dad and back to Mom. “My whole life, I’ve focused on school or working. I want more. I want to love what I do and have time to enjoy the rest as well.”
“All right,” Mom says slowly. “I do understand, Ivy.”
“Well, I don’t.” Dad lowers his dark brows at me. “For years this has been your focus. I expect this of Fiona—”
“Leave Fi out of this.” I squeeze my sister’s hand before she can shout at him. “This is about me and what I want.”
“If this is about wanting to spend more time with Grayson...” he begins.
“Finish that thought,” I say softly, “and I’m walking out of here.”
Silence greets me.
“Sean,” Mom finally says. “Ivy’s twenty-two years old. She’s an adult now, so let’s treat her as one, shall we?”
That earns Mom a mulish look, but he relents. “I’m just a little shocked. But all right, Ivy. You don’t want to work with your mother. That’s your call. What do you want to do?”
A small laugh leaves me. And I bite down on my lips to prevent any more. Because I feel slightly unhinged for what I’m about to tell them. I know they’re going to think I am.
“I...” God, getting the words out is harder than I thought it’d be. “I think I want to look into sports agenting.”
Fi’s mouth falls open as she stares at me. “You’re shitting me, right?”
Mom and Dad are no better.
“Pardon?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
The last one from my outraged father.
I take a deep breath. “I’m perfectly serious. I’ve been talking to Gray and his friends, and I realized that it makes me happy to give advice. I love sports. I love interacting with athletes. It excites me.”
“Yeah, but...” Fi makes a helpless gesture. “That world, all the sleaze...”
Dad glares at her as Mom mutters something censorious.
Then Dad focuses on me. “Fi’s vivid imagery aside, she isn’t entirely incorrect. It’s a hard life, Ivy, and not something I want for you.”
“The thing is, at some point I have to do what I want for my life. Not what I think the two of you want for me.”
Mom’s lips press together. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Appeasing us?”
“Not entirely. I thought I wanted the bakery too. But I won’t say your feelings didn’t factor into it.”
Dad shakes his head, as if this confession is neither here nor there. “You’ve always hated my job. Do not lie to me, young lady. You have.”
“I know. Hell.” I stand and pace. “I don’t know, maybe I can make it something more.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Dad snaps. “Don’t you dare go Jerry Maguire on me.”
I almost laugh. Sports agents hate that movie, calling it a fantasy.
“I’m not naive,” I say quietly as I sit back down. “Though, really, Daddy? You do care about your clients’ lives. Don’t deny it.”
“Of course I care. I’m not going to work my ass off for a job I don’t care about. And don’t you use ‘Daddy’ to soften me up,” he counters with a pointed look.
“Fine. And maybe I’m not entirely clear on what I want. Perhaps I can go into life coaching and planning for athletes. That’s the part that inspires me, not the deals.”
Fi nods slowly. “I can see that.”
Sighing, I run a finger along the edge of the sofa. “I know it sounds weird, and it’s true I’ve resisted having anything to do with Dad’s business for so long. But when I think of doing this, it feels good. Right.” I can’t explain it any other way.
Everyone grows quiet.
Then my mom speaks up. “Darling, I want you to be happy in your life. If you believe this is the way, then I support you.”
My throat goes tight. “Thanks, Mom.”
Dad just sighs and plops his butt on the arm of the sofa. “You want to work with me.” He sounds so shocked that I do laugh.
“I can go it on my own, Dad. I don’t mind the challenge. I’ll apply for an internship at an agency.”
“No. You want to learn this business, you’re going to learn it right.” His stern expression eases to wariness. “Or I can set you up with one of my colleagues if you want your independence.”
“If you think you can treat me like any other intern, I’m happy to work with you.”
“Oh, well, thank you for that,” he says dryly. Then he laughs. “Get ready for hell.”
I find myself smiling. “Yes, sir.”
It feels strange, this new course I’m plotting, and my insides are still shaking from excess nerves. But for the first time, the future excites me. For the first time, everything feels just as it should.
IvyMac: It is done. Parents are okay with my change of plans. I’m going to try to work with my dad. Tell me I’m not crazy.
GrayG: Not crazy. You’re my girl. So proud of you, Special Sauce.
IvyMac: Come over?
GrayG: Better idea. Go to Red Room Lounge at 8 p.m. Wear a skirt (panties optional but greatly discouraged). Head for the bar. Hot blond dude will be there. Let him say hello first.
IvyMac: ?? And what’s with the cryptic text? Are you on something?
GrayG: No more questions. You’ll like what I have planned. Trust me.
IvyMac: Ok. But only because it’s you.
GrayG: Don’t forget: No questions. Wear a skirt. And a hot top too.
IvyMac: *Grumble*