A Fine Romance (26 page)

“Let me restate. Kathleen has become a really very bad habit.”

“A crutch, holding you back,” Ben added.

Why wouldn’t they take the hint and leave? Or just shut up? If Mira couldn’t get him to back away from his mom, the opinions of two men with not even half her charms certainly weren’t going to be able to sway him. “I’m headed to the shower. These clothes are hitting the floor in about thirty seconds. In other words, thanks for the coffee, now get the hell out.”

Gib didn’t budge. “For a while it looked like Mira was on track to break you of that habit. If you truly love her, you’ll dig yourself out of this rut. Consider Dr. Rubin to be your emotional tow truck.” He used that wing chair like a throne from which to toss out ridiculous edicts. Well, like all rulers with an overinflated sense of importance, he’d get deposed real soon.

He stopped halfway down the hall. Turned around to glare at the friends dumping shit all over him. “I don’t need a tow. I’m not fucking broken.”

Ben laughed. Laughed like a loon. “Of course you are. We all are. We’ve all got cracks running through our psyche. The trick is to find the right woman to help glue you back together.”

Gib drummed his fingers on the armrest. “I’m really starting to regret bringing you along, Westcott. Sounds like Ivy’s rose-colored glasses are on permanent loan to you.”

“So what if we’re coming at this from two different directions? Bottom line is the same. Kathleen retied the apron strings around Sam a couple of years ago. Now it’s time to untie them.”

Sam was so tired. Tired of having the same fight over and over, but with different people. “She’s the most important woman in my life.”

“Is she?” Gib asked.

“She has to be. I don’t have a choice.”

Chapter Twenty

“Heads up, beautiful boss-lady,” Hays called out as he came down from the second floor. He carried a tray full of the signature sweet Helen had finally chosen for the store—dark-chocolate-covered coconut macaroons. Mira’s newly rediscovered love of all things cocoa bean meant the cookies were a serious threat to her waistline.

“Third refill?” Mira asked. She’d tried to keep count, but it was impossible. Sure, she wanted to keep a firm grasp of every tiny detail. That wish hadn’t lasted five minutes past opening. They’d opened the store during the day, then closed for two hours prior to the party in order to regroup, restock and buff the place up. Reporters, bloggers, stylists and shoppers kept her running from the get-go.

“Fourth. This crowd has a real sweet tooth. If we run low, do you think Sam would help us out with whatever cookies he’s still got on the shelves?”

“No.” The word snapped out faster and with more vehemence than she would’ve preferred. Mira didn’t plan to tell anyone about breaking up with Sam until after the opening. Of course, that plan derailed pretty much at inception when Gib and Ben walked in on her bawling her eyes out at dawn. Luckily, Daphne had, well, gotten lucky and not come home. She and Ivy were still in the dark, along with Hays and Helen. Her friends and colleagues overflowed with excitement about tonight. The bad timing of Mira’s crushing breakup would not affect it. Period. If Gib or Ben breathed a word, she’d string them up by their balls. The grand opening of A Fine Romance was nothing less than the realization of a dream for Ivy. It had to be perfect. Unsullied. Drama-free.

“Hays, I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic pat to his arm. “I’m about ten steps past frenzied. While you were upstairs refilling the tray, I finished an interview for the WGN nine o’clock news. Helen’s kids arrived just in time to come to the rescue. Noah’s helping her with the food, and Lucy is bagging. Both of them are just as friendly as their mother, thank heavens.”

Cranking his head to the side, Hays stared around Mira down the hall. “But if you’re back here with me, then who is on the register? Or does everyone get to take home their selections for free tonight? Like party favors?”

“Are you kidding? I exalt in a hefty markup. Nothing is ever free.” Not even a smile, for her self-control and stamina were sorely taxed by every single one she doled out. “Ivy’s at the till. I figured I’d let her have some fun for a while, watching the cash roll in hand over fist. Or, rather, watching the credit card receipt tape grow longer.”

“So you’re a television star now?”

“Hardly,” she said dryly. Doing the interview had been equal parts fun and nerve-racking. Sort of like driving for the first time, when knowing what to do from training manuals in no way translated to the glorious scare of mashing the gas pedal into the floor. Back then, she’d driven right over the concrete marker at the end of the parking spot and taken out the muffler. Tonight’s interview hopefully went better.

“Well, you look like a star in that outfit. I bet that after it airs, we have men by the dozens hanging out, waiting to catch a glimpse of the glamorous Mira Parrish.”

The red silk blouse, the same deep red as the store’s logo, did cling to all the perky curves of her Miracle Bra in a very gratifying fashion. At least, watching Sam’s reaction to the tight blouse would’ve been gratifying. Had he been here, and actually in love with her. Which he most certainly was not. Not here, and not in love with her, despite what he said. If he truly loved her, he’d be willing to fight for her. For them.

“I worried the black T-strap stilettos were a bit over the top.” But with the calf-length pencil skirt, her outfit evoked the glamour—and more importantly, the romance—of the forties. Perry Como and Ella Fitzgerald crooned over the sound system to help get people in the mood. “Fun, though. Even if my feet already throb. It isn’t fair. Why is it only women who have to suffer to be fashionable?”

Hays looked down at his own wing-tips, high-waisted pin-striped pants and crisp white shirt topped with dark red suspenders. “Oh, I suffered. Halloween’s right around the corner. I had to fight off two other guys at the vintage store in order to grab these pants. I took an elbow right in my pancreas.”

It steadied her jitterbugging nerves to tease him a little. “Do you even know which side of the body your pancreas is on?”

“Sure I do. It’s the side with the elbow-shaped bruise.” He winked at her and hurried back into the melee. Only an hour into the grand opening reception and there were people wall to wall. There’d been another questionable article this morning, this time in the weekly alternative paper. Nothing that flat-out predicted the store would flop. Just a very broad hint that if it didn’t succeed, the finger of guilt should rest firmly on Mira’s shoulders. So either people didn’t believe the article, didn’t care, or they’d come to watch her flame out. Fine with her, as long as they spent money. And then maybe raved about it to at least ten of their friends tomorrow.

Mira took a deep breath. So far, so good. No reason why she couldn’t take a luxurious two-minute break. She’d been driving herself all day. Obsessing over details finalized three days ago, and rechecking everything for the umpteenth time. It distracted her from knowing Sam was on the other side of the Dutch door. They’d kept it closed today, in the whirl of final preparations. That excuse wouldn’t fly tomorrow, though. She’d just have to suck it up and do her best to ignore the proximity of the man she wanted with all her heart. The man who simply didn’t want her enough.

A familiar, shrill laugh switched her into crisis mode. She’d recognize that laugh anywhere. Mira knew that for certain, as she’d heard it in absolutely every corner of the globe. Despite Helen’s invitation, despite her parents’ note, she never fully believed they’d actually show up. Because the threat of epically bad publicity and losing her boyfriend at the same time wasn’t enough to deal with? Seriously, how many puppies had she run over in a previous life to deserve this?

“Where’s the brilliant mastermind behind this store? Fabulous idea.” Her dad’s voice boomed, easily heard over all the party chatter. If there was one thing Hale Parrish excelled at, it was making an entrance. Wearing a knit vest under a navy blazer with a sporty—for him—pale blue ascot, he looked like he’d just walked out of a party at Cannes. No doubt each piece alone cost more than her entire outfit.

“I’m right here.” Ivy gave a little wave from where she manned the cash register. They’d strategized about whether or not to play up the store’s connection to Ivy. Given her current “hot” factor from being spotlighted in
Planning
for
Love
, Mira had no problem urging Ivy to take all the credit. Free, positive publicity was worth a lot more than her pride. “I’m so glad you like the store.”

Dad frowned. “You shouldn’t try to take credit for someone else’s hard work, young lady. I’ll speak to my daughter and see that you’re reprimanded.”

Mira didn’t know whether to be thrilled her father actually sounded proud of her, or appalled that he’d insulted her boss. She finally managed to slither between three women blocking the aisle, each holding an astronomically expensive vase. “Hi, I’m here. No need to threaten anyone, Dad.”

“Oh, Mr. Parrish. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all these years.” Ivy shot Mira a what-the-heck’s-going-on look before turning on the full force of her charm. “I’m Ivy Rhodes. Mira and I were roommates in grad school.”

“Hale Parrish.” He stretched out an arm to pull the scary skinny woman in a little black dress to his waist. “And this is my wife, Elizabeth.” They did a round of handshakes. It said a lot about their family dynamics that her parents chose to shake hands with a stranger
before
hugging the daughter they hadn’t seen in over a year.

“Ivy’s the one who hired me, and first envisioned the store.”

“Thank you for rescuing our daughter.” A sardonically hearty laugh rolled out of her dad. “We’d written her off as snakebit. Didn’t think anyone would hire her again.”

Still no hug or greeting, but at least he’d fallen straight into the habitual role of belittling Mira’s endeavors. And it felt as hypocritical as ever, coming from a man whose entire résumé could be summed up in two words—professional partygoer. The closest he’d ever come to a paycheck were the monthly installments from his trust fund. Well, if he was following old patterns, then she would, in an effort to keep the peace. Dutifully, she nipped forward and kissed both of her parents on the cheek. “Mom, you look beautiful. Younger than ever.”

Her mother air-kissed back in the general vicinity. “You look tired, darling. Clearly they’re working you too hard. Come for a facial with me tomorrow morning.”

“Nobody’s pushing me, Mom.
I
run the store. And since we just opened tonight, I kind of have to be here tomorrow.” Two beaming customers pushed their way up to the counter to check out.

“Well, when you’re tired of ‘working,’” her mother made air quotes with her fingers, “let me know, and we’ll send you a ticket to catch up with us wherever we are. How does Christmas in Austria sound?”

“Delightful.” And for a few seconds, she remembered the feeling of schussing down the Alps after ridiculously handsome blond men in thick sweaters. Yes, it had been fun playing all over the world with her parents. Fun—but not satisfying. Nowhere close to the utter fulfillment Mira had felt as people actually stood in line to get in to this reception. She and Ivy had both welled up as they’d cut the big red ribbon across the doorway. That moment defined her.

Mira certainly couldn’t change her parents or make them understand. However, she could stand her ground, make her own way. Cashing a trust-fund check would never give her that feeling of self-worth. Never again would she question her decision to forego the family’s buckets of money. Anytime she wavered, from stress or exhaustion, she could think back to this night and remember that money hadn’t brought her this level of happiness (if she ignored the sucking emptiness in her heart over losing Sam). Hard work and good friends had. Just like that, she closed the door on any claim on the Parrish fortune.

Calmer and grounded, she screwed on a determined smile. “However, I hope December will be a very busy time for the store. I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you.”

“Well, contact our lawyers if you change your mind. They’ll know where to find us.” Hale spun on his heel back toward Ivy. “I recognize you. From that wedding show!”

Ivy looked up as she swiped a credit card. “That’s me. As you make your rounds, you might also recognize my partner, Daphne—Mira’s roommate. And my fiancé, Ben, shot all the footage. We’re a tight-knit group, and we’re all here to support Mira tonight. Oh, and I think in last week’s episode we highlighted some of Sam’s wonderful chocolate truffles. He runs the bakery next door.”

Her mother’s eyes, identical to Mira’s, widened. “I remember him. Tall and dark and rather brooding?”

Ivy laughed. “Some of the time. He wasn’t too happy about being filmed that day.”

“He’s quite good-looking. Darling, a television star who makes chocolate? You should date him.”

The bitter irony burned through Mira. Could it really be that easy? Now that she’d turned her back on the money and on the man who didn’t love her enough? And were they really going to have this conversation in the middle of her grand opening? Taking a quick peek at the rest of the room, it looked busy but not out of control. Helen had the food under control, and Hays had a group of six women eating out of his hand. Guess she had five spare minutes to finish off her family drama once and for all.

“Seriously, Mom? Because you saw him once on television, you think Sam Lyons is an
appropriate
man for me, according to the terms of Grandfather’s will?”

Hale shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat. “Your mother and I came to terms a few years ago with the fact that we’d need to relax our standards as to the word
appropriate
. A man on television, artistic, talented and with his own business sounds like a good catch for our Mira.”

“Funny you should say that,” Ivy broke in. “As a matter of fact—” She clammed up after Mira clamped her hand in a death grip on Ivy’s arm. “Ow!”

“We’re distracting Ivy. And I certainly don’t want the person handling money distracted. Why don’t we move this conversation back to my office?” Mira suggested. No way would she let Ivy tell her parents that she’d dated Sam. It would open a Pandora’s box full of pestering. Besides which, she could barely even think his name without choking up a little. She’d deal with her parents tonight. She’d deal with losing Sam every lonely night after this one.

Then she remembered the cramped size of her office. If her parents saw it, they might drag her out of the store. Better to finish this in the hallway. “Look, I know that lowering the criteria for my potential husband is, for you guys, quite the affectionate gesture. But I don’t buy that you’ll accept any halfway decent man. Be honest. You don’t have some Ivy League, hedge-fund broker waiting outside to meet me?”

Elizabeth pouted in a practiced, pretty way. “Now, darling, we only want the best for you. To have a life untroubled by worry or responsibility. Does that make us such terrible parents?”

“Of course not.” In their own, shallow way, they just wanted to hand over her trust fund. Mira squinted at her mother in suspicion. “On the other hand, I don’t hear you denying it.”

“This is a store opening, isn’t it? Any potential shoppers are welcome? Word of mouth can really build a small business.”

“Yes.”

“The son of a friend of ours lives here in Chicago. When he’s not racing. He’s on the America’s Cup team. I think. Greyson races some sort of boat, anyway. We had dinner with him in Monte Carlo and he’s a perfectly delightful man. He knows oh so many people here in town, and he promised to tell all his friends about your little store. If you’re willing, he’d like to take you out for drinks later. To celebrate your big night.” Elizabeth pointed at a tall, super-tan man flirting with Helen’s daughter. “He’s right over there.”