The Man Plan (2 page)

Present Day

“J
ames. How are you, sweetheart?”

James heard the clear, rounded tones of Laura Grayson’s voice over the speakerphone on his desk. He never minded receiving a call or a visit from her, despite his ill-fated engagement to her eldest daughter, Madelyn, more than five years before.

Lord knows Laura and Philip Grayson had been better parents to him over the years than his own—who, at last report, were sunning themselves somewhere on the coast of southern France. No doubt they were spending more money in a week than most people earned in a year. His mother in particular had no idea there was such a thing as a budget.

“I’m fine, Laura,” he said, signing his name to a thick set of documents. “And you? All’s well, I trust?”
He tossed down his pen and handed the paperwork to his executive assistant. She hurried away.

“Quite well,” Laura answered. “Is that work I hear you doing? I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“Not at all.” He lifted the receiver to make their conversation private. “Just finishing up.”

“Well, we’re all too busy these days. I’m due to zip out of here any moment myself—evening rehearsal for the Caldicott wedding. Then there’s the Jay affair on Friday. I have so much on my to-do list, it’s a wonder I can keep my head on straight now that spring has sprung.”

“Glad to hear your business is booming.”

“The wedding consultation business is always booming, even though the divorce rate’s high. But I didn’t call just to chitchat. I have a favor to ask; Philip and I both do.” Her voice lowered. “It’s about Ivy.”

“What about Ivy? Problem at school?”

“You might call it that. She’s decided to drop out.”

He straightened in his chair. “What?”

“Yes. Despite all our efforts to convince her otherwise, she’s dead set on withdrawing from college and moving to the city to be an artist. She’s always been such an easygoing, levelheaded girl. I don’t know where this defiant streak has suddenly come from.”

“Would you like me to talk to her, then? Get her to reconsider? She only has one more year before she graduates, doesn’t she?”

Laura sighed. “Yes, and if I truly thought your talking to her would do any good, I’d have her on the phone right now. But she’s like a piece of granite, as
fixed on this as I’ve ever seen her fixed on anything. Besides, it’s already too late. She’s officially withdrawn. The college has given her spot away for next year.”

“I’m sure something could be arranged,” he said.

In addition to the many charitable organizations he contributed to each year, he made sizable donations to a number of colleges and universities. If enough money was at stake, he felt certain Vassar would be more than pleased to make an exception for Ivy. No matter how impossible such a request might seem on the surface.

“No. It’s useless,” Laura said. “She won’t go back. And to be completely honest, her father and I have no real objection to her pursuing her painting, if that’s what she really wants. What we do object to is her living arrangements.

“James,” Laura went on in horrified tones, “she’s planning to move into some horrible artist’s garret in
Bushwick
. I’m sure it has cockroaches and rats and God knows what else. I can’t bear to think of my darling girl living in some dingy, run-down old hovel.”

He frowned. “Well, it’s not the best part of Brooklyn, but from what I’ve heard, it’s undergoing a rapid transformation. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

“No, it’s worse. She’s going to be sharing the hovel with three men.”

“What!”

“Yes, some friend of hers from college—an actor who’s moving to the city this year and two friends of his. One’s a musician, and I can’t remember what the other one does. Dancing, I think. Anyway, she simply
cannot be allowed to do this.” Laura audibly slowed to catch her breath. “That’s where the favor comes in. James, are there any available apartments in your building? Anyone who might consider subletting one?”

He frowned. “Doubtful. People tend to stay put once they move into my building.”

“Ivy’s father and I will pay whatever it costs if you could just find something, anything. We’d both feel so much better knowing she was near a person we trust. Someone to watch over her and make sure she doesn’t come to any harm. I know she’d be safe with you around.” She paused. “We considered Madelyn and Zack, but since they bought the house on Long Island last year . . . Well, it would be such an imposition, what with the twins and all. And I don’t think Ivy would ever agree to it.”

He tensed at mention of Madelyn, a reflex he couldn’t seem to shake even after all this time. “But you think Ivy would be willing to move into my building?” he ventured. “You don’t think she’ll feel she’s not suffering enough for her art on the Upper West Side?”

“She should be grateful not to suffer at all. Her father and I will make her see reason, at least on this. Now, tell me you think there’s hope and that you’ll help us.”

“Of course I’ll help, if I can. Let me look into things and I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”

“Thank you, dear. We love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” he responded, and hung up the phone.

So Ivy was turning stubborn, was she? Displaying that famous streak of Grayson obstinacy at last.

Ivy. Lord, he hadn’t seen her for . . . well, nearly two years now, he realized. Except for holidays, she’d been away at college while he’d been busy making deals and dollars in the world of international finance.

Fortunately, he thrived on the business, savoring the risk, relishing the challenge of juggling vast sums and gambling on ventures that often had as much chance of going bust as they did boom. And he’d done well for himself, and for the family, as the head of Jordan Enterprises. Since his father had handed over the company reins with a stiff handshake and a grateful sigh nearly twelve years ago, James had more than tripled their holdings.

Lately, though, he’d begun to wonder if that’s all there was to his life—work and profit. He had so much, and he was thankful for it. He tried never to take his life of privilege for granted. Yet sometimes when he awakened in the darkest black of night, an emptiness would sweep through him. A void none of the luxuries he possessed could ever fill.

A home. A family of his own. Children.

If he’d married Madelyn, they’d have those things now. . . .

But no, he refused to dwell on her. He was over Madelyn. She was in his past. He needed to focus on his future. As he knew all too well, she’d built a life for herself, found a happiness separate from him.

If only he could find a way to do the same.

The intercom buzzed. He pressed a button. “Yes?”

“Mr. Jordan, Ms. Manning is here to see you. Shall I send her in?”

Parker.

“Of course. Show her right through. Then why don’t you go on home, Tory?” he said to his assistant. “It’s getting late. You can finish up that report tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Andrew’s got soccer practice tonight, and Bill’s taking Cara to ballet. If I leave now, we can have a quick bite together before we have to run.”

“Go be with your family. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

Moments later, the door to his office opened as Parker Manning let herself in. She made a dramatic entrance in a minidress that hugged each and every one of her lean, feminine curves. The color, a bold slash of red, accented her sleek dark hair and olive complexion. A pair of three-inch red heels, a narrow yellow wrap, and a trendy purse shaped like a lemon slice completed the ensemble.

He and Parker had been lovers now for the better part of a year. They’d met at a play, introduced by mutual acquaintances who shared an appreciation for live theater. Divorced with no children, Parker lived off a trust fund from a wealthy grandmother and dabbled in whatever amused her at any given moment.

Right now, it was real estate.

He rose from his chair and went to greet her, taking her into his arms for a warm kiss on the mouth. “I didn’t expect you tonight.”

“I decided to surprise you. I’m celebrating.” She
showed him a set of well-straightened teeth. “I sold my white elephant today.”

He raised a brow. “The loft in Tribeca?”

“The very one. I’d about given up hope of ever unloading the thing, but the ideal buyer came along. A computer entrepreneur from California who didn’t bat an eyelash at the price. Just asked me where he could sign. I’ve been in heaven all day. With the commission I’ll be receiving, I decided I deserved a well-earned treat. New outfit, new hair, a complete facial and massage. I feel positively yummy. I thought you could take me out to dinner and make the evening perfect.”

He held back a sigh. He’d been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, a good book and a full night’s sleep. But she’d be disappointed if he said no. He feigned a smile. “Of course we’ll go out. And congratulations. I know how hard you worked selling that property.”

“I did, didn’t I?” she agreed as if the notion amazed even her. “You haven’t mentioned my new look.” She held her arms out at her sides and turned a slow circle. “What do you think?”

He perused her from head to toe, ending by meeting the expectant look in her wide brown eyes. “Stunning as always. But then you know you don’t need a makeover to look gorgeous. You always are.”

She smiled at the compliment.

He closed the distance between them and slid a hand down the taut flesh of one arm. “Perhaps we should forget dinner, go to my place, and celebrate in bed.”

“Aren’t you the naughty one?” She laughed and gave him a playful tap on the shoulder. “But save the
thought. We’ll skip dessert and enjoy each other later instead.” She moved away, heels silent on the Aubusson rugs spread over the dark, wide-plank walnut flooring. She stopped in front of a wet bar concealed behind a clever faux niche and pushed the panel to open it. “Drink?” she asked him.

“No, thanks.” He moved in the opposite direction, stopping before the floor-to-ceiling span of glass that formed the outside wall. Beyond it lay an unimpeded view of the city. Twilight was upon them, lights beginning to wink on in the buildings opposite, creating all sorts of interesting patterns and designs.

“I don’t know how you can stand being so close like that,” she remarked. “Gives me the willies wondering if I’ll fall out.”

His lips curved but without humor. He lifted a hand, rapped his knuckles on the thick glass. “Safe enough, I think.”

“Anything wrong? You seem pensive.” Ice clinked in her crystal glass as she took a swallow of vodka and tonic.

“A little tired, nothing more. Long, busy day.”

“Then a good dinner is exactly what you need. We should go.”

“Anywhere in particular you had in mind?”

He stifled a groan when she named a trendy, hideously expensive restaurant that was always booked solid months in advance. If he twisted an arm or two and greased the right palms, he might be able to find them a table for the last seating.

“All right. Let me make some calls.”

*   *   *

A grunt, followed by a curse, drew Ivy’s attention away from the kitchen linens she was unpacking. She watched as her friend Neil Jones muscled a huge packing box through the doorway of her new apartment.

“I think this is the last of them,” he huffed. He struggled a few more feet, then let the box slide to the floor. “I lost Josh somewhere behind me,” he panted, beads of sweat dotting his tanned forehead, dampening his short, sun-streaked brown hair.

She set her hands on her hips. “I wish you guys would have let me help.”

“You helped. You lugged up your clothes and a few of the lighter boxes. Believe me, cupcake, you wouldn’t have been able to manage these last few.”

She wasn’t entirely sure about that—she was pretty strong for a woman—but male pride could be a delicate thing, so she didn’t argue. It’s why she hadn’t hired professional movers. Neil and his friend Josh had offered to help her move, and she hadn’t wanted to offend by refusing. Neil in particular took affront at paying anyone a thousand dollars for a few hours’ work.

“How come you’ve got so much stuff?”

“It’s from my mother,” she said. “She wants me to be comfortable.”

He snorted. “I don’t see how you could you be anything but comfortable in a swanky place like this.”

He was right. A twinge of embarrassment went through her as she surveyed the space. The ocean of plush cream wall-to-wall carpeting, the gleaming cherry
woodwork and cabinetry, the crown molding coated with fresh glossy white paint, and the wide windows with their elegant view of Central Park. In addition to the living room, the apartment boasted a spacious bedroom, full kitchen, fireplace, one and a half baths, and a bonus room she planned to use as her art studio.

Perhaps she should have stuck to her principles and refused to give in to her parents’ wishes. She’d been all set to share Neil, Josh, and Fred’s modest apartment in Bushwick. She might have grown up in wealth, but she wasn’t a pantywaist or a snob.

Then her folks had to go and tempt her.

Oh, not with the obvious lures—a luxury apartment in Manhattan, the chance to paint full-time and not worry about finding a job, the free rent. No, they’d reeled her in with a far more insidious temptation. Though to be fair, she knew they had no idea that’s what they were doing. They’d persuaded her with the most compelling enticement of all—the chance to live only seven floors down from James Jordan, the man she’d loved as long as she could remember.

At least she thought she still loved him.

She’d scarcely seen him these past few years, his long-ago breakup with her sister having driven an awkward wedge between him and her family. Still, they’d traded presents and postcards and phone calls during that time. And he’d never really been more than a glimpse away, his handsome, patrician features smiling dependably out at her from the photograph of him she kept on her nightstand.

James.

Her nerves hummed at the thought of him.

What would it be like, seeing him again?

How would she feel?

How would he feel?