Trivial Pursuits (Chicago On Ice Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter 9

TriviaPlayOrPass!

Which band sang the 1999 hit “Kiss Me?”

I close my eyes as Landon leans forward. I can’t breathe. My heart is racing. I inhale the glorious scent of him as he moves in toward my body.

To my surprise, his lips sweetly brush against my forehead. Electricity shoots through every inch of me the second I feel his soft, full lips on my skin in a gentle kiss.

Landon then stands back up straight, and all of the sudden I’m hearing the old song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer playing on my mental soundtrack.

“Now it’s goodnight,” Landon says, his gaze lingering on my face.

Happiness crashes over me like a tidal wave, sweeping me up and carrying me along. I don’t try to resist it.

More to the point, I don’t want to.

“Goodnight,” I say quietly.

I open the door and slip inside, and Landon shuts it for me. I start the car and let it warm up. Landon waits in the parking garage like a true gentleman.

Finally I’m ready to go. I wave to him and back out of the parking space, and he flashes me a smile and waves back.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! That was the best first date ever. EVER. It was fun and flirty, and I loved the fact that I got to know Landon on that level. And that he seemed to be having as much fun, even with the boundaries I had put up to protect myself.

As I pull up to a red light, I brush my fingertips over the place on my forehead where his lips brushed against me. Oh, that kiss was so sweet, so gentle.

Not what I expected from Landon.

But utterly, magically
perfect.

The fact that he kissed my forehead, instead of going for a kiss he could have easily had, tells me I’m different. I was wrong before with Troy, but I’m not wrong now. I know this with all my heart and soul.

And I can’t wait to see him again tomorrow night.

I still feel dreamy from last night.

I think of this as I make my way down to a Starbucks in the Gold Coast neighborhood around ten o’clock in the morning. I hardly notice the freezing wind ripping across my face. I should be dead exhausted from not sleeping.

But instead, this new electricity surges through me, one I’ve never experienced before. My head is filled with thoughts of Landon—of how he texted me before I even got home, saying I didn’t have to leave my blouse there as an excuse to come back and see him. Which led to a round of teasing banter and conversation that continued way too late into the wee hours of the morning.

Potential.

That’s the word that keeps coming back to me. For the first time in a long time, I have potential in both my personal and professional lives, and this feeling brings nothing but excitement and hope to my heart.

I know I’ve only been with Landon once, but there is definitely potential for something special with him, if he wants to see where this can go, too.

Professionally, I feel potential for a new future, as well. While I didn’t get a job I desperately wanted last month designing jewelry for Alexandra Woo, a chic designer in Chicago, maybe that happened for a reason. To get me into teaching. To push me to get aggressive about selling my own lines, and to see what I can do to help Collins with her party planning.

And I have a meeting with Collins to prepare for my first ever party consultation with her right now.

I enter the Starbucks, greeted by the familiar scent of brewed coffee. I scan the coffee shop for Collins. Collins Brady is one of my closest friends, along with Taylor Hartigan. The three of us grew up together and stayed close even though I went off to the University of Washington, Collins to Purdue and Taylor to the University of Illinois. And now that we are back in Chicago, it’s like we picked up right where we left off. Well, almost. Taylor got a job in Minneapolis and relocated there last week, but I know if she moved back to Chicago our friendship would fall right into place again.

Just like it has with Collins now.

I quickly spot her, but that’s never been hard. Collins is strikingly beautiful, with long, silky straight light brown hair and freckles splashed across her cheeks and nose. She’s always impeccably dressed, too. Like today she’s wearing a chic black and white plaid wool sheath dress with black opaque tights and heels. Collins has her tablet on the table, a Tory Burch planner, and right now she’s holding her pen to a page, as if she’s thinking about scribbling something. As always, she’s perfect and organized. I’ve never met anyone who has their life as planned out as Collins. Although she’s only twenty-two, she’s already a skilled party planner in her aunt’s company, Suzanne’s Soirees.

I smile as I head in her direction. Today is the first time I’m working with her on a project, and we are having a pre-meeting before going over to see the client to discuss party plans.

I approach the table and greet one of my closest friends with a smile.

“Hi, Collins,” I say cheerfully, unwinding the black and gray plaid scarf I have wrapped around my neck. I notice she has her drink, and I already know what it is. A peppermint mocha with an extra shot, which is what she always drinks when it’s cold out.

Collins glances up from her blank page of paper. And I’m surprised to see her toffee-colored eyes aren’t sparkling like they usually are.

“Hey,” Collins says softly, reaching for her cup and taking a sip of her drink. “Why don’t you go get your coffee and then we can go over some last minute stuff before heading over to the client’s house?”

I study her as I place my coat over the back of a chair. Something is wrong.

“I don’t need coffee,” I say, sinking down into the chair across from her. “I need to know if everything is okay with you.”

Collins studies her notebook for a moment. She draws a breath of air and lifts her eyes to mine.

“Gabe wanted to look at rings last night,” she says softly.

Gabe is her long-term boyfriend. They met during orientation at Purdue and have been together ever since. He took a job in Chicago to be with her, but they don’t live together, which is Collins’ choice. I know he’s begging her to take that step, but Collins always said there was plenty of time for that and it didn’t feel right at this time.

But my gut always wondered if it never felt right because this isn’t what she truly wants.

And now, instead of giddy that Gabe is obviously gearing up for a proposal, she seems sad.

It’s time to get to the truth.

“Do you want Gabe to propose to you?” I ask gently. “Please be honest. You’re only hurting yourself and Gabe if you aren’t.”

Collins begins twisting the ring on her right hand, the hammered silver wire ring I made her a couple of years ago.

“I should,” Collins says softly. “He’s a great guy. Gabe is sweet and generous. Dedicated to his job. Athletic. Smart. I mean, I should be excited. I should want this.”

“Collins,” I say, reaching for her hand, “there is no
should
here. If your heart is telling you no, there’s a reason why.”

Collins bites her lip. I see her eyes fill with tears.

“My heart says no and there’s no logical reason why,” she whispers. “I just . . . I wonder if there is something more for me. But then I wonder if that’s only in romantic movies and books, and I’ll be making the biggest mistake of my life by not staying with Gabe.”

My heart aches for her. I understand her logic, I do. But there shouldn’t be this sadness in something so wonderful, of finding out the man you love is about to propose to you.

“Only you can answer this question,” I say. “But I can tell you this. If the idea of this proposal makes you sad, if it makes you wonder what else, if you aren’t filled with joy, I think it would be a bigger mistake to say yes. For both you and Gabe.”

I reach into my purse, locate my pack of tissues, and set them in front of Collins.

“Thanks, Livy,” she says, dabbing her eyes. “Thank you for not judging me.”

“Judge you? For wanting to be happy?” I ask, surprised.

“If I end this, which my head and my heart tell me to do, I’ll hurt Gabe. I’ll break his heart, which breaks mine. And I’m going to take so much shit for it,” Collins says painfully. “My family will
die.
His mother is already calling me her future daughter-in-law. A lot of our friends will think I’m crazy.”

“Who freaking cares what other people think?” I say. “This is
your
life. Not theirs. All I care about is that you are happy. People are going to judge you no matter what you do, Collins. Screw that. Do what you need to do.”

Just like people might say, especially after what I went through with Troy, that I’m nuts to even consider seeing Landon Holder.

I shove that thought aside and squeeze Collins’ hand in support.

Collins sniffles. “Right.” Then she withdraws her hand and clears her throat, and I know the conversation is over.

“Anyway, let’s prepare for meeting Alessandra Wilson,” she says, forcing a smile on her face.

“Of course,” I say, pulling out my notebook.

“You can go get coffee,” Collins urges. “I promise I won’t have a breakdown while you’re getting your skinny flat white.”

I laugh. “Nah, I’ll get one later. So this is going to be a puppy party for one of Chicago’s famous fashion bloggers?”

Collins sighs. “Yes. For her Yorkie, Prince George.”

I wrinkle my nose. And within a second, a flash of Landon touching it comes to mind. Heat instantly fills my cheeks in response, and I quickly cough to shake the image from my head.

“Is this Prince George named after the real one in the United Kingdom?” I ask out of curiosity.

Collins laughs. “But of course. He’s a prince, not a puppy. But Alessandra is a loon
.
I know that is why my aunt gave me this party. She doesn’t want to deal with her.”

“So I still should be thanking you for asking for my help, right?” I tease.

Collins smiles. “Alessandra pays well. But she’s going to be very picky, and she will have crazy ideas she wants us to execute. So are you up for the challenge?”

I nod. “Let’s throw a puppy party.”

Collins was right.

Alessandra is a freaking lunatic.

I really hope my expression isn’t showing.

Because this experience is beyond mystifying.

“Georgie is so special, and he truly deserves to be honored for being such a fantastic dog,” Alessandra reiterates, stroking the hair of the dog sitting in her lap. “My parents said spare no expense. Nothing is too much for Prince Georgie.”

I study her for a moment, hardly believing we are the same age. Heiress to the Wilson Ketchup empire, Alessandra is a fashion blogger, who posts daily pics of her designer outfits and the coordinating look for not only Prince George, but her equally wealthy and gorgeous boyfriend, Sebastian. I started following her as soon as Collins mentioned it, and every morning I receive a post featuring the three of them in all their fabulous fashion.

Of course by that time of the morning I’m in my parents’ basement, usually in my Starbucks logo T-shirt, old flannel shirt thrown on top with jeans and Converse sneakers, stringing glass beads on wire necklaces next to my mom’s washer and dryer.

Hmm. I wonder if Alessandra has ever used a washing machine.

Or been in a basement.

Something tells me if this was a
TriviaPlayOrPass!
question the answer would be not just no, but hell no, are you out of your mind Livy
no.

“Of course,” Collins says eagerly, leaning forward in her chair and smiling. “We want Prince George to have the best birthday possible.”

“It has to be pitch puppy
perfect,
” Alessandra says, drawing her full lips into a pout. “I’m famous for my blog, you know. I’m blogging this whole event, and it can’t have a single
misstep.
People expect everything I do to be chic and fashionable, right down to the napkins.”

And the way she emphasized perfect and misstep, I know everything about this party has to be flawless.

“That’s why we’re here,” Collins says brightly. “To throw a pitch puppy perfect party fit for a prince.”

Ha! I don’t know how Collins managed to get that out without stumbling over all the P’s or laughing.

“Well, let’s begin,” Alessandra says, stroking her fingers underneath Prince George’s chin. “Mommy is going to plan you a big party, Princey,” she says in baby talk. “The bestest party for the bestest puppy in the whole world!”

“So today I want to get to know you and Prince George,” Collins says, smiling as she opens up her planner and lays it across her lap, “and then I will come back with some party ideas for you to consider.”

“No,” Alessandra says firmly, pausing to point a finger at Collins. “I will
tell
you what I want. You will make it
happen.
”

Ooooooooooooooh, I don’t like this attitude. Apparently she will yell jump, and Collins will ask “how high?” and do it.

Which means I will be jumping right along with my party-planning friend.

“Of course,” Collins defers, nodding.

Prince George begins barking.

“Oh, Princey, stop,” Alessandra coos. “MAGDA!” she bellows at the top of her lungs. So loud that Prince George whimpers. “Sorry, puppy. We have to get Magda in here right away. MAAAGGGGGDAAA! NOW!”

I swear if I weren’t working out of my parents’ basement and living at home needing this job, and if Collins wasn’t a dear friend, I’d
run
for the door right now.

The housekeeper who let us in a few minutes earlier hurries into the room. “Yes, Ms. Alessandra?”

“It took you long enough, where were you?”

“Pressing Master George’s shirts,” she says swiftly. “What may I do for you, ma’am?”