Page 99 of Puck Yes

It’s just that timing is everything. And while I’d absolutely pursue Ivy on my own, I want her with Hayes, together. I’m going to need to figure out how to pull that off.

I fully intend to make her mine. But I’m a patient man, and I’m willing to show her that I’m the guy for her.

Or really, one of the guys.

* * *

When we return to the building, a text flashes in our group chat.

Ivy:I’m at the penthouse. I wanted kale for lunch—early lunch. I made a salad. You can join me.

I give Hayes a look that translates tosalad for lunch? I’m not a rabbit.

“Food truck,” he says, understanding immediately.

Ten minutes later, we head inside with sandwiches from the truck since every hour is mealtime. Ivy’s grabbing a fork, and there’s a salad on the counter in a large metal bowl. “How did it go?”

“We gave it to her together,” I remark casually. I want to plant the seed.

“You did?” There’s no uncertainty in her voice. Just curiosity.

“Look, someone had to make sure Hayes didn’t tell her his dad owned the department store and wanted to hire her as the spokesmodel,” I say.

Hayes smacks the back of my head.

I smack his head.

Ivy laughs, and all feels right in the world. Well, for now. I’ll have to take small steps toward the future.

Starting with lunch, and when I open the paper on my sandwich, I’m reminded of something. “I forgot to tell you. Your ex came to visit me the other night.”

From across the counter, her eyes bug out. “What?”

“He wanted me to invest in, wait for it, Dough and Duds,” I say, and the three of us have a laugh as I tell them about Xander’s proposal.

As she takes a bite of the salad, she turns pensive, then says, “It’s funny you mention him, because I made a big decision this morning. Something’s been nagging at me, and I really want to know what you both think. If it’s too crazy or risky.”

She sounds earnest and a little nervous.

Please don’t say you got a job out of town. I don’t think my heart could handle it.

“Sure, hit me up,” I say, not giving away that fear.

She sets down the fork. “I don’t want to cover their wedding. I think I’d like to turn it down. Or, really, to back out.”

“Just not do it?” Hayes asks, but he doesn’t sound alarmed. He sounds more like he’s reining in a hoot and a holler.

“Yes. I don’t want to associate with people who belittle me now or who have in the past. They both did. And if turning this down means I lose a chance at a bunch of new followers and a really click-y piece, I’m okay with that. My mental health is worth more.”

I look at the gorgeous, fierce woman across from me. I pretty much have no choice but to fall even harder for Ivy Samuels. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Do it,” Hayes urges, and a giddy Ivy grabs her phone.

Ten seconds later, she’s saying, “Hey, girl, it’s Ivy Samuels. Something came up, and I can’t cover your wedding.”

A pause. “What came up?” Ivy asks, presumably repeating Simone’s question.

Another pause. “Oh, just the fact that my doctors have suggested I limit my exposure to all things toxic. And that’d be you and my ex. Thanks a bunch, though, and best of luck with your blowout bash.”

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