Page 8 of By the Book

“Ivy, there you are dear,” Dad beams at me. He’s ever the proud father, unaware of the man across from him looking me up and down. “My daughter here runs her own business in the Brick District. The Open Book.”

I smile at my father as the leering associate introduces himself. “I’m Reid, and your picture at the office doesn’t do you justice.”

The line is flattering enough for my father’s benefit. Yet, his attention continues to rake slowly over my body in a demeaning way. He does not even manage the briefest eye contact during the exchange. Not even as the next man is introducing himself. I try my best to give him my attention instead of Reid, who is busy undressing me with his eyes.

“You don’t have a drink, sweetheart. Why don’t we go get you one?” Reid cuts in, stepping closer to me.

Men like him are the reason I try to avoid meeting the interns or new associates that come through. Fresh to the field, more than one has had a young, brazen air to them.

I always wonder if they think I’m oblivious to the way they objectify me with the comments and looks. But, maybe it’s more accurate that they simply don’t care if I notice. Sometimes, I think they even enjoy my demure reactions.

My primary way of handling it is to never let them get me away from the group. I’m about to move a step closer to my father when I feel the presence of two men flanking me. Wes and Tripp. My dad might be oblivious, deep in conversation with his partner about my bookstore, but these two certainly are not.

Their closeness settles some of the unease. “I’m okay, thank you though. Such a kind offer,” I reply with a faux, thickly honeyed tone.

“Ivy, would you come help me with something?” I hear Wren’s voice approaching. We’ve had the proper introductions, so I can take the out she’s giving me. “I’m so sorry to steal her away boys,” she offers to the gaggle of lawyers.

“Thanks,” I murmur as we walk over to the food tables.

“Of course, I promised I wouldn’t leave you. I just hate that you have to deal with that.”

“Me too.” I nod, straightening the rows of party favors laid out beside the desserts.

“These are fun,” she notes, picking up one of the keychain favors. She flips it over and examines the fox my mom had etched into them to personalize the gifts for the event. “Every little detail… just perfect,” she says with admiration.

“You know my mother. They are bottle openers too.” I pick up one of my own as a furious Poppy charges across the lawn towards us.

“Stevie and Beckett just left me alone withhim,” she seethes. “Come on, I need another drink.”

Now that she mentions it, I actually could use that drink too. I steal a glance back at the group of men I’d just abandoned and notice how Tripp has positioned himself to block me from Reid’s line of sight. It’s a coincidence I reason, taking in his broad shoulders and commanding stance. A total coincidence. But my heart flutters all the same.

“Did anyone else notice how Dad’s new associate was practically drooling over Ivy?” Wes grits out as he, Tripp, and I walk down the driveway.

“He was not,” I sigh. Of course, Wes is right. But I don’t feel like going back over it.

“He was.”

I turn to Tripp, surprised by the coldness in his tone. In the moonlight, shadows cast harsh lines across his sandy beige skin, adding to his stormy demeanor.

“The guy was just trying to kiss up to Dad through me. You know what they say, flattery will get you everywhere,” I point out, waving my half-eaten box of chocolates at Tripp. “Just don’t blame him that his attempts at flattery aren’t as good as yours.”

“I don’t get those to?—”

“Don’t get what?” Wes asks, noticing that he’s missed something.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly. It was foolish of me to mention the chocolates, maybe I had too much champagne.

“How much champagne did you have tonight?” It’s like my brother is reading my mind.

“Enough to get through a night of everyone worshiping you,” I tease. But not enough to numb the way my stomach swoops at Tripp’s closeness, I silently add.

“I’ll drive you home,” Tripp offers. His voice is low, a hint of scratchiness to it. There’s no coldness remaining from a moment ago. Quite the opposite, his words are like a tendril of warmth around me in the autumn night’s chill.

“Good idea, thanks,” Wes answers for me, ushering me along with a gentle shove before turning to head back to his carriage house.

“See ya,” Tripp offers to him, taking a step nearer to me so our arms gently brush as we walk. Continuing past my Lexus, I try to recall if I’ve ever been alone with him like this. I come up empty, save for a few minutes around my parents’ home now and again. My body thrills traitorously as he opens the passenger door of his Land Rover for me. I try to avoid looking directly at him as I climb inside. It’s just a ride home. A favor for my brother.

Tripp

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