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he stuck out his hand. “What’s my first assignment, boss?”
    Marilyn squeezed his hand. “Dinner tomorrow with me and Joan—she’s very eager to get going. Then you can pick Ivy up at the airport when she arrives, hopefully in a few days. It might be a good idea for you two to get better acquainted. It’s good to build a certain amount of rapport with your model, right?”
    “My model?”
    “I spoke with Bruce. She’s going to be the new face for my bridal wear line.” A thousand tangled emotions twitched inside Marilyn’s smile. “Ivy’s coming home.”

6

    The door flew open and crashed against the wall behind it. Ivy popped up from the couch like a jack-in-the-box springing from its hiding place. A stab of pain shot through her head. Her hands flung to her tangled mass of hair as she sucked air through her teeth.
    What in the world?
    “What were you thinking?” The door slammed shut. “Please, enlighten me, because I’d sure love to know what goes on in that head of yours.”
    She cringed and clasped her head tighter, cradling the source of her misery with trembling hands. Opening one eye, she found her uncle, pressed and dressed, pacing in her kitchen. Her sluggish mind tried to comprehend why, but she couldn’t pin down anything except the obvious. He had no right to barge into her apartment. “Haven’t you heard of a little courtesy called knocking?”
    “I knocked. You didn’t answer.”
    She pushed the jungle of tangles from her eyes. Her stomach gurgled—only not from hunger. She placed her hands on the leather cushion to steady herself.
    Bruce stared at the vase of roses on her counter, then eyed the rest of her things—the dried and framed flowers hanging on her wall; others bundled together in bouquets, hung upside down on hooks where her keys should be; stacks of books—poetry, classics, even a few mass market romance novels—spilling off her bookshelf; and the snow globes she kept on her end tables. The sudden desire to fling her body over her private items trumped the pain dissecting her brain. Bruce might be her uncle, but he was still a man, and she preferred to keep men out of her private space. She stood from the couch and swayed.
    “Desperation doesn’t suit you, Ivy. You look awful.”
    Desperation? That’s what he thought? “Look, you need to—” A fresh stab of pain sliced through her words. She closed one eye and tried again. “You need to get out of my apartment.”
    “On the contrary, this apartment is leased under my agency, which makes it mine.” He fished a key from his pocket and dangled it in the air, proving his point. “I can’t believe how unprofessional you were last night.”
    She palmed her head. “I want you to leave.”
    “Are you hearing a word I’m saying?”
    “Only me and the rest of New York City.” She took a step forward, but something snagged on the Persian rug. One of her heels was still strapped around her ankle. Stomach protesting, she bent over and freed herself. “How was I unprofessional? And how do you know anything about last night?” Maya left early, and as far as Ivy could tell, none of Bruce’s other minions had been in attendance. She squinted at the clock above her stove. Ten in the morning. Even in the modeling industry, the gossip mill didn’t turn that fast.
    “Flirting with Luis Ventino? Are you insane?”
    “We had fun.” The parts she remembered anyway. “Is that a crime now?”
    “You’ve had fun with Ventino before.”
    “And?”
    “He’s more smitten now than he was then.”
    Oh, she knew. She could tell last night how smitten he was. He hadn’t laid eyes on anybody but her. Not even the gorgeous young Gabriela. What did Clara Vans matter, or anybody else, when she had the undivided adoration of the CEO of Ventino handbags?
    “And given your track record with men, you’re bound to tear his heart out by next week and officially burn all your bridges.”
    “It was a little harmless