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"He did." I whisper back knowing she's trying to keep our conversation out of the range of Oliver's ears. "He came to get that letter."
"How's Mark?" She places her fragile hand on my arm.
"He's fine," I say a bit puzzled. "Didn't you ask him how he was when you called him about the letter?"
"Dear?" Her voice stops at that. Her expression is one of bewilderment.
"Didn't you call Mark to tell him about the letter?" The confusion is mutual now.
"I would never," she declares strongly. "After what that boy did to you, I want nothing to do with him." She waves her hand in her Oliver's direction.
"Thank you. Enjoy your date and play safe." I give her a small wink.
"Ivy!" She grins as Oliver comes over to help her out to the car that just arrived for her.
I take the elevator up to my apartment, the entire time wondering how Mark found out about the letter. It makes no sense. One of those two women had to have told him.
Within twenty minutes there's a knock at my door. Oliver has enlisted Phil Johnson to help him bring the enormous mystery package to my apartment door. It easily slides in as I make small talk with Phil about his parents, who manage the building. The conversation shifts to his sophomore year of college and all his challenges. I listen attentively while wishing I could politely slam the door in his face so I could deal with the package.
He finally says he needs to run and follows Oliver to the elevator.
I turn to look at the package. The only writing on the brown paper wrapper is my name and address. There's nothing indicating who sent it. My stomach begins to turn because of my always present dislike of surprises.
I take a deep breath and pull the paper from the corner. It falls revealing a canvas covered with bright colors. I start to laugh as I rip off the remaining paper. It's Brighton's painting from the opening. I stop for a moment to survey it in its entirety in the natural light of my apartment. I still don't see the appeal. I turn it around and find a small white envelope with my first name written in blue ink. I excitedly rip it open.
Ivy,
Please accept this offering as an apology for my behavior last night. Let me cook you dinner tonight. I'll send a car for you at 8:30. You bring the wine.
Your fanboy
I run into my bedroom to find the perfect outfit for tonight. My heart is pounding as I consider all the possibilities this night can offer me and the obviously interested Jax.
Chapter 6
We drive through Central Park in silence. The driver focused on the road, while I'm focused on what's waiting for me at Jax's apartment. I'm clutching the bottle of Shiraz so tightly my knuckles are turning white. I giggle to myself, realizing that I haven't felt this anxious about seeing a man since I first met Mark.
The driver makes a few quick turns and now we're on Amsterdam heading uptown. He manipulates the dark sedan around a couple in the crosswalk and brings the car to a stop on Eighty Ninth Street. Without a word, he comes around to open my door.
"Thank you." I smile at him.
He only nods in return and points to the charming townhouse we're parked in front of.
I turn to see Jax standing near the open front door. He's dressed in tailored gray slacks, and a dark blue shirt. His strong features are so much more vibrant in the soft evening light.
I walk up the steps while carefully holding closed the skirt of my navy wrap around dress. I've paired that with the nude four inch heels I found at the back of my closet. Once I reach the top step I realize that even with the added height my shoes afford me, Jax still towers over me.
"You're look beautiful, Ivy," he whispers into my ear as he gently embraces me. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for the invitation." I kiss him softly on his cheek.
He pulls back and takes my hand, leading me into the building. "I'm on the second floor."
I nod, even though his back is still turned to me. I follow him up the stairs, the entire time breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne.
"This is me." He motions to an open apartment door and I step through into a space filled with the aroma of spice and vanilla. The lights are low and there are several small candles burning. The sound of jazz music wafts through the air. The decor is clearly all male. A dark leather couch sits next to an oak coffee table, magazines strewn everywhere.
"I told you I admire your work." He nods towards the table where several Veray jewelry boxes sit.
