by Messer Stone
I choke on my sip of coffee, looking up to see Elena watching me speculatively from across the kitchen. “When did you get back?”
“Five minutes ago.” Her shrewd brown eyes run over me. “I take it you had a late night?”
What gave me away? I almost ask. But of course, I know what gave me away. If it isn’t my freshly-fucked hair, it’s my kiss swollen lips. Or maybe it’s last night’s makeup that I still haven’t taken off.
After the gala, Parker took me straight back to his penthouse where he proceeded to screw the sense out of me. Thankfully, though, he’d thought to retain some presence of mind and managed to get me home by six, knowing I’d want to be home before the kids woke up. I smile to myself as I bring my mug back to my lips. As uncertain as things are between Parker and me, the way he makes me feel is indescribable.
“Was it the rich boy?”
For the second time, I choke on my coffee. “What?”
Elena arches a single dark brow. “The guy you had sex with. I’m guessing it was Parker?”
With a groan, I set the mug aside and run my hands over my face. “If I say no, will you believe me?”
“Nope.” She settles onto one of the stools. “But we’ll have to talk about it later. Mom mentioned something interesting while I was home.”
I stifle a yawn with my hand. “Did she?”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip and the anxiety on her face brings me up short. Elena is never anxious. I brace myself for bad news. “Did your dad ever mention an arrangement with Vito DeMarco?”
“What? No!” Vito DeMarco is known all over Long Island as the guy you go to if you need to do something shady. He’s got his toes in everything from drugs to stolen cars. My heart starts to pound against my ribcage as I process what she’s just said. “My dad would never get involved with him. Are you crazy?”
She puts her hands up defensively. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”
“What did you hear, exactly?”
“That DeMarco’s been asking around. Wanting to know about your dad’s condition.”
I stiffen my shoulders. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
Elena rubs at some invisible spot on the counter top. “I know, but with your parents having money troubles—”
“Don’t,” I say, falling forward to brace myself on the kitchen island.
The reality of the situation hits me like a baseball bat to the gut. Elena wouldn’t lie about something like this, and DiMarco wouldn’t be poking around about my dad unless he had a reason.
“Mercy, you know I wouldn’t bring this up without a reason. DiMarco is dangerous. If your dad owes him money, he could—”
“Mercy!” Sophie’s excited squeal takes us both by surprise as she shoots down the stairs and launches herself into my arms. “Can I help with Jason's birthday pancakes?”
“Sure thing, big girl,” I say, giving Elena a pointed look.
Sophie, noticing that her favorite person has returned, streaks across the kitchen in a blur of innocent excitement. Elena scoops her up and takes her into the living room.
Thankful for the distraction, I slip away from the kitchen, heading for my father’s room with a determination fueled with rage. It’s one thing to essentially abandon me, force me to figure out our financial situation on my own, but for him to know that Jason and Sophie could potentially be in danger and not say anything to me? Absolutely unacceptable.
When I burst open his door, I’m breathing heavily, the anger inside me heating to its boiling point. He’s sitting in his wheelchair, and when I tear into his room he looks up at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
Bearing my teeth, I brace myself on the chair’s arm rests as I lean forward, putting my face directly in front of his. The blue eyes that used to mean comfort and safety are wide and unsure as they look at me, but I don’t care.
When I speak, my voice has an edge that promises violence. “What the hell did you do?”
CHAPTER 23
Parker
New York, for all its promise of dreams and splendor, can be a cold and unforgiving place. This morning, the city I’ve called home my entire life feels particularly bleak. The sky is gray, matching the steel of the skyscrapers and the concrete that paves the sidewalks. Pedestrians amble along, bundled up in warm coats and scarves, heads bent against the first chilly promise of winter.
My head is rife with a jumble of thoughts I can’t seem to untangle. I feel like I’m spinning around in circles with no idea where to start. There’s Gordon-Shields, the acquisition that my father wants, one that I’m almost sure will set us back without any real promise of sufficient returns. There’s Lola— the ghost from my past that haunts me with regular bouts of regret and shame.
And then of course, there’s the fact that I’m probably in love with a girl eleven years my junior. A girl I met less than a month ago, under the pretense of transactional sex.
I ask my driver Lonny to take me to my favorite florist, where I select a bouquet of daisies. On a small card, I scrawl out a simple message to Mercy.
Thinking of you. Always.
After I leave the flower shop I head back to my penthouse where I’ve arranged to meet a courier. It’s Jason’s birthday and I’ve bought him Rangers season tickets. Hockey is not exactly my game, but I’d go with him in a heartbeat if he asked. The kid reminds me so much of myself at that age. And that’s not all the way a good thing.
It’s all too familiar to me, the way his shoulders hunch under a weight he’s much too young to bear. Losing faith in a parent robs you of innocence like nothing else.
I was tempted to ask Mercy if I could join them for the family birthday dinner but I resisted, knowing it was likely inappropriate. Besides, it’s not fair to flaunt our relationship in front of the kids when we’re still not sure what exactly the nature of that relationship is. God knows, things with us are complicated enough.
The courier is waiting for me in the lobby of my building. I give him the envelope that contains the tickets and a birthday card before paying him too much and sending him on his way.
When I get to the living room of my penthouse, I’m mentally planning out the rest of my Sunday. I need to return some emails and hit the gym, and I need to do some serious strategizing for how to handle the Gordon-Shields issue. Of course, what I’m most worried about is whether or not I’ll be able to get in a quick phone call with Mercy tonight before she goes to bed.
“We have a problem.”
“Jesus!” I jump in alarm, spinning around to Lorelai reclining on my couch with an arm stretched across the back. “What the fuck, Lor?”
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”
My brow furrows. “Huh?”
She picks at a piece of flint on her high-waisted pants. “How long have you and Mercy been sleeping together?”
All the air leaves me in a rush. “What?”
“Please don’t try to deny it. It’s a waste of time. I already had my suspicions, but now that I’ve seen the two of you in action, I think it’s pretty damn clear—”
“Hold on just a minute.” I ruck my hands through my hair, trying to remain calm. “Seen us in action?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s the Plaza, Parker. They have cameras rigged up everywhere.”
I can feel the blood draining from my face as I recall the night before, when I’d all but fucked Mercy up against the door of an empty meeting room. It never even occurred to me that there could have been a camera watching. How could I have been so stupid?
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I’m the one they called? It could have just as easily been Mom or Dad.”
“Did you watch any of it?” I ask, feeling sick.
“Only enough to confirm what it was,” she mutters, flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder. “I also watched them delete it. The lawyers are going to work out some NDAs with the security staff, just to be on the safe side.”
I shoot her a hard look. “ Lorelai, swear to me that you won’t tell anyone.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Parker!” She throws her hands up in frustration. “I’m not going to say anything and you know it. But you need to take a minute and actually think about what’s going on here.”
Restless, I start to pace. “I am. Of course, I am.”
“No. You’re infatuated and you’re not thinking clearly. That's the only way to explain all this, since the Parker I know would never be so unbelievably stupid.”
“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion,” I say, rolling my shoulders.
“I’m really not. Sleeping with a nineteen year old intern would be bad enough, but do I have to remind you how this girl came to be in your acquaintance?”
“Nobody but us knows that,” I say through gritted teeth. There was also the agency, but I paid a hell of a lot of money to keep their mouths shut.
“What about Oliver? What happens when our alcoholic man-child uncle wanders into your office one day and starts to wonder why the hooker he hired for you is making coffee in the break room?”
I’d always considered Oliver a non-issue, given that he’s too busy making a disaster of his own life to have any real effect on mine. Maybe that had been naive of me, because the scenario Lorelai’s just described sounds well within the realm of possibility.
When I don’t say anything, she presses on. “I understand that she’s in a bad spot and you want to help her but trust me when I say that letting this go on could do irreparable damage to her life. You know what it means to be a Callahan. People are always going to watch us, they’re always going to want to know every little detail about our lives. And it won’t be long at all before they realize something’s up with you two.”
A frustrated sort of growl rumbles up from my chest. “What exactly should I do then, Lorelai?”
She surges to her feet. “Walk away!”
Her words give me pause, because I know she’s right. That’s exactly what I should do. What I should have done a long time ago. And yet, the very idea of extracting myself from Mercy’s life makes my chest feel tight.
“I can’t,” I finally manage to choke out.
Lorelai’s face screws up in confusion, before softening into something that’s half-sympathy, half-horror. “Oh God. You love her.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer.
We stand there in heavy silence for a long minute before she lets out a big breath, dropping back down to the couch and flinging an arm over her eyes. “Fuck.”
Mercy
Biting my thumbnail, I hold the phone to my ear and wait anxiously for an answer. When the quiet stretches on, I clear my throat. “Sean? Are you there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.” I can hear the creak of bed springs and realize I must have woken him. It is five o’clock on Monday morning, after all.
After getting what little information I could from my dad about his dealings with Vito, I’d put on a happy front for the rest of the day, making Jason’s favorite meal for dinner and recording videos of him blowing out his candles and opening his presents.
Once the kids were in bed, I sat up all night, lost in a sea of crippling anxiety. Once the first hints of dawn started creeping across the sky, I’d finally given in and picked up the phone to call Sean, the only person I could think of who could help me.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Parker could help me and I know for a fact he would if I asked. He’d probably even be furious with me for not calling him the moment I realized what I was dealing with. But I can’t let him get involved in this. He’s already done plenty to put himself at risk by helping me.
“Sorry, I’m just having a hard time processing all this,” Sean says in a sleep-rough voice. “How much money does Bobby owe him.”
“Hundred thousand,” I say, nausea rolling through me like a wave. “Plus interest.”
“Fuck.”
I rub a hand at my forehead. “What am I gonna do, Sean?”
“Nothing just yet.” I can hear the sound of water running through the line. “Let me look into DeMarco’s operation. If any part of it is legit, there are legal avenues we can go through. As he contacted you?”
“No.” A sound from somewhere down the hall briefly snags my attention. “But apparently he’s been asking around about Dad.”
“If or when he does reach out, call me immediately. I’ll see what I can find out but in the meantime, you just need to lay low.”
Once I’ve hung up, I spend a lot of time staring off into space. My life feels sort’ve frozen in place, and I have no idea what to do. I know that Sean will do whatever he can, but my stomach twists at the idea of him getting wrapped up in this.
The answer to all my problems stares me in the face and I ignore it for as long as I can. The sun rises in the sky, higher and higher, filling the kitchen with cheerful light. Finally, I pick up my cell phone and type out a text.
I need your help.
Seconds later, my phone rings. It’s Vivian Penngrove, my ex-boss from the agency. I pick it up and bring it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Marcy, darling.” Her voice is suspiciously cheerful for such an early hour. “How can I be of assistance?”
CHAPTER 24
Mercy
“You do realize if Mr. Callahan finds out I’m speaking to you, he won’t be very happy with me,” Vivian trills through the phone.
“He won’t find out,” I assure her. “I just wanted to know— hypothetically, of course— if working for you is still an option?”
God, I can’t believe I’m asking this. It’s not like I’m seriously considering going back to work for Vivian. But I need to know what my options are. Should the need arise.
“Of course.” She pauses for a second. “May I ask what’s changed? The last I heard, you were taking a position with the Callahan Group. I was under the impression that your financial situation was stable.”
“It is. Or, it was. But something’s come up.” I lean back against the kitchen island as I chew on my thumb nail. “Have you heard of Vito DeMarco? From Long Island.”
I only know what the rumors are, but I’m starting to think those only scratch the surface of what I’m actually dealing with.
The answering silence is so long I begin to wonder if we’ve been disconnected. “Hello? Vivian?”
“Mercy.” Her voice, usually so bright and cheerful, is suddenly low and solemn. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you.”
Stunned, it takes me a few seconds to respond. “What? Why?”
“I like you. A lot. And believe me, I want to help you. But….” She trails off for a moment. “I’m not afraid of many things in this world. Not after the life I’ve led. But the things that do scare me? I keep away from them.”
My stomach drops to the floor. “Is Vito…. Is he one of the things that scare you?”
“Yes.” I can hear her exhale a shaky breath. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t have anyone connected with him working for me. The world he dwells in… it’s too dark. Even for me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“I can’t talk about this now.”
“When can you talk about it?”
Another silence passes between us before she speaks again. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. But Mercy?”
Suddenly exhausted, I rub a hand against my forehead. “Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself,” she says in a soft, kind voice, just before the line goes dead.
I stand there, holding the phone to my ear for a long while after she hangs up.
****
“You’ve got to tell Parker,” Elena insists.
I shift the phone to my other ear, sparing a glance at the people sitting near me on the train, to make sure none of them are listening.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You know he’ll help you.”
“Yeah, which is exactly why I
can’t tell him,” I say with a heavy sigh.
“I don’t follow.”
“He’s already risked enough for my sake. I can’t drag him into this.”
“Mercy, think about Jason and Sophie. Think about your Dad. You don’t want this guy coming after them.”
Her reasoning is sound enough that it twists like a dull knife in my gut. “It won’t come to that. I’ll figure something out. Besides, Vito hasn’t contacted me yet. He might be willing to let this sit for a while.”
I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.
Elena sighs. “I hope you’re right.
****
I didn't realize how anxious I am to see Parker until I arrive at the office. Even though I can’t tell him about what’s going on yet, just being around him makes me feel better. Safe.
When I get off the elevator and on to our floor, I’m just short of jogging to the executive suite. In the outer office, I slip off my coat and hang it on the rack before dropping my bag in my desk chair. I run a smoothing hand over my hair and straighten my clothes before going to Parker’s door, knocking lightly as I push it open.
He’s sitting at his desk in front of an enormous stack of papers. His hair is mussed up and wild, and there are shadows beneath his eyes. I knew that the Stuart-Graham deal was stressing him out, but I’ve never seen Parker quite so out of sorts.
“Morning,” I say, with a smile.
He doesn’t even look up as he barks out a response. “Cancel my lunch with Richardson.”
Surprised by his attitude, I freeze mid stride. “I— uh— okay.”
I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just keeps shuffling through his papers, muttering under his breath every once in a while.
Finally, he spares me a glance. “That’s all for now.”
Bristling instantly, I turn on my heel and march out.
Was it childish for me to expect more from him? I was so sure our relationship had changed fundamentally this past weekend. Not only did he take my virginity, but we both admitted to having serious feelings for one another.
Didn’t we? I know I did.