“Hold on.” He grabbed her wrist, fingers digging into skin hard enough to hurt. “There’s room for all three of us.”
Mercy ground her teeth together. “Let go of me, or I’ll scream.”
“Ooh, you’re vocal, too. Filthy bitch. I’ve got something to cram in your mouth.”
Liz sidled next to him and dropped her hand near his crotch.
“Your dirty whore girlfriend knows what I’m talking abou—” His eyes grew wide, and his jaw moved up and down, but no sound came out.
“That’s my nail file.” Liz’s voice was low, but unwavering. “I jerk my hand up, and it probably goes through your balls. Kinky enough for you?”
The guy let go of Mercy’s arm and shoved her aside. “Uptight cunt.”
Mercy tried to keep her composure as she joined Liz. She took her friend’s hand and glanced over her shoulder several times, as they made their way outside. They’d parked on the street, so there was no need to worry about the creeper stalking them in a dark parking lot. Acid and adrenaline churned in Mercy’s gut, as they pulled away from the curb. Mercy was in the driver’s seat, since she hadn’t been drinking. She tried to find something to say. Anything. The best she managed was a thank you.
She’d dealt with creepers before, and wasn’t above kneeing someone wherever she could if it came to that. Why had she hesitated? Something was distracting her. She gripped the wheel so hard, she wondered if she might crack it.
The rest of the ride to the hotel was silent. Fortunately, the town was small enough it only took five minutes to get there. They made it up to their room, and the moment Mercy unlocked the door and pushed it open, Liz rushed past her. Seconds later, retching echoed from the bathroom.
Mercy took the couple extra seconds to latch shut every possible lock on the door, then joined Liz, grabbed some water, and waited.
Liz leaned her head against the wall. Red splotched her cheeks. “Thanks.” She took the glass and rinsed her mouth. “I don’t know if I should have done that. What would I do if he called my bluff? Not stab him. Crap, are you all right? You looked terrified.”
Mercy sank to the floor next to her. She’d give the suite that—the bathroom was huge. “I don’t know what he would have done. I’m glad you were there.”
“Do you deal with that a lot?”
Mercy couldn’t ignore the twinge the question brought with it. Liz didn’t mean to imply anything, though. It was an innocent question, because Liz knew Mercy had a more active social life.
“I hope your night was better. You were beaming until you saw us,” Mercy said.
“Yeah… No. The guy was all sorts of sweet, and we were making out in the hallway, and I couldn’t do it. How does anyone do that? He understood, though. Gave me his number, in case I changed my mind. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Mercy had a feeling Liz wouldn’t go through with it. It was the big reason she didn’t protest. Liz wasn’t made for flings. “I’m a little high strung. Do you want ice cream?” The more Liz said, the further below zero Mercy’s desire to linger on the events in the bar dropped. She was grateful Liz had stepped up, no question about it. So why Liz’s words rub her wrong?
“I’m good with that. Maybe skip the debauchery the rest of the week, and ski instead?”
Mercy managed a weak smile. “You ski. I’ll sit in the lounge, with Irish coffee and my laptop. Otherwise, yes.”
*
“Always a pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Ian shook the hotel manager’s hand and left the man’s office. That was another contract negotiation out of the way.
“No. I ordered the HD sample. Yes, I’m sure that’s what I wanted.”
Great. Two mornings in a row, he hallucinated Mercy’s voice. And she sounded irritated, instead of seductive. He rounded the corner leading to the lobby, and ground to a stop when he saw her a few feet away, pacing and talking on the phone.
She widened her eyes when she met his gaze, and she said, “Right. Fix it,” before dropping her phone into her purse. Her smile was nervous. This wasn’t right. She almost appeared… guilty? She definitely looked incredible. Jeans, sweater, hair in a ponytail—she’d probably be irresistible in a burlap sack.
He approached with a smile. No reason to be anything other than friendly, though he’d prefer it if the images assaulting him—leading her to a dark corner, sliding his hands under her top, hearing her moan again—would take a break. “Funny running into you here.”
“Not really.” Her laugh stuttered. “I’m on vacation.”
“You should have mentioned you’d be in town a few more days. I could have hooked you up.” Or they could have hooked up. No. That was a one-time thing.
“I didn’t know. Last minute decision, and all that.”
She was hiding something, but he wasn’t sure how to coax it out of her. The way her gaze flitted around the room, landing everywhere but on him, asking her directly wasn’t the way to go. “Couldn’t get enough of me?”
“It’s not that. Liz…”
That made sense. “Gave you her room.”
“Yes. Exactly. Because it was pre-paid, and she didn’t want your gift to go to waste. That would be silly. I’m here completely alone.”
The pieces clicked for him. He knew what she was holding back. “Mercy?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re a horrible liar. Where’s Liz?”
“Pro shop. Looking for a new ski suit.”
He rubbed his face, but it didn’t help reassemble his jumble of thoughts. “So she was grieving, and you let her wallow on the slopes instead of working to figure out the next steps in her life?”
Mercy’s posture shifted in an instant, her spine going rigid, as she crossed her arms. “Yes.”
“She was dumped at the altar.” He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “She may not be thinking straight. Did that occur to you?”
“Did it occur to you that she’s an adult and can make her own decisions?”
A retort died in his throat. Maybe he was being a little overprotective, but he’d told Mercy why he was looking for Liz. Liz would know too, if she’d returned his calls yesterday. “The longer she waits to resolve this issue with George’s wife holding her things hostage, the harder it’s going to be to resolve it.”
“What? You didn’t think to mention that detail—oh, I don’t know—two days ago?”
“I told you there were issues getting her belongings.” How did he become the bad guy in this?
“And I told her why she needed to call you back. But holding her stuff hostage? You left that out.”
“I figured I’d give her the rundown the next morning. I didn’t expect her to screen my calls. Liz doesn’t do impulsive. She was dealing with a lot.”
“Like a brother who doesn’t believe she can think for herself?”
“That’s not true.” Everything he said, she twisted back on him.
“You know what? I’m not playing the messenger on this.” Mercy nodded at something behind him. “You two talk to each other.”
Ian spun, to see Liz standing a few feet back, shopping bags on one arm and eyes wide.
She smiled. “Hey. Funny running into you here.”
Chapter Seven
Mercy had faked her share of—well—everything in her life, but this was the worst imitation of working she’d ever done. She squirmed in the leather chair in the attorney’s waiting room, and tried to find a position that didn’t make her butt numb.
Liz disappeared into his office nearly two hours ago. Mercy had offered to make the drive down into Salt Lake with Liz, because what else was she going to do?
Besides work.
She squelched the bitter thought under a blanket of guilt. She wouldn’t get more done back at the hotel than here. Despite the random thoughts, she was worried about Liz. When she called Ian’s lawyer, they told her she needed to come in sooner rather than later.
It didn’t help Mercy’s mood any that Ian h
ad texted her twice since they left the hotel, despite Liz’s promise to let him know as soon as she was done. His most recent retort was, She didn’t call me back last time.
Had he been this persistent and overbearing, growing up? Mercy reached into the past, snagging memories of life before Ian graduated high school. Actually, before he hit his senior year, the three of them were all friends.
The two were her link to sanity when her mother died. Kept her going as her views shifted and her siblings pushed her away. She, Ian and Mercy would stay up late into the night, talking about anything and everything. She was grateful she still had that with Liz, on those rare occasions they both had time in their schedules for it.
The latch on the office door clicked, and Mercy jumped. Liz emerged with the attorney, shook his hand, and they both murmured in low voices.
She turned to Mercy. “I’m sorry that took so long.” Her tone was too loud in the somber room. “Are you all right? We should go. Are you hungry? I am. We shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.”
Mercy followed her to the car. “I could eat. Call your brother.”
“Was he a pest? I’m so sorry. I swear I don’t know what his problem is lately.” Liz kept up a steady stream of short-sentence chatter, as she unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Give me a sec.” She talked as she typed something on her phone. “There. He’s all set. The lawyer said there might be snow tomorrow. It doesn’t look like snow, though.” She pulled onto the road.
Mercy wanted to force her to take a breath, but every time she opened her mouth, Liz kept talking.
“I want to hit up The Gateway tomorrow. They said it’s going to take time to work things out with George’s wife, to get my things back. Which sucks, you know? Let’s come back down here and shop.”
Mercy realized Liz had paused and was glancing between her and the road. Apparently, that required an answer. “I have to work,” Mercy said. “It sounds like fun, but I’ve got a deadline.”
“I know you’re the boss and all, but you’re on vacation.”
“No, you’re on vacation.” Mercy struggled to keep the irritation from her voice. She had agreed to stay, but with a caveat. “I’m along for the ride, but I have things that require my attention.”
Liz frowned. “I’ll go by myself.”
Mercy nudged her arm. “I’m sorry. I’d really like to go. Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine.” The babble vanished in the clipped words.
“I know what happened hurts—”
“You don’t know.” Liz’s retort bit, jagged and uneven. “You have no idea. You should, by this point in your life. But you don’t.”
Mercy’s sympathy wavered, sliced by the sharp words, and she struggled for a neutral response.
Liz shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not my point. I don’t appreciate you patronizing me. You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“You don’t like it?” Mercy didn’t try and hold back her irritation. “You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’re going through—now, or the first time your life was cruelly challenged. I don’t have a fucking clue. I do know that, if you don’t like your life, you change it. Not everyone has that option. You do.”
“Change it, how?”
“I’m not you, am I? I don’t understand what you’re going through. You figure it out.”
Liz gripped the steering wheel tight and pursed her lips. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It is.” Mercy shouldn’t have snapped. Should have been more sympathetic. But she couldn’t find it in her to apologize. “Don’t worry about it.” She did soften her tone. “The answers are there, and you’ll find them. I’m not saying that to be patronizing. You can do this—whatever it is—if you want.”
“I guess.”
“I’m here to listen,” Mercy said. “To bounce ideas off. But the decision has to be yours.”
The remainder of the car ride passed in silence. Liz’s words still stung, eating away at Mercy. Maybe in the time they lived apart, though they kept in touch, they’d changed more than she thought. Would their friendship survive something like this? The severe thought caught her off guard. Of course it would.
When they got back to the hotel, Liz muttered she was going to hit the slopes, and Mercy took the excuse to grab her laptop and escape, under the premise of getting some work done. She wasn’t interested in sitting in the hotel lobby and having a blank wall as background decoration. Fifteen minutes later, she’d snagged a hotel shuttle to downtown. There was a cozy little café she saw yesterday, when she was here with Liz. She’d get a table there, with a window seat, and tap out some work-type stuff.
First she had a phone call to make, and she’d rather not irritate the other patrons with her chatter. She adjusted her laptop bag on her shoulder, fell into step with the foot traffic, and dialed Andrew.
“Hey, sexy lady.” His greeting was chipper and drew her smile out without effort. “You sending me any good pictures?”
“Not of me. I got some gorgeous shots of an orange cat, when I was in New Orleans. Couldn’t get her to sign a release, though.”
His exaggerated sigh rocked the line. “You’re being literal.”
“I am. Adorable tabby. You would have loved her.”
“You kill me, babe. What’s up?”
Talking to Andrew helped sap some of the tension that had built over the past few days. It was the biggest reason they traveled together for so long. The teasing was fun, and even when it hopped a line into flirting, they didn’t have any chemistry. They’d slept together a couple of times, years ago. Didn’t click. They were both fine with taking things back to platonic after that.
“I’m working on a new account, and I need to bounce some ideas off you. Do you have time?” she said.
“Always, for you. Do I get pictures after we’re done?
Her mood improved another notch. She’d have to find something while she was out, to bring Liz as a peace offering. “Of the orange tabby? As long as they’re for personal use only.”
“You’re too good to me.” He laughed. “Bounce away.”
*
Ian signed the credit-card receipt for lunch and handed it back to their waiter. Normally he didn’t mind an excuse to take a long lunch for business—chat with the clients, catch up, polish his observation skills.
Today’s company was one of the few exceptions. When he took over the agency after his parents died, he’d done a huge overall on staffing. Focused a lot of his hiring on psychology majors, instead of sales. Wanted to get into how their clients thought.
He hadn’t had the same flexibility with clients as he did with employees. Dean Rice, Mercy’s father, was one of his least favorite. Today, dislike was amplified by the fact Ian was already struggling to get Mercy out of his head, and seeing Dean kept her there for the wrong reasons.
Everyone exchanged random small talk, as the group headed toward the exit.
Dean stepped up next to Ian. “I heard about Elizabeth’s fiancé from friends. Or, I assume, her ex at this point. My condolences. I hope your sister is coping.”
Ian gave him a tight smile. “She’s doing fine, all things considered.”
“And how’s Melissa?”
Ian choked on the urge to grit his teeth. He kept his expression neutral and pleasant. “I’d rather not discuss personal matters at lunch. You understand.”
He knew from multiple sources that when Mercy left home at eighteen and changed her last name, her father disowned her. Dean never talked about her, except in vague terms, and rarely by name. He’d been disgusted when Mercy’s business started to grow, especially when he learned what she was advertising.
“I do.” Dean paused outside and turned to shake Ian’s hand. “As always, a pleasure meeting with…”
Ian mentally stalled, waiting for Dean to finish the thought. Instead, he heard a soft, “Dad?” behind him.
“Melissa.” Dean stepped around him, and Ian whirled to see Merc
y standing a few feet away, laptop bag slung over her shoulder, and expression frozen.
His building irritation from lunch coiled and twisted in with frustration. This was the Mercy he knew as a teenager. Intimidated. Uncertain.
“I didn’t think you’d stick around once the wedding was over. Don’t you have someone waiting to buy you?” Dean didn’t approach her, and she didn’t look inclined to move, either.
“I’m not a whore.” She forced the words through clenched teeth.
“You talk like one.”
And it was time to shut this down. Ian walked past Dean. “She’s my two o’clock. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Dean.” He extended his hand in greeting, as he approached Mercy. He held Mercy’s gaze, never looking back and refusing to give Dean a chance to interrupt. “Thank you for making time for me, while you’re in town. I know your schedule is busy.”
He expected her to return the handshake, but her tight grip and the shock of heat that spilled through him at the contact caught him off-guard. She felt as if she was holding on for dear life.
A whisper in the back of his thoughts said he needed to let go soon, to keep this exchange looking natural. The blood pounding in his ears made it difficult to hear even that internal voice.
She stepped closer, rose on her toes, and dipped her head toward his. This was the part where he needed to break contact or he’d destroy the illusion of what was already a weak excuse. It didn’t matter. Dean Rice could fire him, for all he cared.
Her hot breath fell across his ear, drawing more of his senses to life. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
This was better than a stolen kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. Ian stepped back enough to look her in the eye. “Always.”
She hugged herself and moved out of the flow of traffic, to lean her back against the wall. “I should have realized he’d still be a client, but I never put a lot of thought into it.”
“You know how these things work. Old money pays into old money. Have to keep the legacy alive.” Ian took a spot next to her. Fading wood and chipped paint snagged at his suit coat, but it was replaceable. He watched people pass by, as he helped Mercy hold up the building.
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