“And you even managed to avoid saying loser.” Some of the lines around her eyes faded, but didn’t vanish. “You really know this sell-to-people-using-psychology shit.”
The implication dug deep. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. And you still haven’t given me an answer, but”—he squeezed her hand and held up their intertwined fingers—“this makes me think you haven’t written the idea off yet.”
“Why are you trying so hard?” She looked frustrated but didn’t sound upset.
“Why aren’t you?”
“It’s been two nights. That doesn’t mean anything. Two months don’t mean anything. You can’t form a bond like that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But every relationship has to start somewhere. Either they end or keep going, but there’s no point in stopping one simply because it didn’t pop into existence six months into the experience.”
“That barely makes any sense.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.” She met his gaze. “We’ll keep business and pleasure separate, and I won’t write us off yet. But in a week, I’m still going back home. I’m not a hopeless romantic, and I’m not giving up my business for something sappy like romance. You won’t either, when it comes down to it.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and down to her mouth. She relaxed against him with a tiny sigh. Was she right? What would he choose if it came down to her or the family business? Not that the company was on the line. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel, so I know you’re safe. We’ll get our work done in separate buildings, and we’ll have dinner tonight.”
She rested her cheek against his chest. “You’ve got this all planned out, huh?”
“I’m playing it by ear.” And hoping it didn’t bite one or both of them in the ass. Or heart. He just had to be sympathetic when she lost the contract. No gloating. No pity offers of collaboration. Just sympathy.
She was good. His people were better.
* * * *
The honeymoon suite was astoundingly quiet when no one was around. Mercy settled into one of the overstuffed couches, adjusted her laptop on her legs, and poised her fingers over the keyboard. Like every time she’d repeated the gesture over the last couple of hours, she only got a few words in, before her thoughts drifted back to Ian. She was worse than fifteen-year-old her. Swooning over a guy. Letting him run rampant through her thoughts.
Agreeing to maybe-kind-of date, despite the fact they wouldn’t last and regardless of how she knew he’d react when he lost the contract.
It didn’t matter if he was Ian or the Dalai Lama; no one took that kind of defeat with grace. The stuff his firm turned out was decent, but she and her crew were flexible rather than unyielding, and that contract would be hers.
The latch on the door rattled, and Mercy muttered under her breath, “Do not disturb means do not disturb.” She pasted on a smile for housekeeping and wondered why they hadn’t knocked first.
Before she could ask, the door swung open, and Liz stepped into the room, shopping bags in hand. “Honey, I’m home.” Her grin was wide and as vibrant as the sun striking the fresh snow outside. She stepped aside and nodded to an empty spot on the floor. “You can put those there.” A porter moved around her, settled several shopping bags, and straightened. Liz slipped him a tip, then turned back to Mercy when he was gone. “Miss me?”
“Of course.” Mercy hoped her smile looked genuine. She was happy to see Liz and had been worried about her. Guilt seeped in that she was a little disappointed Liz hadn’t stayed in Salt Lake one more night. “Good trip?”
Liz’s sunshine face drooped for a second, before returning full force. “Fantastic. I got so much new stuff, and… You know what? You’re working. It’ll wait.”
“Okay.” Mercy didn’t want to argue. It was a fantastic offer. But the sharp contrast to the Liz who pouted because Mercy wouldn't go shopping with her was disconcerting. “I can take a break for a couple of minutes. I am here with you.” She hadn’t been getting much done anyway, but Liz didn’t need those details.
“Did you get a lot done yesterday?” Liz sat next to her on the couch but didn’t lean back and relax.
“Until the power went out.”
“That sucks. The hotel has backups, right? I can’t imagine they don’t.”
There was no reason for Mercy to stall. Even without the full story, her sleepover last night made sense. “I was at Ian’s still, and the roads got bad up here.”
“Oh, yeah. I get that.” Liz’s spine straightened further. If that was even possible. “Blankets and pillows by the fireplace, like when we were kids?”
Mercy tried to give her a reassuring grin, but whatever had Liz on edge mingled with Mercy’s looming anxiety and marched like ants under her skin. She wasn’t sure how much or what else to say. We’re dating now. FYI. That wasn’t true. We’re fucking, with potential for more. Because hints of that went over so well last time. “Pretty much.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m sorry I missed it. Really, you should get back to work.”
Mercy gave her another curious glance. “If you’re sure…”
“Of course.” Liz hopped to her feet and grabbed a few bags. “I’ll go in the bedroom. Watch a movie. I think I’ve had enough snow for now.”
Mercy’s tension wasn’t passing anytime soon. She set her laptop on the coffee table and closed the lid. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. A long couple of days. I need some rest.”
“No, really. Tell me.”
Liz flopped into an easy chair and dropped her face into her hands, muffling a sigh. “Do you like your job?” Her words ran together and sifted through her fingers.
Odd direction to take things. “Like, as a general rule? Since I made it for myself, I’m pretty fond of it, even when it’s stressful.”
“Was it hard to learn?” Liz’s question was quiet, and though she removed her hands, she kept her gaze focused on the carpet. “I mean, not that I think what you do would be easy or anything. I know it takes a lot of work, but… is it something someone else could learn?”
Mercy struggled to figure out the direction of the questions. She watched Liz study the room around them, as if the white furniture and soft frills held answers. “Probably. People do it all the time. Ian learned. The people who work for me did.”
“Do you think I could do it?” Liz looked up.
Mercy almost had an idea of where this was going now, but not why. “Be more specific? There are a lot of different things we do, but I’m sure you’d do great at whatever you picked.”
“He had two fiancées in other parts of the country.”
And the subject had changed again. Mercy tried to switch gears. “Ian?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. But I mean George. That’s what the lawyer told me on Tuesday, he’d uncovered it in his research. George preys on socialites with inheritances. Women who don’t have careers. I wasn’t even the other woman. I fit a fucking profile. A stereotype. Little rich girl who wanted to get married and have her man take care of her.”
Mercy couldn’t ignore Liz’s bitterness. “That’s not you.”
“It is me. The only job I’ve ever had was sorting papers for Dad. And that was so I could say on my college application that I’d worked.”
“But you’re more than that.”
“Am I?” Liz’s question hung heavy with despair.
“Of course you are.” Mercy didn’t have to search for a response; she knew it was true. “You went to school. You got your MBA. You graduated at the top of your class. That was all you.”
“To take my mind off losing my first husband. Once college was over, the moment another guy came along who smiled at me and knew the right words, I fell into a relationship again. I don’t know how to be me.”
Mercy’s heart snagged at the despair in Liz’s voice. “What do you want to be doing?” Mercy poured sympathy into her question. She knew what it was like to be lost. J
ust because she’d done it half a lifetime ago didn’t meant she’d forgotten.
“You could hire me.”
Mercy’s answer stuck in her throat. That came out of left field. “Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Getting coffee. Learning the ropes. My degree is in finance. I could do your books.”
That was tempting. Mercy hated doing books and couldn’t afford an accountant. But— “I don’t have an office or the budget for a new employee. I’m sorry, hon.” When Liz’s bottom lip stuck out, Mercy added, “I’m not brushing you off, but I’m barely making it.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll be an intern. They don’t get paid, right? And if I help you start making more money, you can put me on the payroll?”
“Interns are fresh out of college. I can’t not pay you.” Mercy hated telling her no. Liz would help her out if she needed it. She insisted on wiring Mercy money a couple of times, even when Mercy said she’d find a way. Gave her a safe-haven, growing up. “Ask Ian for a job,” Mercy said.
A scowl spread over Liz’s face. “You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t need to.”
“We both know what happens if I go to him. He won’t hesitate. He’ll give me a big title and fancy office, and piddly bullshit work.”
It sounded so condescending when she put it that way. Mercy wanted to argue that wasn’t the Ian she knew, but it clicked in her head and gnawed at her stomach. This was him, when it came to Liz. “I don’t have a lot of time to train you. You’ll have to do a lot of studying by yourself, to get up to speed.”
“I will. I promise. I’ll devour whatever you tell me to.”
Mercy didn’t think she’d regret the extra help. Liz was capable of doing what Mercy was about to ask, but Mercy did feel guilty about the lack of salary. And the nagging, telling her this might be a bad idea for reasons she hadn’t considered. That was okay; she’d deal with it when the time came.
“We’ll make it official, then. You get the same contract as everyone else. Follow the same rules, no favoritism.”
“I promise.” Liz grinned. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you. Now, finish your work, so we can go celebrate.”
“Eh…” Fuck.
“Hmm?” Liz raised her brows.
“Ian and I are going to dinner. We thought you’d be in Salt Lake one more night.”
Liz’s smile fell from her eyes, but not her face. “No worries. He can celebrate with us. But you have to let me tell him.”
Mercy gave a non-committal shake-nod. “Let me wrap up. He’ll be here at seven.” And then everyone could figure out what to tell everyone else. It’d be fun.
Chapter Thirteen
Ian knocked on the door of the honeymoon suite, and his pulse thrummed in his ears. When did he last anticipate a date this much? He couldn’t say. With Liz gone for the night, Mercy had the place to herself. Maybe it was a good time to try out the amenities. Sure, he had a hot tub back at the house, but this one was en-suite, and hotel sex felt naughtier by default.
His evening planning stalled until it evaporated when the door swung open and Liz stood on the other side, dressed for what he assumed was dinner. “Hey.” She beamed and pulled him into the room. “One more minute, and we’ll be ready.”
For the second time in just a couple of days, disappointment welled inside at seeing her and was quickly joined by guilt. Wait. We’ll be ready? He was grateful she was back safe. That didn’t mean he was changing his plans for her.
Mercy stepped into the room behind Liz, and mentally, Ian’s jaw dropped. The high collar on her dress highlighted her neck, and the sleek curves hugged hers, the dress ending halfway down her thighs. In those heels, she had to be as tall as him. She smiled at him over Liz’s shoulder. “Ready. And guess who’s coming with us.”
“Fantastic.” Ian kept his irritation in check, not understanding where the sudden surge came from. His fingers twitched by his side, as nervous energy danced through them. He held open the door and bowed at the waist, gesturing to the hallway. “After you, ladies.”
When they reached the parking lot, Liz jumped into the front seat the moment Ian held the door open. When Mercy slid into the back, he couldn’t resist drawing in a lungful of her intoxicating scent. He dipped his head close to her ear, and whispered, “You could have warned me.”
She gave him an apologetic shrug. “She wanted to surprise you.”
He felt like he was being set up. The chatter on the way to the restaurant was light and simple. What Liz bought on her shopping trip. What the weather would be like for Mercy’s trip. Ian wanted his conversations with Mercy back—sharing moments from their past, swapping jokes. Diving past the superficial.
“Are you all right?” Liz asked at one point.
He glanced in her direction while they waited for the light to change. “Fine. Why?”
“Your knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel too hard.”
That explained why his fingers ached. “Still tense about driving conditions.”
Things didn’t improve much once they reached their destination and were seated. The biggest difference was, now that the two women faced each other, he could see the shared looks, the clamped lips, and the occasional, almost imperceptible shake of Liz’s head, in response to a question in Mercy’s gaze. Even if he hadn’t spent half his teenage years watching them do this, he’d know they were hiding something.
Was it about Mercy and him? They should have discussed whether or not they were telling Liz. Whatever this was, though, it was Liz’s secret though. “What else is new?” he asked her.
“I was only gone a day or so.” Liz spoke from behind her drink, the wine glass muffling her words, and she wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’m still single and heartbroken. But tomorrow I’m looking at condos, so at least I won’t be homeless.”
“You’re looking at condos. In a ski-resort town in February.” He let disbelief slide into his words.
She fiddled with her ring finger, which was sans engagement ring. “I’m not an idiot. They’d bleed me dry on rent. I’m looking at places in Salt Lake, maybe even Ogden. I’ve got work prospects.”
Mercy tightened her jaw, and Ian raised his brows. Interesting. “What’s going on?” He made sure not to direct the question at anyone specifically.
Mercy glanced at Liz, who finally looked at him. “Nothing. Coping with reality. I have to do it sometime, you know?”
“I have to make a business call.” Mercy stood so abruptly, her chair legs scraped across the tile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s urgent and I forgot.”
The bread had just arrived. Fuck, Ian couldn’t do this all night. “What are you two hiding?” he asked Liz, instead of giving into the impulse to watch Mercy’s ass as she strode away.
“Nothing.” Liz was back to studying her butter knife. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
In the background, the soft clatter of silverware against china filtered in to fill the silence. “Liz.”
“What? It’s— I mean— Nothing.”
She was mourning. She was left at the altar less than a week ago. A woman had a right to her secrets. That didn’t stop Ian from being grateful when his phone buzzed. “It’s Jake. I’ll be back in a few. Start without me if Mercy and the appetizers get back before I do.” He was scanning through the messages as he strode away, not waiting for Liz’s response.
Jake’s text was standard information. Woodhouse’s flight is in. I’ve dropped him off at the hotel. We’re set for tomorrow.
Ian didn’t have to walk away to talk, but it was as rude to text at the table as it was to take a call. Besides, he needed some air. Something was fucking with his head, testing his patience when he didn’t have a right to be irritated, and he needed to eliminate it. He sent Jake back a quick, Thanks. See you in the morning, and set his phone to Do Not Disturb, so only calls and messages flagged as priority would come through.
The restaurant had their wine racks and a pastry counte
r in a room separate from everything else, on the other side of the lobby. He didn’t want to leave Liz alone for long, but he saw the perfect solution to unfogging his thoughts. At the far end, out of sight of everything but the entrance, Mercy stood next to the window, staring into the night.
He strode up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She started, and then leaned into him. “I was about to head back.” Her quiet words mingled with the music drifting from hidden speakers.
“You two are hiding something.” That wasn’t what he meant to say. A trend he noticed more and more when she was around.
She turned to face him, and he encircled her hips, resting his hands against her back. She draped her arms around his neck. “You and I are hiding something from her, too. That makes everything even.”
“No. That means you know all the secrets.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “Speaking of, why are we a secret?”
She pressed closer and glided her nails along the back of his neck. “What do you propose we say? She already thinks we’d be bad for each other. Jaded meets cynical, and all that. I’m not sure, Hey, we’re screwing and maybe more but maybe not, is going to change her mind.” She kissed him, mouth soft and yielding, the faint tart of wine still on her lips. He spun her and guided her to the wall, so he could lean into her.
It was so easy to lose himself in this. She shifted her weight, rubbing against his cock, and he glided his hand lower, over her ass and past the hem of her skirt.
She laughed against his mouth. “Not in here.”
“Car’s outside.”
“Liz is waiting for us.” She tilted her head and sighed when he kissed down her throat.
He skimmed over her collar and met skin again when he reached her shoulder. “Speaking of. What’s she keeping from me?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
He teased along the inside of Mercy’s thighs with one hand and twisted the fingers of the other in her hair. He crushed his mouth to hers, hungry, wanting to dive into her. He was rock hard and digging into her stomach.
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