Selling Seduction (Your Ad Here #1)

by Allyson Lindt

  While Mercy worked, Ian busied himself with anything and everything. Reviewing contracts, trying to find something to watch, starting and discarding an infinite number of ideas for Thompson Advertising.

  The power light blinked on his laptop, and a bubble on the screen warned he needed to find an alternate power source soon. The five or so hours his extended battery gave him weren’t enough today. He hated to interrupt Mercy, but his cord was in the study. As he approached the room, he heard Mercy, and someone else drifting from the speakerphone. He focused on not listening and knocked, to draw her attention.

  She looked up, and he mouthed, Two seconds.

  She nodded. “Andr—”

  “We’ve got some footage from spring break last year.” Whoever was on the phone kept talking.

  Mercy spoke again. “Hang on just a—”

  “Palm Beach. Couldn’t use it. Too vanilla.” He kept talking, oblivious to Mercy’s attempts to stop him.

  “Andrew. Stop.”

  “What? You wanted bikinis. Right?”

  Mercy rubbed her face. “Yes. But I’ve got other ears.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m just saying, no nipple, and enough ass coverage you should be good.”

  “Andrew, stop.” Mercy rubbed the spot between her eyes.

  Despite Ian’s attempts not to listen in, pieces clicked together, and a vague picture of what he heard formed in his head. If she was still working on the KaleidoMation pitch, they were discussing using her friend’s porn footage for commercials.

  “You can’t do that on TV,” Ian said.

  “I loved that show when I was a kid.” The voice from the phone laughed. “And yeah, you can if you do it right.”

  Mercy dropped her face into her hand.

  “I’ll let you get back to work.” Ian stepped away.

  “Am I keeping you from something, Merc?” The way the man said her name sounded like Mirk, as if she were some sort of mercenary.

  Mercy gestured for Ian to stop. “Andrew, Ian. Ian, Andrew. Now everyone knows each other.”

  “Holy shit.” Andrew’s voice crackled when he raised it. “The crush? Oh, wait. I’m not supposed to say that out loud, am I?”

  If this guy was an associate, Ian had a better idea where Mercy had shed a few of her inhibitions.

  She rolled her eyes. “You think you’re embarrassing me, but you’re not. He’s known longer than you have.”

  “And he still turned you down? Stupid bastard.”

  Ian didn’t mind being talked about in the third person. It was kind of amusing. He did have the right to defend himself, though. “She was fifteen at the time.”

  “And she’s not now,” Andrew said. “Shit, man. Do you see her? I don’t care what kind of wild-child stories she tells you about her life abroad, she’s been psychologically saving herself for you for as long as I’ve known—”

  “Now you’re embarrassing me.” Mercy talked over him. “That off switch I’ve asked you about…?”

  “Jerked too hard. Broke it off.”

  Ian saw the pink creeping onto Mercy’s face, and the clench of her jaw. This couldn’t be helping her meet her deadline. As tempting as it was to distract her until she gave up, she deserved the same shot at KaleidoMation Ian had, and he’d already stolen too much of her time. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Wait.” She rose enough in her seat to grab his wrist. “He knows his shit, Andrew. He does TV.” She looked at Ian. “What do you mean we can’t do that?”

  “The censors won’t let you show that much skin. I mean no nipple? Really? Is everything else showing? This isn’t YouTube and thinly veiled context. The FCC keeps a much closer eye on network television.”

  Mercy shook her head. “I thought you had something new for me. The FCC also has a handful of guidelines about what is and isn’t too risqué. We can show certain amounts of skin, as long as we cover the right bits.”

  “And she intends to push that line,” Andrew said.

  Ian should drop this. They didn’t want to hear what he had to say, despite Mercy’s insistence. He couldn’t walk away now, though. “What happens if the censors push back?”

  “We change the creative.” Mercy’s answer came without hesitation. “We come back with new footage that packs the same punch but subtler, and try again. It’s not what I want for this market, but I’ll bend if it comes down to it.”

  He heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. “You’d waste six months of creative and push your deadlines back—what?—two to three months, in order to re-do everything, because you want to push the envelope and get risqué?”

  Andrew laughed.

  Ian looked at Mercy, not sure what the joke was. She said, “Six months of creative? We’ve pulled this together since I got into town.”

  “You’ve been pitching KaleidoMation for weeks.” Ian was missing something.

  “I have. And for each new round of decision making, they see something new. You do that too. Don’t you?”

  “Of course. But we worked it all up the moment we started bidding. We tweak each pitch based on their reactions, but we don’t have time to build new story boards and art from scratch, every round of bids.”

  Mercy furrowed her brow. “Does Jonathan know that?”

  This was getting ridiculous. “I expect he does. That’s the way most companies do this. How are you not?”

  “We’re flexible. We don’t play the decision by committee game.”

  “This isn’t a matter of flexibility.” Ian’s frustration built that she seemed to be speaking a different language. “You’re talking about shooting with new models. Assembling people out of nowhere. We don’t have the budget for that kind of last-minute filming.”

  Mercy’s mouth twitched in an unformed smile. “You don’t have a business partner with terabytes of half-naked men and women in photos and video he owns the copyright to and is willing to sell.”

  “You’re using porn?”

  “Hey.” Andrew cut into the conversation. “Keep the disdain out of your voice. You might be immune to Miss Mercy, but you’ve beat your meat to videos of people fucking.”

  “That’s not my point.” Ian wasn’t even sure any more what his point was.

  “You’ve got prestige, longevity, and money behind you, Mr. Thompson.” Mercy’s tone shifted to calm, as if she wanted to deescalate. “I’ve got flexibility. That’s why it’s a competition, right?”

  “I’ll let you get back to it.” Ian grabbed his charger. He wouldn’t talk to two stone walls.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Suit.” Andrew sounded more smug than sincere.

  Mercy stopped Ian halfway to the hallway and intertwined her fingers with his. “I’m almost done. Just another hour or two.”

  “No worries.” Ian gave her a smile and strode from the room.

  As he rounded the corner, he heard Andrew say, “He’s protective of you. You finally fucked him, didn’t you?”

  Ian knew he shouldn’t stop, but he couldn’t help straining his ears.

  “Yes.” Mercy’s answer was soft.

  “And?” Andrew asked.

  If Mercy replied, Ian couldn’t hear it.

  Andrew said, “I hope the reality came close to the fantasy.”

  “Blew everything else out of the water.” Mercy sounded sad.

  “I’m sorry, Merc.” The brashness was gone from Andrew’s voice, replaced with sympathy. “Let’s wrap this up.”

  Ian moved out of earshot before leaning against the wall. Too many thoughts assaulted, and it all crawled under his skin, harshing his sensibility in a way he wasn’t used to.

  *

  A few hours after the disruption, Mercy found Ian in the living room, flipping through TV channels fast enough there was no way he registered what was on. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  He dropped the remote when he turned to face her, and it clattered to the table. The smile that spread across his face was better than a hot shower on a cold day.
“It’s okay. Did you finish what you wanted?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry about interrupting.”

  “It’s done and in the past. Nothing to worry about or apologize for.” She didn’t want to talk about that afternoon’s conversation. They were about to be separated by several thousand miles. No reason to let work add to that chasm. “Any plans for the evening?” she asked.

  “Being wherever you are.” He patted the couch, and her chest squeezed in on itself.

  She curled up next to him. The rest of the night passed too slowly and too fast at the same time. She didn’t want to count the minutes until it ended, but her gaze drifted to the clock above the TV without her permission every few minutes.

  The conversation flowed, the way it always did with Ian, hopping from one topic to the next. At some point, he suggested going to bed. It was too defining a moment, though. —like admitting their time was up. They drifted off wrapped around each other. As far as Mercy was concerned, it was worth the resulting kink in her neck the next morning.

  Neither of them suggested sharing the shower this time. He let her go first, while he took care of work remotely so he could drive her to the airport. She checked in for her flight and made some last minute tweaks to travel plans while she waited for him. Then they were on their way.

  Neither of them had said it yet, but she suspected he saw their goodbye looming as bleakly as she did.

  “You’ll keep in touch.” His statement shattered her focus.

  She looked at him wide-eyed, while he watched the road. He hadn’t asked. It was so tempting. She’d considered it. But the chat with Andrew and Ian yesterday drove some hard points home for her. “No.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Just like that? You’ve put thought into this.”

  “I have.”

  “Care to share it with me?”

  She owed him that much. “This whole thing with KaleidoMation is going to happen again, as long as we’re in the same industry. Us competing, I mean. Even if we don’t know up front next time, it’ll come out when one of us wins the contract. Someone will be hurt.” She already wondered how they’d deal with this one. Ian’s refusal to back down yesterday, though she had the conversation and the project under control, was proof the friction would be there regardless of their mutual assurances.

  “So business wins over lo—” Ian shook his head. “Personal relationships? I didn’t realize money drove you.”

  The slip in words, the almost-confession, caused an internal with his implication she was doing this out of greed. “That’s not fair, and that’s not what this is about. I’m not asking you to give up your business; you can’t expect it from me, either.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I hear that from you a lot, Ian. I’m wondering when you’ll say what you mean, instead of backpedaling when I call you on it.”

  “You want to know how I actually feel?” He gave her his full attention when they stopped for a light. “I don’t want you to leave, but I can’t ask you to stay. It’s not fair we only got a week together. I feel selfish and childish for wanting more, but I do. I don’t want to force that on you, but fuck, it’d be nice if I wasn’t the only one thinking it.”

  “You’re not”—her frustration rose, and her voice went with it—“but it doesn’t matter. Even if we push everything else aside and pretend keeping in touch works, we’ll be long distance. It won’t last. One of us will get bored, eyes will wander, and it’ll be over. I’m cutting to the chase now.”

  “Because it’ll hurt less this way?” His tone was low and flat. Almost scarily calm. “Is that what you learned traveling? Something Andrew taught you, maybe?”

  She didn’t like having her past thrown back at her. A tiny voice in the back of her head said he wasn’t quite doing that, but she refused to listen. “Maybe. Is this overbearing, possessive attitude of yours the same thing that fucked Liz up so bad?” As soon as the accusation was out, she regretted it. “Shit. I didn’t mean that. She’s not fucked up, and you’re not overbearing.”

  “See how easy it is to do?” The tight cord running through his words made her think he was seconds from snapping.

  She sank lower in her seat. “I’m sorry. I get it. The mind thinks things it doesn’t believe, and sometimes they come out when they shouldn’t.”

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t glancing at her anymore. His attention stayed fixed ahead when they stopped.

  It was too late to take a new route in this conversation, but she tried anyway. “Even if we talk, and even if we never clash in business again, there’s no point where one of us says, I’ll move to where you are. We’ll be together. Because when it comes down to it, this is home for you, and it’s not for me.” The finality of her words tasted foul, as they rolled past her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said again, knowing it wouldn’t change anything, but unsure what else was appropriate.

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mercy waited at the curb for the rental-car shuttle. That was one advantage to being in a state closer to California—two-hour flight instead of taking all day with layovers.

  She tried not to think of other things great about Utah—like Ian. The name dragged back their less-than-happy goodbye, and she frowned. It was best this way, but it clenched like a fist around her heart, to remember the exchange.

  She stepped onto the shuttle, stashed her bags on the empty spot next to her, and took out her phone. Might as well catch up with as many messages as possible in her spare minutes. She meant to pull up her email but couldn’t help one more flip to the text she saw when she stepped off the plane.

  Good luck.

  The simple message from Ian still made her smile. She probably looked like a goof, grinning at her hand, but she couldn’t help it.

  There was work to do, and while the note was sweet, it was also a reminder of what she didn’t have. She flipped to the email from Liz instead.

  Hope this gets to you before your meeting. Call me with questions.

  It was communication, and that was good. Mercy wished it was a hint friendlier, but she’d be patient. She opened a preview of Liz’s attachment, and her eyes grew wide as she scanned the budget rework, complete with more money to dedicate up front to KaleidoMation.

  “Miss. We’re here.” The driver’s voice jarred her.

  She shook the numbers aside enough to focus, and headed inside, to pick up her car. The moment she was on the road, headed for the hotel, she told her phone, “Call Liz.” She’d made the drive enough times during the proposal process, she didn’t need GPS or directions.

  “Hey.” Liz’s cheerful greeting was a stark contrast to the tone of their recent message exchanges. “You got my email?”

  “I did. You’re a freaking genius. I can’t believe you pulled this off. And so fast. t’s you, so I can, but still.”

  “I’m so glad. Does this mean I can keep my job?”

  Mercy laughed. This felt good. It wasn’t in depth, but it was what she should have with Liz. “Hon, I’m not ever letting you leave now, if this is what I get after one weekend.”

  “I’m glad it’s helpful. And good luck today. Not that you need it. You’ll kick serious ass.”

  “Thanks.” Mercy trailed off, not sure what to say next. If they were limited to conversations about work for the near future, it was time to say goodbye for now. The words stuck in her throat, and silence spilled through the car.

  “I really do love you.” Liz’s soft comment screamed in Mercy’s head.

  Mercy’s stomach flipped over. “Liz…”

  “Not like that.” The cheer was back in Liz’s voice. “It’s a shame we didn’t get to explore that when we were younger, what with you moping over someone else and all.”

  The assurance was nice, but the conversation was still a reminder it was going to be a while before the two of them were back in a completely comfortable spot. “I was so terrified of me back then, it wouldn’t have worked even
if I wasn’t pining.” Over Ian. The name pinged against her ribs with an ache, and Mercy struggled to ignore it. “Don’t write the whole idea off because of me. There are other women out there.”

  “I know. I’m not writing off anything.” Liz’s tone shifted to serious, almost melancholy. “I think I’ve wanted to explore for a while. I know I still have to deal with the whole George thing, but I don’t miss him the way I expected. I feel more stupid and pissed off than heartbroken.”

  “He’s not your fault. Sometimes you have to take a leap, and when it doesn’t work out, you learn, you mourn, and then you go try something or someone new.” Do I really believe that? Of course she did. It was her defining principle. “And in between, you eat ice cream and watch TV.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “I meant a lot of what I said the other day. I adore and look up to you, Mercy. You did something I can’t. You shed your past, stopped living by everyone else’s expectations, and made your own life. I don’t know how to do that. I kind of hoped I might pick some of that up while you were here. I know attitude isn’t an osmosis thing, and we didn’t exactly have a lot of time, but…” Liz sighed.

  Mercy pulled into the hotel parking lot and shut off the engine, but she didn’t get out. She leaned back in her seat and stared at the ceiling of the car. “Do you want to change?” As she spoke, the question bounced in her thoughts, reflected back at her.

  “It’s not as easy as just saying yes.”

  “No. It’s not.” Understatement of the hour. “I haven’t figured it out completely.” Or very much at all. “I just put up a good front.” Where did this introspection come from, on Mercy’s part? She dug for a source, but when she chipped away at something and her heart flinched, she backed off.

  “That’s not true. You’ve got everything together.”

  “You think so?” Mercy stopped a bitter laugh before it could slip out.

  “I know so. I’m not pushing aside my feelings, but I’ve been thinking a lot. I want to experience more. Explore my sexuality. I do love you, and you’re gorgeous, Mel. I mixed our friendship up with romance. But not being able to reach out to you, even for just a couple of days, made me realize I adore what we already have. And this is me being selfish, but I wish you were coming back, so we could spend more time together. Actual time, not me-hitting-on-you time.”