I wish that too. The thought popped into Mercy’s head, as loud as if someone screamed it. “I’m always here by phone. Go do what you want. Freaking out is okay too, when things don’t go your way. I do it all the time. Walk into some club on Saturday night, find that gorgeous guy or girl, and go home with them for the night. If you hit a panic moment, text me, and I’ll remind you you’re awesome. Or call the cops, depending on the situation.”
“I was wrong before; you and Ian would be amazing together.”
Mercy bolted upright in her seat, grabbed the phone, and tried to ignore the surge inside of something muddled. “I’m at the hotel. I have to go.”
“Right. Talk to you soon.” Was that disappointment in Liz’s voice, or sadness?
Mercy wasn’t going to linger on any of it, except that she had her friend back.
* * * *
Ian rifled through files, making sure he’d given his attention to any that needed it. Every few seconds, his gaze drifted back to the computer clock. He was fighting not to think about Mercy, and failing miserably. She’d slid into his thoughts over and over all day, and it was almost three.
She was in her meeting with KaleidoMation right now. The reminder was another reason for his back to tighten and his neck to tense. He didn’t know how he wanted things to go for her. Except he did. He wanted her to succeed, and it had everything to do with who she was. Even if it meant he lost the account, he wanted her to be happy. It was a foreign feeling, and it sucked.
Not as if they’d ever see each other again. Not as lovers. Her goodbye left no room for reinterpretation, and Ian wouldn’t beg for anyone’s attention.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and turned his attention back to work for the infinite time that day. A new email from Jonathan Woodhouse sat in his box.
Ian’s pulse stuttered, and he told himself to grow up and calm down as he clicked the message. This couldn’t be a good sign for Mercy. Had they cut her off after an hour? Told her, thanks but no thanks?
He read.
Mr. Thompson:
I’d like to thank you again for your hospitality last week and during the entire bidding process. Thompson Advertising has a talented staff and some great offerings.
However, at this time we’ve decided to go a different route. Your business is strong, but we need someone more flexible. Able to adapt to a constantly shifting market at the drop of a hat.
Sincerely:
Jonathan Woodhouse
Ian’s thoughts stalled on the words, and he scanned them several times, to make sure he read them right. His concern, hope, and best wishes curdled to irritation.
So Mercy wasn’t done yet. She’d barely started, and they were severing ties with Ian an hour into her presentation, after Ian’s company courted them for more than six fucking months. There was no way she sold them that fast.
This was why she pushed Ian away.
The moment the thought popped into his head, he hated it—knew it wasn’t true. He couldn’t shake it, though. After her insistence over the weekend that Ian wasn’t flexible enough… What did she do? Open with Unlike my competition…
The logic centers of his brain argued, until his skull ached and screamed in protest.
He needed to bring this under control. Mercy earned the contract. He dialed her number and wasn’t surprised when he went straight to voicemail. “It’s Ian. I need to talk to you. Call me when you’re done, even if it’s late.”
Shoving aside his heart, he dove straight to the truth of the matter. He owed her congratulations for a job well done.
* * * *
“One more thing, before I let you go for the evening.” Jonathan’s voice stopped Mercy before she could open her car door.
She spun to face him. The guy was cute. She thought so every time they met. Blond hair, dark brown eyes, and only a year or two older than she was. But he wasn’t Ian—and she hated the idea the moment it squirmed into her brain. “What’s up?”
Her presentation went well, as far as she knew. This guy was hard to read, so she wasn’t certain, but she hit all her sales points, and the rest of the room seemed to enjoy. Afterward, Jonathan and a couple other executives took her out for an early dinner, and now she was about to head back to her hotel. It was barely seven. She might get some more work done tonight.
He rocked on his toes, and a smile crept onto a face that had been impassive most the afternoon. “I’ll get you an official offer in the morning, make sure you have a current contract with all the details, but I wanted to let you know now—the contract is yours. You blew us away every step of the process.”
She grinned so widely, she thought her cheeks might split. “Really?” Giddiness danced inside. “I mean, of course really. Why would you make that up? This is…” She forced herself to relax and shook his hand. “Thank you. We look forward to working with your entire group.”
“Same.” His grip was firm and warm, and his smile friendly. “Have a wonderful evening.”
Joy flowed through Mercy, as she drove back to the hotel. It danced in her limbs, making her move her butt in her seat to the beat of the radio. A whisper of reality flitted in. She had nobody here to celebrate with. She could call Andrew; he deserved her thanks. But she wasn’t in the mood for his brand of humor tonight.
She’d call Liz.
Another layer of gray settled over her cheery mood. Her win meant Ian lost. It was true, they agreed no hard feelings, but his team worked hard. She hoped he took the news okay. With these thoughts came a reminder he left her a cryptic message earlier. She’d wait until she was in her room, to call him back, though. And she didn’t want to be the one to break this news to him. It wasn’t her right, anyway. That was up to KaleidoMation.
“Ms. Rowe.” The desk clerk caught her attention on the way to the elevators.
Mercy paused in front of the woman. “Yes?”
“This came in for you this afternoon. We left a message on your phone.” She handed over a manila envelope.
Mercy furrowed her brows. There was nothing on it but her name. “Thanks. Have a good night.” She wandered away, curious. As she stepped into a waiting car, she undid the closures and opened the flap.
Two plane tickets slid into her hand. One to Salt Lake, for tomorrow, and another back to Atlanta, two days later.
“Ian, you fucking bastard,” she muttered to the empty car. Irritation battled with affection. Arrogant, presumptuous, sweet…
She snapped the thoughts off, before they headed into territory she didn’t want to visit. The moment she was in her room, she dialed his number.
“I was starting to wonder if you’d call back.” His greeting wasn’t as warm and friendly as she expected.
She kicked off her shoes, set her purse and laptop aside, and settled onto the edge of the bed. “You said no matter how late. It’s not even nine there.” The tickets glared back at her from their spot next to the TV. How dare he?
“I thought maybe you were on an accelerated schedule. You didn’t waste any time this afternoon.”
His snide tone gnawed at her. What the hell? “I didn’t have the luxury of having the client in my office for an entire day.”
“So… you opened with Let me tell you why my competition sucks?”
“—the fuck?” Her voice rose in pitch, shrill to her own ears, and she forced herself to dial it back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you have the right number?” He apparently already knew he’d lost the contract. The realization wasn’t reassuring.
“From Woodhouse, this afternoon—We need someone more flexible. Able to adapt to a constantly shifting market at the drop of a hat. Funny how his words echo yours.”
Mercy’s confusion slid back behind rage and comprehension. “You think I told him that?” Too many thoughts assaulted her at once. “How do you imagine it went down? I added a slide that said, The competition? I know that guy. Dynamite in bed, but a little stiff when it comes to change. You want flexible? I’m
your woman.”
“You did something.”
She refused to acknowledge the ache in her joints. The hurt throbbing through her veins, at what his accusations meant. “I sold my fucking product. That’s what you did, that’s what I do. Whatever conclusions they drew—correctly, I’ll add—about your inability to adapt, were probably because they’re fucking observant. I suppose now that you’re pissed at me, you want back these plane tickets I never asked for?”
“I didn’t buy you any tickets.” His voice shifted from irritated to a scarily low calm, with a heavy current running through it. “You made it clear we’re done. Do you really think that little of me?”
“I think you run your company like an uptight old man.” She was done holding back. “And speaking of how we feel about each other, do you think I’d compromise my ethics for a little bit of an upper hand? Is your opinion of my work so fucking low, that you believe I have to do that? Was all of that I’m impressed with what you’ve done just lip service?” Her last question echoed through the room.
Someone pounded on the wall next door and shouted, “Shut up.”
“No. That’s not what this is about,” Ian said.
“You could have fooled me.” Mercy lowered her voice but couldn’t ignore the storm inside her. “I usually don’t get much satisfaction out of saying something like this, but tonight I will. Long distance doesn’t work. Competing for the same clients doesn’t work. I told you so.”
“Fantastic.” His sarcasm matched her irritation. “Too bad that doesn’t keep anyone warm at night.”
“No. But rage is a nice substitute.” She disconnected before he could say anything else. The last thing she needed was to hear more of his excuses. Another thinly veiled attempt to backpedal and pretend this wasn’t a big deal. Fucking asshole.
She rolled onto her side, pulled her knees to her chest, and did something she hadn’t since that first stranger in Venezuela. She cried over a man.
Chapter Twenty
Ian wanted to throw his phone at the wall. Instead he settled for screaming, “Fuck,” in the empty house. As soon as he’d said the words, the moment he accused Mercy of playing dirty, he knew he was wrong. It would have been nice if he figured that out sooner. Almost as good if pride let him take his accusation back, instead of digging the pit deeper.
He had to make this right. Tell her he didn’t feel that way. She deserved to be treated better. The moment his frustration ebbed enough he could think straight, he called her back. It went to voicemail. “Mercy, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make what I said right, but let me try?”
He leaned back against the sofa with an oomf and tried to keep his mind from scattering again. She’d been gone half a day after being back in his life for a week. He already missed her so much it hurt, and had offended her in one of the worst ways he could imagine. Liz was right; he was bad for Mercy.
His next message was a text. Hear me out?
He wouldn’t beg. He didn’t grovel. Fuck. This was his fault. She kept him at a distance, but that didn’t make her underhanded or manipulative. As far as he knew, she’d always been upfront with him.
You don’t have to call me back. Just know, I’m so sorry.
He didn’t know what else to do.
* * * *
Mercy ignored every ring and chime from her phone. The first call was Ian, and she deleted his message without listening. She wasn’t interested in seeing who the rest belonged to.
Would it be worse or better if he only tried the once?
Long after the tears dried up and the numbness settled in, she forced herself from the bed and crossed the short distance to where the plane tickets sat, taunting her. When she picked up the envelope, a note fluttered to the ground. She shouldn’t read it. She needed to tear it up along with the gift, and forget she ever knew Ian, He said they weren’t from him, but she had a hard time trusting anything he’d said right now.
She couldn’t help herself.
Melissa,
I was hoping to see you while you were here. If you have time, I’d love to have lunch with you and maybe start to make things right. The home number hasn’t changed. Call us if you’re interested.
Love,
Dad
Her tears spilled out, and an empty pit grew inside, threatening to consume her, as she sank to the floor.
Sleep didn’t come that night. She teeter-tottered between trying not to think about Ian, being furious with him, and wondering why she was considering using the tickets from her father. It was a chance to see Liz again, but Mercy couldn’t use a gift like this and not see the giver.
Why would she want to? Her family had never been anything but dismissive. Her two brothers and one of her sisters turned their backs on her when she left, but not before reminding her this was the kind of thing people burned in hell for.
Did Dad really want to make amends, or was this an excuse to lecture her about how badly he thought she screwed up her life? She shouldn’t care. But she did. Her home life as a kid was never abusive. Strict, intolerable, and suffocating, but it came from a place of love—misguided, but still love.
Mercy was tired of being alone. She had Liz and Andrew, and they were all but family, so why wasn’t that enough?
The thoughts were cyclical, haunting her until the sky peeking through the top of her curtains shifted from black to gray. It was after seven, back home. She wasn’t concerned she’d wake the household. Home. The thought made her snort. It hadn’t been home for ages.
She dialed her dad’s number from memory, heart slamming against her ribs with every ring.
“Hello?” A chipper female voice answered.
Mercy swallowed, struggling to find her voice. “Susan?”
“Oh, my heck. Mercy?” Her youngest sister, Susan—who was twenty now if Mercy’s math was good—was the only sibling who ever used her preferred name.
A smile cracked onto Mercy’s face. “It’s me. Is Dad there?” It felt so foreign saying the words, and Mercy couldn’t keep the timidness from leaking into her question.
“He had to go to work early. You just missed him.” Susan sounded painfully cheerful. “But he said, if you called, to tell you he’d drop everything for lunch. Are you coming back?”
“He’s not going to drop everything for me.” Despite the argument, a ball of warmth spread through the knot in Mercy’s chest.
“I promise he will. Is that a yes? Is this your cell number? What time will you be here?”
The attitude was contagious. “Plane doesn’t get in until eleven, so probably not until after one. That’s a little late for lunch.”
“Doesn’t matter. Yay, I’m so super psyched to see you!”
“Give me your cell, and I’ll text you when I get in.” Mercy scribbled the digits, to add to her phone as soon as they disconnected. Her gut churned, and her nerves marched quadruple time. She was going to do this. She prayed it wasn’t a huge mistake.
The next few hours passed in the most agonizingly slow blur she’d ever lived.
At the boarding gate, she texted Liz. I’ll be in town tonight, after all. Do you have time?
Liz’s answer came back within seconds. Always.
Followed quickly by, Wait. Maybe. Back in town why? To see Ian?
His name left a lump in Mercy’s throat she couldn’t swallow past. There was too much to say in a few short words, so she decided to ignore the question. Why maybe? Are we not there?
It’s not like that. But plans change, you know?
Mercy smiled and managed to push down the ache Ian’s name carried. Is this a living life for the moment kind of thing?
Something like that. Tell me when and where, and you’ll know if plans change.
Mercy frowned at the odd phrasing but couldn’t figure out why it felt off. Still, seeing Liz again would be fantastic. Her mood lifted another notch. She boarded the plane when they called her row number, and she settled into the business-class seat.
When the p
lane took off, the butterflies inside soared, while the rest of her stomach lurched. She recognized the feeling. It settled in every time she hopped on a flight to wherever she called home at the time. A nervous anticipation that rolled under her skin and pumped her with adrenaline.
Today it was amplified tenfold, and she was just visiting the damned place. She pulled up some work, but it didn’t hold her attention. Tried to read but couldn’t focus. The games on her phone failed to distract her. Her gaze kept drifting out the window, to the mountains and desert below. She tried to guess where they were, based on how much time passed. Was that St. George? The little town nestled in the hills had to be Cedar City, right?
And then the nervousness spiked. She knew Provo. The flight attendant announced they began their final descent. About forty minutes, and she’d be on the ground. The snow-covered mountains rose and then fell away, revealing the next valley over. She tapped her fingers on her leg. The nervousness hadn’t been this severe in… She didn’t know how long. This felt like coming home more than any place she’d ever been, including Atlanta.
She missed it here. The realization slammed her in the gut, making her shake. Despite trying to run from it for so long, denying that she ever wanted to be here again, it really was home. Liz was here. If she was lucky, Susan and maybe more of her family was here.
And, as much as she hated to admit it, she adored that Ian was here too. God, she missed him. Not as the little girl with ideals and stars in her eyes, but as his equal, opposite, challenger, lover… More. His words from last night still hurt, though. The assumptions he jumped to yesterday were proof he didn’t see her the same way. Could she reconcile that? Could she forgive him? She knew better than to get attached to someone she was fucking. Why did she let herself get sucked into the fairytale?
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