Selling Seduction (Your Ad Here #1) (10 page)

Ian shook Jonathan’s hand. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Sounds great.” Woodhouse joined Jake at the front entrance to the office. It wasn’t company policy to drive the client around, but with the weather as spotty as it was, Ian was happy to provide a temporary shuttle service. Especially if it looked better for Thompson Advertising when it came down to decision time.

The presentation had gone fantastically. Ian’s Sales team pulled out all the stops, and from where he sat, addressed all the concerns they needed to. Something crawled under Ian’s skin. Dissatisfaction? Concern? He was prepared to be sympathetic when Mercy lost the contract, but this was something else. He shook the feeling aside.

It was four now. Plenty of time to catch up on messages. A text from Liz waited for him, but she hadn’t sent it
priority
—something she wouldn’t hesitate to do. He’d get back to her after he sifted through voicemail and emails.

He put his phone on speaker and let the messages fill the room while he clicked through computer work. He made the occasional note, but most of it was informational.

“Ian, this is Dean Rice. Give me a call as soon as you have a moment. I’ll be in the office late tonight.”

Mercy’s father. But also a client. Ian’s fingers paused over the keyboard, and that same feeling from earlier surged back stronger but still as difficult to name. It was true, he attended lunches with local clients, but their account managers should be fielding their concerns. What had gone so wrong in the past few days that required him to be involved directly? He had Dean’s number up and was dialing, even as the question circled in his thoughts.

“Ian. Good to hear from you. Thank you for calling me back.” Dean’s voice was warm, with no underlying hints of negativity.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

Nervousness filled Dean’s laugh. “You get straight to the point, don’t you? Something I admire about you.”

“I hate to keep you on longer than you have to be.” Ian clenched and unclenched his fingers, trying to cast out the nervous energy coursing through him.

“I appreciate that. I, uh…” His hesitation set Ian further on edge. “I need a favor. I’d like to see Melissa again.”

Ian muted the phone just in time to let out a long exhale of surprise.
Didn’t see that coming
. And given the way Mercy reacted to her father the other day and the sideways mentions since, he suspected she didn’t have the same desire to see Dean. “I’d still rather keep professional and personal separate. It’s not my place to get involved in something like this. I hope you understand.” An impulse filled him, trying to push out something less politically correct and more like,
and why would she want to see you?
He buried the thought.

“I’m not asking you as a client; I’m a father, asking one of his daughter’s friends.”

Maybe you should have considered that—
Ian cut himself off. A second nagging voice pointed out he would have hated himself if he hadn’t said
goodbye
to his parents. Mercy’s family was different, though.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Resignation replaced Dean’s cheer. “If you would, please tell her I asked and give her my number. Leave the rest up to her, and I won’t bring it up again.”

Indecision warred inside, but Ian finally said, “All right. I’ll do that.”

“Thank you.”

Not what Ian expected. He shook his head and ended the call. He would have preferred an angry client call. He wrapped up the rest of his work, the non-stop question of whether or not to tell Mercy bouncing in his head the entire time. The images of Mercy, and almost knocked his focus offline. The way her naked body looked in the firelight. The gorgeously wrenching cries she made when she came. And he wouldn’t see her again until Sunday. Maybe she’d make time for him Saturday afternoon?

He gave his to-do list one last glance, making sure everything that couldn’t wait until Monday was done, and pulled up Liz’s message.

Heads-up—I’ve got a hotel in Salt Lake. I’m staying down here until I find a new place.

That was abrupt. He asked,
Why the sudden departure? Room is paid for through the weekend.

I need a change of scenery. Sorry for wasting your gift.
It was just a text, so he expected short sentences and terse words, but this felt like something more.

I’m not concerned about the gift. Just you. What’s up?

I’m fine
, she said.

Is Mercy going with you?
He waited for several seconds after the message. No answer. The clock ticked up on five, then ten minutes.
Liz?

No.

His concern grew at the terse response.
Liz?

Go meet with your client. Talk later.

He dialed her number and went to voicemail after only one ring. Great. She was screening him. He called Mercy next.

“Hey.” Her greeting was strained.

“Are you with Liz?”

“No.”

At least they had that in common. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Busy with work. You know.”

He needed to leave soon, to pick up Woodhouse, but the gnawing in his joints insisted he dig deeper on this. “How’s Liz?”

A pause filtered over the line, and if it weren’t for the faint whisper of her breath against the receiver, he’d wonder if he lost the call. “She’s fine too.”

“But you’re not with her.”

“And I haven’t spent every waking moment with her. If you want to know how Liz is, call Liz.” Tone of voice was a lot easier to gauge over the phone than text, and there was little room for misinterpretation in Mercy’s response. “She’s just in the other room.”

“That’s not what she tells me.”

Mercy’s sigh rocked his eardrums. “If you already knew the answer, why did you ask? Is this a new kind of game?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Is it?” He didn’t want to piss her off, but the avoiding questions and giving odd answers from both of them was rubbing him raw. “She texted me to say she was moving to Salt Lake. Tonight. Without you. Now you tell me she’s in the other room.”

Mercy gave a strangled laugh. “Tonight? Thanks for the info. I have work.”

“
Mercy.
Tell me what’s going on.”

More silence, stretching over the line and buzzing in his ears. She finally said, “We need to talk.”

And his tension cranked a notch higher. He’d snap a tendon in his neck at this rate. “I don’t like it when you say that.”

“Me neither. Not over the phone. I can’t. But… Are you free tonight?”

“I’m taking Woodhouse to dinner.” He seriously considered canceling. The two conversations slid through his veins like razors.

“Don’t cancel. Can I see you after? I don’t care how late it is.”

He wasn’t sure he’d make it through dinner, without having his questions answered. This lack of control gnawed at him. It was the best option, though. “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll text you when I’m on my way to you.”

* * * *

When Ian finally pulled up in front of the hotel, it was almost ten-thirty. He didn’t know who he was more concerned about, Mercy or Liz.

Mercy was outside, pacing off to the side of the main entrance. She hopped into the car the moment he pulled up next to her, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Her knee bounced, and she twisted her fingers together in random patterns. “Can we go somewhere that’s not your place?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. For a drive? Is that place still in Heber City?”

“Yeah.” He twitched with the need for answers. “Are you okay?”

“I need to sort it out before I can talk. Drive, please?”

He put the car in park, shifted in his seat, and cupped her cheeks between his palms. Any other time, he’d lean in and kiss her, but the way she darted her gaze everywhere, that desire took a back seat. “Hey.” He kept his tone quiet but firm. “Look at me.”

She focused on him, drumming her fingers on her knee.

“Are you all right?” Something invisible gripped his heart and squeezed. He wanted to fix this. Needed to make it better.

“Physically, yes. Mentally? God. I feel fucked up. Not here?”

He dragged a thumb across her cheek and searched her eyes one more time for answers they didn’t hold, before letting her go. “We’ll drive. Okay?”

She nodded.

“When we get there, we’ll sit in the back corner, in the same booth as always, and we’ll talk. You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The moment overlapped a handful from their past. Except back then, it was always the pressure of her family and church. Now, he couldn’t even begin to guess.

“Okay.” Her voice was weak, and too much like teenage-her. He wasn’t telling her about the call from Dean.

He pulled onto the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn most of her body toward the window. It was as if she’d built a wall between them.

Twenty minutes later, they turned into the parking lot of a local twenty-four-hour diner. This time of night on a Friday, with nothing else in town open, cars filled almost every available space.

He found a spot, and Mercy was out of the SUV before he could shut off the engine. A blast of cold spilled over him when he moved to join her. She was pacing again. Watching her feet. Lips moving, but no sound coming out.

He leaned against the car and waited, ignoring the chill seeping through his coat.

“I’d tell Liz about this, but I can’t.” Her steps punctuated her words. “And I shouldn’t talk to you.
God.
You’re the last person I should dump this on, because Liz, your sister— You know? But you’re the guy I’m fucking, so you kind of need to know, and I’m trying to sort this out in my head, and I can’t.”

He grabbed her fingers, icicles wrapped in flesh, and tugged her to a stop. “You don’t have to sort it out. Spill whatever pops into your head or whatever you need.”

She shook free. She took fistfuls of his jacket, drew close, and settled her forehead against his chest. She wasn’t crying, as far as he could tell. He settled his hands at the small of her back.

Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “This is so fucked up. Like the-three-of-us-on-Montel kind of fucked up.”

It had to be, at least a little, for her to be referencing old daytime talk shows. “What is?”

She looked up, eyes dry and bloodshot. “Liz kissed me.”

“As in an,
O.M.G. I’m so excited—big hugs
kind of kiss?” He knew what she meant, but his brain refused to let him process it.

“No. As in,
I love you, promise me you feel the same
.”

He rested more of his weight against the car. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah. That might have been a catalyst.” A smile threatened to twitch onto her lips.

If she was making jokes, this was helping. Not him. He needed to wrap his head around it, but he felt more relief than he expected, to see her relaxing. “Then what?” She was right; this was borderline talk-show dysfunctional.

“I told her I didn’t feel the same. She said she needed time to think.” Mercy stepped away from him. “She asked if it would send me running into your arms. I guess it did.”

That soothed him further. “You didn’t technically
run
.”

She stuck out her tongue. “This really is a mess.”

“Come on. We’ll go inside and sit and figure it out.” He led her toward the entrance. It seemed as though pulling her out of her own head made the difference between crawling anxiety and coping.

Their table was free. Among crowded booths, packed with teenagers, the one at the back remained empty. Mercy looked him over, amusement creeping into her gaze. “You’re a little overdressed.”

“Luckily for me, there’s no dress code.” The light teasing was nice, but it left room for his questions to flood in. If Liz was gay, that was fine, though he’d never seen any hints. He wasn’t that unobservant. His concern was what this would do to Liz. What it was doing to Mercy. He didn’t want to come between them, and he definitely didn’t want them to push each other away. Theirs was the kind of bond that shouldn’t be screwed with.

The hostess let them have their booth, and Mercy slid into the seat facing the door. “There’s nothing to figure out,” she said. “I know the solution; I just don’t like it.”

“Oh?”

“Give her time to think, hope she forgives me for not feeling the same, and pray to anyone who’s listening that our friendship survives.”

What about us
? He felt bad for the selfish thought, as soon as it manifested. At least this time he’d kept it to himself. “I didn’t realize Liz was gay.”

“I don’t think she is.” Mercy fiddled with her straw, poking at ice cubes in the water the waitress brought her. “She probably falls somewhere in the middle. Or I assume so, after today.”