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Mercy angled her chair at the table in the back of the bar, so she could see the entire room. The place was too bright and clean to be cliché. It kind of squicked her out. A cute guy at the counter had smiled at her a couple of times, but she couldn’t find the enthusiasm to return the interest. Liz was with someone else, laughing, twirling her hair around her finger, and with far fewer drinks in her than her behavior implied.
Liz got a text from Ian earlier, asking where she was and for her to call when she had a minute. She promptly ignored it. She was afraid if she talked to him, she’d let it slip they were in the honeymoon suite, and he’d try and talk her out of binging and indulging. Mercy didn’t have a good argument against that. She’d told Liz what he wanted, his text confirmed it, the rest was between them.
Mercy and Liz spent the afternoon seeing the town, stepping into overpriced souvenir shops, and visiting the sprinkling of art galleries along Main Street. It was a pretty little town—Mercy could admit that, despite the memories it held. She could do without the proliferation of faux-wood facing on every single building. It didn’t build atmosphere so much as make it look like the city was trying too hard.
Mercy tried to get into the tourism, but the email waiting for her kept nagging. The note from the client she’d been wooing, KaleidoMation, saying they’d narrowed their decision down to two choices, and they’d like her in their offices early next week, to talk about options. Their biggest concern was whether an agency the size of hers could handle their needs. She itched to get back, to work on a proposal proving she had what it took.
She took her phone from her purse, pulled up a note app, and scribbled thoughts. Now seemed like as good a time as any, while Liz was distracted, and Mercy couldn’t find the motivation to blather with a stranger. Every few seconds, she looked up, keeping track of her surroundings.
A text came from Liz. If I’m not back in 10, don’t send help.
Mercy glanced in her friend’s direction and got a wave and smile from Liz, before she and her companion wandered off toward some dark corner. Mercy shook her head and turned back to work.
Seconds turned into minutes, and she lost herself in her ideas. The ideas flowed. KaleidoMation picked her company to make it this far, she could address any of their concerns. She simply needed a killer presentation and the right reassurances that size didn’t matter—it was how one used what they had. Sure, everyone said it, but recognition and relating to the consumer was important in this business.
The nearby scraping of chair legs across hardwood jarred her from her work, and she jerked up her head to see Cute Guy taking the seat across from her. Except he wasn’t quite so cute up close. There was a hesitation in his smile. A lack of confidence Ian didn’t suffer from.
As soon as the name entered her thoughts, she snarled at herself. Of course he wasn’t Ian. That was last night. It was time to move on.
“You look bored over here in your corner.” He scooted his seat closer. “Head down. Tweeting your friends. Someone might think you don’t want company.”
The assumption made her grind her teeth. “Someone might be right.”
“Don’t be like that, doll.” Another scoot of his chair, then one more, and she was pinned between him and the wall. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t looking for something,” he said.
On another night, in another town, she’d be in the bar because she wanted to get laid. She’d fall into the aggressive blandness. Not with this guy. He’d set her alarms off, even if she were in the mood. “I am looking for something. How did you know?”
“I’m psychic.” He glided a hand up the inside her leg.
She jerked away and stood in a single motion, relief sliding in when she saw Liz emerge from the back rooms. Her friend wore a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Apparently they were both off their game tonight. “Her.” Mercy waved, to grab Liz’s attention.
Mr. decidedly-less-cute-now, glanced over his shoulder, and his leer grew. “You kinky girl.”
Mercy rolled her eyes. “Hey, gorgeous.” She prayed Liz would play along. “The honeymoon suite awaits. You ready to get out of here?” She brushed past the creeper, not caring she jarred him with her shoulder.
“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.”