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It wasn’t that Mercy’s father was abusive. He was religiously conservative. Far end of the spectrum. She’d struggled through years of psychological torment in his house, when she realized her beliefs didn’t match his. Her mother passed away when she was thirteen, and her father grew even more restrictive after.
Called her stupid when she asked about why he taught her certain things. Threatened her with damnation when she realized she wasn’t happy with some of his rules. Told she could rot in hell for the rest of eternity, and he’d would bring the marshmallows, when she walked out of the house at eighteen.
She didn’t hold any ill will toward her family. She got over that a long time ago. That didn’t mean she was ready to face her dad, without a little advance warning and mental preparation. She owed Ian a lot, for stepping up when she froze, and for helping pull her out of her daze and into the bright day. It made it easier to shake off the gloom.
He stood across from her, back to the wall, one foot propped up, looking casual and out of place at the same time, in his suit.
“That’s why I don’t date local girls.” He winked. “In a town this small, it means countless awkward encounters after we break up.”
She could do this. Joking. Familiar territory. How was it possible after so much time? “If I remember right, you don’t date local girls because they’re uptight and only like sex if you promise them they’ll still be virgins after.”
He laughed. A rich sound that rolled over her skin and sank into her thoughts. “I managed to corrupt you,” he said.
“I won’t argue that for a second. But we weren’t dating. Still aren’t.”
“Touché. Rub it in a little more.”
“Not in public. Or at least not in the middle of the street.” She stepped closer and raised her hand, tracing a finger along his chest.
He snagged her wrist, stopping her halfway, and searched her eyes, gaze shifting back and forth. “You’ve changed.”
“Is that bad?” She didn’t have any issues with what she’d become, but it would be a shame to cut things short if he did.
“So far, it’s anything but.”
She gave a playful tug and broke free of his grip. “I should let you get back to work. Thank you again for rescuing me.”
“Always.” How could a single word carry so much sincerity? “I’d say see you around, but I don’t want to tempt fate into sending you home early. So enjoy the rest of your trip and try to give Liz a break?”
“I always try.” It wasn’t the mention of Liz that chipped away at her swelling good mood; it was that those were his parting words. But that was the way it should be. In a few days, she’d go back home, not see Ian again for ages—if ever—and find her next fling, account, and distraction.
The thought squeezed her chest, but she ignored the ache as she waved at Ian over her shoulder one last time and called for a shuttle back to the hotel.
* * * *
SEVERAL HOURS PASSED, and Mercy managed to find the headspace to dive into her looming presentation. Liz texted, to say she was night skiing, and Mercy decided the hotel lobby wasn’t a bad place for work, after all. Less chance of running into anyone she didn’t want to see than if she hit up Main Street again.
The sun set outside, the evening crowds rushed in and out, and she forced herself to keep her head down and focus on work. Doing anything else, letting her mind drift, brought her back to the conversation with Ian, and that was distracting. Something about it nagged in the back of her mind. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it frustrated her that she couldn’t grasp it.
“Is this seat taken?” Ian’s familiar voice cut through the noise in her head.
She didn’t try to hide her smile. “If you’re looking for Liz, she’ll be on the slopes a while longer.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” He dropped into the chair next to her. “I already talked to Liz. Did you manage to get any work done today?”
She nodded at her laptop. “That’s what I’m doing now. What are you doing here?” The question came out wrong, with an anxiousness she didn’t intend. She was grateful for the excuse to step outside her head, especially with him as part of the scenery, but he was a reminder of what had her thoughts in a mess.
“I’m looking for you.”
The simple statement made her pulse skip a beat. “Why?”
He scooted his chair closer and rested his arms on the table. His heat radiated toward her, melting her muddled thoughts into one single pool of him. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.
Right. He was looking for her. She tried to tell her heart to stop pattering. That she didn’t care. Her heart didn’t listen. “You could have called.”
“You’re making this difficult.”
“I don’t know what this is. Fill me in, and I’ll try to make it easier?”
He reached in his pocket and placed something on the table, hidden by his palm. It clanked against the wood with a light ping. “I heard a rumor you’re on a tight deadline. I know hotel Wi-Fi isn’t always the fastest or most secure, and roaming the streets in a town like this can be dangerous.” He nudged a key toward her. “If you’d like to lock yourself away from everything tomorrow, my place will be empty.”
Instinct told her to turn him down. He wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t want something. She hated that voice and that it chanted now, instead of letting her think of an appropriate response. “Thank you,” she said, but didn’t reach for the key.
“Can I ask what you’re working on, or is that an insider secret?”
“You don’t have to make conversation to fill the empty air.” What was wrong with her tonight? Everything she said came out wrong.
He raised his brows. “Have I ever been a small talk kind of guy?”
The question triggered the memories from earlier. About their friendship, growing up. It also reminded her about her fight with Liz. Mercy decided to focus on the more pleasant aspects of the evening. “Maybe you’ve changed since I knew you.”
“I have.” He chuckled. “But not like that. I asked because I want to know. If you don’t want to talk about it, tell me to fuck off.”
Nope. He definitely hadn’t changed like that. His genuine interest, the fact he wanted to talk to her—about her—warmed her from the inside out. Despite her reason insisting she was being silly, she liked the attention. “It’s a really big client. I can’t give you details; you know how that goes. It’s the kind of account that, if I land it, our status changes from struggling to almost making it.” As she spoke, his gaze never left her face. It wasn’t the kind of attention she was used to. How wrong was that? “What?”
“Your eyes light up when you’re excited about something. They turn a gorgeous shade of blue.”
She wanted to lose herself in the compliment. To make all sorts of assumptions about what it meant. They weren’t going down that road. Unless it meant one more tumble—clothes off this time—before they parted ways for good. Talk about a distracting thought. “I should get back to work.”
“I’m paying attention. I know you haven’t said yes. Take advantage of the quiet tomorrow.” He nudged the key a few inches closer to her.
“Because that’s not awkward at all. Me, wandering around your empty house.”
“If it makes you feel better, think of it as the family house. You know—the house you practically lived at?”
She did know, and she didn’t have a good response.
“Don’t turn me down because you feel like you’re supposed to. We both know you’ll get more done there,” Ian said.
“What if that place holds bad memories for me?” she asked.
“Does it?”
She laughed. “Not even close. It’d be kind of nice to be back there. Can I ask why you’re doing this?”
“I told you the other day—I have a lot of respect for what you do. Why’s that so hard to believe?”
Because no one who said so meant it. Not people she slept with, anyway. They wanted sex, and they didn’t care about what was inside the shell. She was fine with that. This whole I-like-you-as-a-person thing, from someone she’d screwed around with, messed with her head. Or maybe what weirded her out was that he seemed sincere and she wanted to believe him. When had she stopped taking people at face value? When I got smart. The answer made her wince internally; she didn’t like facing her cynicism head on. She took the key. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
And she’d pray her cynicism was wrong.