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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.”
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.