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I think you run your company like an uptight old man.
Mercy’s accusations—realities?—from last night hadn’t left Ian alone.
Whatever conclusions they drew about your inability to adapt were because they’re observant.
Every time he let his mind wander, they popped in for a visit.
Is your opinion of my work so fucking low that you believe I have to do that?
He fucked up. His family’s agency had been crumbling when he took over, and he saved it. If he wasn’t willing to explore other options now, it wouldn’t stay that way.
Thinking about Mercy led to frustration and regret, so he tried to focus on KaleidoMation’s feedback about flexibility instead. That led back to her. She hadn’t answered his messages. Was probably screening his calls...
You want these plane tickets back that I never asked for?
The new sentence popped into his head without warning. What plane tickets? No. He had work to do, and that included his 2 PM with his sales team.
He filed Mercy as far out of reach as he could, grabbed his notebook, and headed into the conference room.
Jake, was already waiting, and the rest of the group filed in over the next couple of minutes. Always on time. Every one of them.
A week ago, their punctuality made him bristle with pride. Now it nagged at him. Was he over-thinking this no flexibility thing? Maybe a little.
Perfect time to meet about it. He almost rolled his eyes at his sarcasm. This was a good start to a solution, though. He hired these people out of college, for their fresh grasp and outlook on the market. They might be a little stalled in their methods now, but they could move past it.
He took his spot in front of the room, whiteboard marker in hand. “Today’s meeting is about flexibility. We need it. How do we get it?”
Suggestions flew at him for the next hour. Each required as much red tape as the last. Why did everything in his company have to touch so many people on its journey?
“Why?” Ian asked. “Why does it have to go to committee next?”
Jake furrowed his brow, as if it were the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “That’s how the process works. Concept. Committee approval. Design. Committee approval. Present internally. Committee approval.”
“But why?” Ian asked again.
“Because that’s the way we’ve always done it,” someone else said.
The phrase taunted Ian and dragged him back to when he took over. He’d laid people off for telling him the same thing. And then he brought in this group to innovate... and made them follow the rules. The realization struck him hard. “What if we changed procedure? Or threw it out the window? If it was an option to go directly to the client with your concept, would you?”
“Why would I do that?” someone else asked. “What if the client hates it?”
“What if they hate it anyway?” Fuck. Mercy was so right; he was entrenched in bureaucracy.
Jake pushed aside his laptop. “Then at least everyone else signed off first, so we can tell the client the idea tested well.”
“So this is a share-the-blame kind of thing?” Ian couldn’t believe it. That’s what he’d cultivated.
“No.” Jake didn’t look like he believed his own words.
This was getting them nowhere. Ian hid his frustration. “Time’s up. We’ll do this again in a week. Think about this from every other angle possible before then.”
Liz was waiting in his office when he returned. That was a bright spot in his day.
“I hope you didn’t wait long,” he said as he dropped into his chair, across the desk from her.
“Nope. Jake told me when you had a break. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
That sounded like a perfect distraction for the evening, as long as he didn’t ask Liz about work. Or Mercy. Or... Fuck. “I’m free.”
“Perfect.” She fiddled with her fingers, watching them dance off each other.
“There’s more.”
“There is. I have to give a deposition about George, to keep the process going, and I know it’s kind of childish of me to ask, but”—sadness tinged her voice—“will you go with me?”
This was right. The way it should be. He and Liz looked out for each other. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Thank you.” She smiled but still didn’t meet his gaze. What was she up to? She looked up. “You haven’t asked yet.”
Asked... He dragged through all the possible things he might want to know and ticked each off the list as something she couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him.
You want these plane tickets back that I never asked for?
There was no way. “Is Mercy in town?”
“Yes. And you should call her.”
“I’ve tried that.” He didn’t want to get into details. Not with Liz or anyone. He’d been a Grade-A jackass, and that was a hard thing to admit to himself, let alone out loud.
“But you’re free tonight.”
“I’m having dinner with you.” As he spoke, he realized what she’d asked. “That’s not why you wanted to know.”
A mischievous smile played on Liz’s face. “I’ll tell you where I’m meeting her, and you’ll take my place.”
“No. Definitely not. If she’s pissed at me now, something tells me that will make her furious.”
“Why?” She leaned in and rested her arms on the desk. “I’ve never seen either of you smile as much as you did over the last week. What in the entire universe could make that a bad thing?”
“You don’t know what I said to her.”
“You screwed up?”
“So badly.” A weight lifted from his chest. It left a gaping crater in its place, but at least the pain was new.
Liz raised her brows.
“What?” Ian asked.
“In my life—like, the whole freaking thing—I’ve never once heard you say you were wrong.”
She was exaggerating. Had to be. He wasn’t like that. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Confession was nice, but it didn’t bring solutions. He wanted a new subject. “Why are you so insistent? How can you be so optimistic about love in general, when—” He stopped himself before he could say too much. Even when Mercy wasn’t here, he was speaking his mind before he thought.
“When I’ve lost it twice?” Liz completed the thought exactly as it sat on the tip of his tongue. “When I wanted it so badly I let bad judgement almost drive me into marrying a man who only wanted me for my money the second time, despite your insistence I be cautious? It makes me want it even more, because I know it’s out there. I’ve tasted it. I’m addicted to it. I want the same thing for the people I love.”
“What if she and I break each other?”
She gave a sad chuckle. “Mercy told you I said that?”
He shrugged, unsure what to say that didn’t involve spilling more of him than he cared to.
“Then you enjoy the ride while it lasts. The two of you don’t usually hide from risk. Does the fact that this scares you tell you anything?”
“I’m not scared. Mercy isn’t talking to me.”
“Yeah. Okay.” As she stood, she slid a piece of paper across the desk. “You’ve always been there for me. Let me look out for you, this once.”
“That’s not what this is.” He almost said, you don’t understand. But then she’d ask him to explain, and he didn’t get it either.
“That’s what this is. I’m saving the two of you from yourselves. This is the last time I’ll nudge, and then you’re on your own. Don’t fuck it up again.”
After she left, Ian stared at her scrawl for several minutes. A restaurant in Salt Lake and a time.
Go or not?
* * * *
MERCY SHIFTED HER WEIGHT from one foot to the other, to keep warm. She got to the restaurant early but wasn’t in the mood to sit inside alone. That meant standing on a downtown street, as the temps dropped below freezing, and wondering if she’d stopped feeling her toes because it was cold or because she’d stomped her feet one too many times.
Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she fumbled for it. It wouldn’t be Ian; he’d stopped messaging her. And she was still grateful she hadn’t read a single one. The thought didn’t make her as happy as she wanted.
Liz’s note read, Forgive me?
Weird. For what?
For giving Dean your hotel information. For... other things. Tell me I’m forgiven?
Mercy stared at the messages. This explained how the plane tickets made it to her. She would have blown a gasket if Liz told her before the fact, but Mercy was so grateful now that the meeting took place. She sent a reply. Probably always. What other things?
“You’re early.” Ian’s voice settled into Mercy’s head, drilled through her body, and danced in her gut.
I’m going to kill you, she sent to Liz.
I love you too.
“Am I interrupting?” Ian sounded more amused than annoyed.
She looked up from her phone. That was a mistake. He looked as incredible as ever, in jeans and a sweatshirt, with a leather coat over it all. Delicious, delectable, and attached to everything bad that happened over the last twenty-four hours. She was too tired for this shit. “Yes. I’m plotting your sister’s murder. Come back never.”
He stepped aside when she brushed past him. “I don’t have a right to ask, but hear me out?”
His request stalled her. The answer was no. It hovered on the tip of her tongue. She turned back to face him. “I’ll listen, but it won’t change my mind.” She couldn’t bend on this. Gorgeous, fun, brilliant—none of it mattered if he didn’t respect her. If she didn’t cling to that thought for all she was worth, she’d regret it.
“I’ll take that.” He nodded toward the micro-brewery. “Do you want to go inside? It’s warmer.”
She wanted to forget he’d hurt her, find a dark corner, and let him heat her up.
That wasn’t an option. She nodded. “Inside sounds good.”