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Susan felt a lot better than last night, after sleeping off whatever drugs might have been in her system.
Waking up in a house where she wouldn’t get a sigh when she refused to accompany her father to church. A long, hot shower. Outside, the sun bounced off the snow, bright and warm. Today would be a good day.
Her phone said it was close to eleven. Later than she normally got started, but it meant Mercy should be up.
Susan wandered downstairs. The white of a Christmas tree, covered in gold and cream ornaments, winked at her through the living room doorway. She headed toward the murmur of voices. The open dining room flowed into the kitchen, divided up by a breakfast bar, then continuing into polished walnut, granite counters, and stainless steel. Mercy stood near the stove with Ian behind her, arms around her waist. Their backs were to Susan. He nuzzled Mercy’s neck, and she laughed and leaned into him.
Such a perfect couple. Susan wanted to be half of that kind of adoration someday, but that didn’t mean she wanted to watch them grope each other. She cleared her throat. And then again.
Mercy whirled, grinning. “Hey. You sleep okay?”
“Once I finally passed out, it was good.” Susan adored having Mercy back in her life. She was so young when her sister left. And Mercy saw and experienced so much. Susan wished it hadn’t been at the cost of family, but now they were back together. Besides, Ian was nice. The house had a happy presence to it.
Ian kissed Mercy on the cheek. “Give me ten, and we’ll go.” He squeezed Susan’s arm. “Brunch?”
“Absolutely,” Susan said. Her phone rang.
Mercy frowned. “I’m sorry last night it took me so long...”
“Don’t worry about it.” Susan ignored the pang of hurt at the reminder. “I have to take this.” She clicked Answer and turned to pace toward the living room. “This is Susan Rice.”
“Susan, it’s Grace, with Ballet West.”
Susan’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she swallowed back the surge of nervousness. “It’s great to hear from you.” She’d auditioned with the group for the last four years, with no luck. But this would be her year. She knew it.
“Same.” A hint of strain ran through the woman’s voice. “Listen, I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday.” She laughed, but cut it off abruptly. “We don’t normally call back at all, in cases like this, but I wanted to talk to you.”
Susan ran the words through every second-guess filter in her brain. She wanted this job. Had prayed to make it through this audition. It wasn’t a big part, but if she performed well for their next season, she could move into larger roles in future years. It would also look fantastic on her resume, when she finished college and started teaching. It should be a stepping stone to instructing a high school drill team. She wanted this so bad she could taste it. “It’s not a problem. What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Rice, you’re very talented. It’s been years since I’ve seen such technically skilled performance.”
The words didn’t boost her spirits the way they should. “Thank you.”
“But this kind of performance requires a stage presence, which—to be direct—you’re lacking. This is a difficult thing to explain, but you don’t have a gift for playing to the audience.”
Susan swallowed a whimper. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard feedback like this. It kept her out of all but the one-off background dancer gigs, where she was cast to the back row. She’d never figured out what to do with the information. “Is there some way I can learn?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, carried on a pleading she wanted to hide. “I know you don’t have time. But if you could recommend someone—” She snapped her jaw shut before she resorted to flat-out begging.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Rice. It’s not that easy. The kind of presence you’re lacking isn’t the kind of thing one normally learns. The best advice I have for you is to do more in front of audiences. Do it until it’s as natural as dancing when no one’s watching. Come back during group try-outs in January. We might have an opening then, and you can see about observing from the background.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“And Ms. Rice? You only have a few more years left. I’d love to see a talent like yours perform with us before you pass your peak.”
“Me too.” Susan failed to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Enjoy your Sunday.” She disconnected and dropped her cell phone onto the couch, before sinking down next to it. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the snap of a log blended with her mood. Dang it.
“Everything all right?”
Mercy’s question startled her, and Susan shifted to see her standing in the doorway. “Fine. Good. Status quo. Didn’t get the Ballet West thing. No big deal.”
“I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted that.”
Susan wasn’t in the mood for pity or sympathy or anything obligatory. She had her fill of that last night. “It’s fine. But I’m not up for brunch. Can you give me a lift back to my car?”
Sympathy bled into Mercy’s smile. “Of course. You know where to find me if you want to talk.”
“I do.” Susan didn’t want to talk. Wasn’t in the mood to get another lecture on living her dreams and pushing to achieve. What the heck did Mercy think she was trying to do? Susan buried the acrid thought. She needed a little time to work through this.
* * * *
ANDREW PARKED IN THE lot of the four-story building near the freeway. He’d been to the Rowe and Thompson offices a couple times, since Mercy and Ian merged their advertising firms. Andrew was Mercy’s oldest client, but the visits were as much social as business. And they gave him a chance to visit his sister and nephew, while he was in the state.
Despite his past with Mercy, he was surprised she had room in her schedule for him, what with her getting married next weekend and all. When he asked her about the timing, she said she wasn’t going to stop working because one of the biggest days of her life was coming up—besides, this was a nice distraction from the insanity, and she had new campaign metrics and concepts to go over with him.
He couldn’t say no to that. Her work helped make him what he was, and she never disappointed. They had a friend, Justin, who had turned a Silicon Valley startup, based on a rewards program, into something bigger. More artificial-intelligence-like. R&T had invited some of their clients to beta-test demographic information, and Smut Central was first on the list.
Andrew strolled into the office and pasted on his biggest smile for the girl at Reception. “Hey, Candy Cane. Miss Mercy is expecting me.”
The woman’s name was Mindy, but she had a preference for painting her nails red with white tips. She returned his grin, pressed a few buttons on her phone, and seconds later said, “Mr. Newton is here.” She looked back at Andrew. “She says ten minutes.”
Of course she did. Mercy was a lot of things he adored, including just let me finish this up, and I’ll be right with you.
He walked the short lobby while he waited. Normally he’d make small talk with Mindy, but he’d been on edge since Saturday night. A thought nagged him, and he couldn’t place it. Music drifted toward him. Rock, but played by a string quartet. Apocolyptica. It came from the in-house photography studio. He wandered toward the sound, and cracked the door open, to peek in.
The screens and lights sat in the corners of the room, as they usually did when no filming was being done, leaving a wide expanse of concrete. That wasn’t what stalled his thoughts. Susan was in the middle of the open space, dancing. It was a stunning combination of ballet and more modern moves, and she flowed with every note and beat. Watching her chased away his tension about work and the strange funk that taunted him. It didn’t hurt that her bodysuit and tights clung to every inch of her body, but it was her grace that held him captive.
When the music stopped, she dropped to one knee, shoulders heaving, chin on her chest.
He clapped.
She shot to her feet and whirled, eyes wide. “No one’s supposed to come in here when there’s music playing.” Pink flushed her cheeks.
“I’m not anyone. And you’re fucking talented.”
Her blush grew. “You don’t have to say that, to be nice.”
“You’re right; I don’t. I mean it. You’ve been doing this all your life?”
She bit her bottom lip. “It feels like it, sometimes.”
Mercy interrupted. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Don’t say it unless you mean it.” Andrew kept the teasing in his voice but didn’t face her. It was harder than he expected, to pull his gaze from the elegant form in the center of the room.
Mercy sighed, but a hint of amusement ran through the sound. “She’s not on the menu.”
When he thought Susan couldn’t turn any redder, she proved him wrong.
He finally turned away. “You know me. Hold the cherries on the dessert,” Andrew said. Taking someone’s virginity was as lucrative a fetish as anything in his business, but it wasn’t one of his fantasies. He lived that dream when he was younger.
Mercy rolled her eyes and nodded toward the offices. “Come on. I think you’re going to like what we came up with.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “See you around Suzie-Q.”
“I hope so.” Her smile was the most genuine thing he’d seen all day. His imagination did him the favor of showing him what she’d look like on her knees, mouth wrapped around his cock. Moans vibrating against the head. Susan sliding her fingers between her legs to press through spandex and make herself come.
That was distracting. He shook the thought away and followed Mercy.
Her office was as big as her entire rented space had been before the merger. She never seemed to mind the upgrade from faded carpet and metal cabinets to the leather and wood of this place.
“I know I don’t have to ask this, but humor me, because I’m going to anyway.” She settled into her chair, and he took the seat across from her.
“Anything for you.”
“Stay away from Susan?”
He hadn’t expected that. His shock slipped out before he could stop it. “She’s an adult. Isn’t that her call to make? She is an adult, isn’t she?”
“She’s twenty-one.”
“Legal and then some. Hell, she’s nearly a cougar. What makes you think I’m looking?”
“Please.” Mercy gave a short laugh. “I practically heard you get a hard-on, watching her.”
Sometimes being predictable sucked. “Guilty as charged. Does your fiancé know you’ve got an obsession with how my dick spends its time?”
“He watches me finger myself to the pictures every night.”
He was grateful she was making jokes. “I knew he had to have at least one redeemable trait for you to love him,” he said.
“I’m serious about Susan.”
“So am I.” He was tired of this conversation. It was a reasonable request, but he didn’t like that Mercy kept pushing it. “I’m not in the market to corrupt someone. If she’s not wicked on her own, let a different pervert pave the path. I suffered enough watching you and me break. But I’ll keep my distance. Cross my heart, hope to die.”
When she winced, he recognized his poor choice of words. It sank heavy in his chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I get that. The phrasing hit me hard is all. Old scars. Not as deep as yours, but there.”
He didn’t have a reply for that. He understood exactly what she meant and wasn’t interested in delving into that part of their past. “Now that the dirty work is out of the way”—he forced the cheer into his tone—“show me the goods, Miss Mercy.”