Selling Seduction (Your Ad Here #1) (5 page)

Mercy had faked her share of—well—everything in her life, but this was the worst imitation of working she’d ever done. She squirmed in the leather chair in the attorney’s waiting room, and tried to find a position that didn’t make her butt numb.

Liz disappeared into his office nearly two hours ago. Mercy had offered to make the drive down into Salt Lake with Liz, because what else was she going to do?

Besides work.

She squelched the bitter thought under a blanket of guilt. She wouldn’t get more done back at the hotel than here. Despite the random thoughts, she was worried about Liz. When she called Ian’s lawyer, they told her she needed to come in sooner rather than later.

It didn’t help Mercy’s mood any that Ian had texted her twice since they left the hotel, despite Liz’s promise to let him know as soon as she was done. His most recent retort was,
She didn’t call me back last time.

Had he been this persistent and overbearing, growing up? Mercy reached into the past, snagging memories of life before Ian graduated high school. Actually, before he hit his senior year, the three of them were all friends.

The two were her link to sanity when her mother died. Kept her going as her views shifted and her siblings pushed her away. She, Ian and Mercy would stay up late into the night, talking about anything and everything. She was grateful she still had that with Liz, on those rare occasions they both had time in their schedules for it.

The latch on the office door clicked, and Mercy jumped. Liz emerged with the attorney, shook his hand, and they both murmured in low voices.

She turned to Mercy. “I’m sorry that took so long.” Her tone was too loud in the somber room. “Are you all right? We should go. Are you hungry? I am. We shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.”

Mercy followed her to the car. “I could eat. Call your brother.”

“Was he a pest? I’m so sorry. I swear I don’t know what his problem is lately.” Liz kept up a steady stream of short-sentence chatter, as she unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Give me a sec.” She talked as she typed something on her phone. “There. He’s all set. The lawyer said there might be snow tomorrow. It doesn’t look like snow, though.” She pulled onto the road.

Mercy wanted to force her to take a breath, but every time she opened her mouth, Liz kept talking.

“I want to hit up The Gateway tomorrow. They said it’s going to take time to work things out with George’s wife, to get my things back. Which sucks, you know? Let’s come back down here and shop.”

Mercy realized Liz had paused and was glancing between her and the road. Apparently, that required an answer. “I have to work,” Mercy said. “It sounds like fun, but I’ve got a deadline.”

“I know you’re the boss and all, but you’re on vacation.”

“No, you’re on vacation.” Mercy struggled to keep the irritation from her voice. She
had
agreed to stay, but with a caveat. “I’m along for the ride, but I have things that require my attention.”

Liz frowned. “I’ll go by myself.”

Mercy nudged her arm. “I’m sorry. I’d really like to go. Will you be okay?”

“I’m fine.” The babble vanished in the clipped words.

“I know what happened hurts—”

“You
don’t
know.” Liz’s retort bit, jagged and uneven. “You have no idea. You should, by this point in your life. But you don’t.”

Mercy’s sympathy wavered, sliced by the sharp words, and she struggled for a neutral response.

Liz shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not my point. I don’t appreciate you patronizing me. You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“You don’t like it?” Mercy didn’t try and hold back her irritation. “You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’re going through—now, or the first time your life was cruelly challenged. I don’t have a fucking clue. I do know that, if you don’t like your life, you change it. Not everyone has that option. You do.”

“Change it, how?”

“I’m not you, am I? I don’t understand what you’re going through. You figure it out.”

Liz gripped the steering wheel tight and pursed her lips. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It is.” Mercy shouldn’t have snapped. Should have been more sympathetic. But she couldn’t find it in her to apologize. “Don’t worry about it.” She did soften her tone. “The answers are there, and you’ll find them. I’m not saying that to be patronizing. You can do this—whatever it is—if you want.”

“I guess.”

“I’m here to listen,” Mercy said. “To bounce ideas off. But the decision has to be yours.”

The remainder of the car ride passed in silence. Liz’s words still stung, eating away at Mercy. Maybe in the time they lived apart, though they kept in touch, they’d changed more than she thought. Would their friendship survive something like this? The severe thought caught her off guard. Of course it would.

When they got back to the hotel, Liz muttered she was going to hit the slopes, and Mercy took the excuse to grab her laptop and escape, under the premise of getting some work done. She wasn’t interested in sitting in the hotel lobby and having a blank wall as background decoration. Fifteen minutes later, she’d snagged a hotel shuttle to downtown. There was a cozy little café she saw yesterday, when she was here with Liz. She’d get a table there, with a window seat, and tap out some work-type stuff.

First she had a phone call to make, and she’d rather not irritate the other patrons with her chatter. She adjusted her laptop bag on her shoulder, fell into step with the foot traffic, and dialed Andrew.

“Hey, sexy lady.” His greeting was chipper and drew her smile out without effort. “You sending me any good pictures?”

“Not of me. I got some gorgeous shots of an orange cat, when I was in New Orleans. Couldn’t get her to sign a release, though.”

His exaggerated sigh rocked the line. “You’re being literal.”

“I am. Adorable tabby. You would have loved her.”

“You kill me, babe. What’s up?”

Talking to Andrew helped sap some of the tension that had built over the past few days. It was the biggest reason they traveled together for so long. The teasing was fun, and even when it hopped a line into flirting, they didn’t have any chemistry. They’d slept together a couple of times, years ago. Didn’t click. They were both fine with taking things back to platonic after that.

“I’m working on a new account, and I need to bounce some ideas off you. Do you have time?” she said.

“Always, for you. Do I get pictures after we’re done?

Her mood improved another notch. She’d have to find something while she was out, to bring Liz as a peace offering. “Of the orange tabby? As long as they’re for personal use only.”

“You’re too good to me.” He laughed. “Bounce away.”

*

Ian signed the credit-card receipt for lunch and handed it back to their waiter. Normally he didn’t mind an excuse to take a long lunch for business—chat with the clients, catch up, polish his observation skills.

Today’s company was one of the few exceptions. When he took over the agency after his parents died, he’d done a huge overall on staffing. Focused a lot of his hiring on psychology majors, instead of sales. Wanted to get into how their clients thought.

He hadn’t had the same flexibility with clients as he did with employees. Dean Rice, Mercy’s father, was one of his least favorite. Today, dislike was amplified by the fact Ian was already struggling to get Mercy out of his head, and seeing Dean kept her there for the wrong reasons.

Everyone exchanged random small talk, as the group headed toward the exit.

Dean stepped up next to Ian. “I heard about Elizabeth’s fiancé from friends. Or, I assume, her ex at this point. My condolences. I hope your sister is coping.”

Ian gave him a tight smile. “She’s doing fine, all things considered.”

“And how’s Melissa?”

Ian choked on the urge to grit his teeth. He kept his expression neutral and pleasant. “I’d rather not discuss personal matters at lunch. You understand.”

He knew from multiple sources that when Mercy left home at eighteen and changed her last name, her father disowned her. Dean never talked about her, except in vague terms, and rarely by name. He’d been disgusted when Mercy’s business started to grow, especially when he learned what she was advertising.

“I do.” Dean paused outside and turned to shake Ian’s hand. “As always, a pleasure meeting with…”

Ian mentally stalled, waiting for Dean to finish the thought. Instead, he heard a soft, “Dad?” behind him.

“Melissa.” Dean stepped around him, and Ian whirled to see Mercy standing a few feet away, laptop bag slung over her shoulder, and expression frozen.

His building irritation from lunch coiled and twisted in with frustration. This was the Mercy he knew as a teenager. Intimidated. Uncertain.

“I didn’t think you’d stick around once the wedding was over. Don’t you have someone waiting to buy you?” Dean didn’t approach her, and she didn’t look inclined to move, either.

“I’m not a whore.” She forced the words through clenched teeth.

“You talk like one.”

And it was time to shut this down. Ian walked past Dean. “She’s my two o’clock. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Dean.” He extended his hand in greeting, as he approached Mercy. He held Mercy’s gaze, never looking back and refusing to give Dean a chance to interrupt. “Thank you for making time for me, while you’re in town. I know your schedule is busy.”

He expected her to return the handshake, but her tight grip and the shock of heat that spilled through him at the contact caught him off-guard. She felt as if she was holding on for dear life.

A whisper in the back of his thoughts said he needed to let go soon, to keep this exchange looking natural. The blood pounding in his ears made it difficult to hear even that internal voice.

She stepped closer, rose on her toes, and dipped her head toward his. This was the part where he needed to break contact or he’d destroy the illusion of what was already a weak excuse. It didn’t matter. Dean Rice could fire him, for all he cared.

Her hot breath fell across his ear, drawing more of his senses to life. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

This was better than a stolen kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. Ian stepped back enough to look her in the eye. “Always.”

She hugged herself and moved out of the flow of traffic, to lean her back against the wall. “I should have realized he’d still be a client, but I never put a lot of thought into it.”

“You know how these things work. Old money pays into old money. Have to keep the legacy alive.” Ian took a spot next to her. Fading wood and chipped paint snagged at his suit coat, but it was replaceable. He watched people pass by, as he helped Mercy hold up the building.

“What happens when the legacy wants to be its own person?”

“Are you talking about me or you?” He glanced sideways at her.

A smile twitched on her face, almost breaking through her tension. “You tell me. Am I talking about you?”

Some days, he wondered. Scratch that—most days, he wondered. He took over the business, because it was what he was supposed to do. There were a lot of days he questioned his career choice, especially when he saw how people like Mercy did things. That wasn’t a discussion he was prepared to have, with her or anyone. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay now. Thanks for covering for me.” She jammed her hands in her pockets, shifting her weight until her arm rested against his. It was so comfortable and casual. Something he hadn’t done in years, but it felt right now. “I probably should have stood up for myself, but… You know,” She said.

“Twelve years, no contact. You’ve had a hell of a week, and it’s only Tuesday? Yeah, I know.” He nodded at her laptop. “Are you getting any work done?”

“I got some in. But it’s so gorgeous out here today, I thought I’d enjoy it.”

And it was. Perfect ski weather. Powder on the slopes less than a week old, and bright sunshine melting the snow from every other place. “You didn’t expect to collide with your past, though.” For the second time, he wondered if he was talking about her or himself.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, before pulling away, taking two steps forward, and spinning to face him. “I never do.”

Her haunted look had evaporated, replaced with bright eyes and cheeks pink from the cold. It wasn’t the seduction he saw the other night. This was brighter. More innocent. And just as enticing. He shook the thought aside, but that didn’t stop fire from racing through his veins with half-suppressed fantasies.

What were the odds they could hook up one more time, while she was in town? He wanted one more taste. Would she be interested?

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.