She stashed thoughts of Ian behind happier things. When she touched down, she grabbed a shuttle to take her up the mountain, and texted Susan that she was on her way. Liz was staying down here, so Mercy would get an airport hotel room when lunch was over, and spend the rest of her time in town working and catching up with her best friend.
The ride into Park City was gorgeous, as Mercy expected. Snow glinted in the sunlight, and the mountains flowed into each other. Her attempts at being calm failed when she stepped out in front of the restaurant. Would they be waiting for her inside? God. Was she really doing this?
She passed through the front door and heard a squeal from the far end of the trendy bistro.
“Mercy.” Susan pushed back from the table where she sat with their dad, and half skipped to meet her. Her sister could have been her twin, except her hair barely reached her ears and had a bright blue streak running through it. Her fitted T-shirt read, Screw the Establishment.
The substituted cuss word tickled Mercy’s amusement. Leave it to this town to take a rebellious message and jerk the steam out of it. “Hey,” Mercy said.
Susan threw her arms around Mercy’s neck. Mercy was startled but returned the tight hug. Her family was never touchy-feely. This was new.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Susan grabbed her hand and tugged her toward their dad.
He stood as they approached, gave her a thin lipped smile, and took his seat again when they did.
That was the dad Mercy remembered.
“I’m glad you came.” His tone was stern and even. Like the last time she saw him.
Any peace she found on the ride up the mountains vanished, and her muscles clenched. “Of course.” What else was she supposed to say?
“I wanted to do this in person.” His voice shifted, and he studied his hands, clasped on the table. “I’m sorry for what I said the other day, and that it’s been so long since we’ve spoken. I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
Mercy’s brain ground to a halt, as she fumbled over the sincerity in his gaze. She had so many options right now—stand up and walk out; tell him it was too late; drag him over the coals until he groveled. Only one answer felt right, though. “Me too. To all of the above.”
“So, I… uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to figure out how to have you back in our lives. No stipulations. No expectations. I can’t say I understand why you did what you did, but if it’s made you happy…”
“It really has.”
He smiled. “I’d love to hear about it, if there’s a PG-rated version.”
The warmth Mercy felt the night before rushed back. “There is. I promise.”
It all felt right, except the one missing piece. That one chunk with Ian’s name and all the hurt he managed to inflict with a few words. If she stayed in the valley her odds of bumping into him were low. Damn it, how long would it take to get over him?
Chapter Twenty-One
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. “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.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The hostess showed them to a table near the window, with a less-than-stellar view of the brick wall next door. Ian wouldn’t have felt differently about the scenery if their seats overlooked a masterpiece of glory and nature. He was only looking one place.
Cheeks flushed from the cold, Mercy sat across from him, rubbing her fingers together and studying the drink menu with an intensity he wished was on him. When she’d turned away outside, Ian was worried she wouldn’t stop.
“Can I start you folks off with something to drink?” the waitress asked. According to her nametag, she was Greta.
“Water for me.” Ian wanted a clear head for this—or as clear as was possible, with Mercy around.
Mercy gave the girl a thin smile. “Greyhound for me.”
She was going straight for the hard liquor. That wasn’t good.
“Appetizer to go with that?” Greta tapped her pen on her pad. “I can’t serve you the drink unless you order food. And I need to see your ID.”
Mercy muttered something under her breath about stupid Utah drinking laws, and pulled out her driver’s license. “Chips and salsa, then.”
“Sure. Be right back.”
Mercy took her time putting her purse away, adjusting her phone in its pocket several times before letting the bag dangle from its strap on the back of her chair. She drummed her fingers on the table, shrugged out of her coat—that had to be a good sign, right?—and fiddled with the edge of the menu. She still wouldn’t look at him. “You wanted to talk?” Her tone wasn’t as icy as the air outside, but it was close.
There was so much to tell her. How amazing she looked. How much he missed her, though it had been less than two days since he saw her last. How intensely he wanted to give them a try. That all needed to wait. Apologizing was the priority, and he was prepared to grovel. Earning back the trust he destroyed with his careless words.
He sifted through his jumbled thoughts and tugged at one. “I’m not very good at this, and the thing about being around you is I say things without thinking…” Even before she scowled, he knew that wasn’t the right starting point.
“So this is my fault?” She pursed her lips.
“No. That’s not it.”
“The thing is you’re thinking it.” A current of exhaustion ran through her words. “That’s why you say it. What you’re not doing is filtering it. And I don’t want you to. I’d rather know up front you think poorly of my business prowess, than have you hide it.”
“I don’t think poorly of your work.” He’d dug himself an epic hole.
“Really? Your track record and actions imply otherwise.”
Time to stop hedging and start laying this all out. “I think the world of you, Mercy”—she raised her brows, and he continued before she could cut him off—“but I also think pretty highly of myself.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she was fighting a smile, and a small laugh slipped out.
“I love that sound,” he said.
“This ranks pretty low on the list, as far as apologies go. As in, I’m not hearing one in the middle of all of this. Now, it’s true you’re up against some winners, and the competition is tough. Andrew’
s a master of I’m sorry.”
Of course he was competing with the porn guy. He wasn’t jealous, but it did sting a little. “But you’re not with him, so he can’t be that good.”
“He’s not you.” She sighed. “And you being you doesn’t matter either, if the conversation keeps going in this direction.”
Now would be the wrong time to call her on how convoluted that was. “Does that mean I still have a chance to make things right?” he asked.
“I’m here.” She held up a finger, silencing him when he tried to speak. “But no more bullshit about how I make you say things you don’t want to. I want the unfiltered you.”
So much of what she said over the past week or so clicked into a complete image for Ian. Somewhere along the way, when Mercy was learning to be herself, he was forgetting and becoming what everyone else wanted instead. The revelation confirmed that his plan, the one big thing he wanted to do tonight besides apologize, was the right decision. He hoped she agreed. “Here’s the real, unfiltered truth. Though I’ve had a day to think about it, so it’s got some introspection behind it… and an intense desire for you.”
Greta returned with their drinks, but Mercy ignored hers. She nibbled on a chip instead.
“You ready to order?” Greta asked.
Ian looked at Mercy, who shook her head. He turned back to Greta. “Maybe some potato skins.”
Mercy ducked her head, but not before he saw her smile. “You remembered,” she said.
“You sound surprised. You never ordered anything else back then.”
Her smile grew. “Anyway, introspection helps us grow. It’s part of the learning process.”
“When did you figure all of this out?”
“You taught me.”
He didn’t remember doing that. “I’m a smart guy. I’m glad you listened.” He winked and put a laugh in his words. “I’m also sorry. So very, very sorry. It’s not that I think you don’t deserve the contract. You do. I know you earned it. I just couldn’t fathom that I’d done something to lose it, and I took that out on you…” He had more to say, but admitting guilt was hard enough. The next step terrified him.
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