Selling Seduction (Your Ad Here #1) (8 page)

She didn’t want to hear this. She’d walk away, wait in the living room until Ian was done, and then tell him they were each other’s competition. He gestured for her to come closer, and she shook her head.

“The snow is perfect for it.” Ian crossed the room in a few brief strides and grabbed Mercy’s wrist before she could leave. “Fresh powder falling right now. If you’re staying for the weekend, we’ll hit the slopes together.”

His grip was loose. She could wrench away. It might look a little melodramatic, but he’d understand once she explained her reasons.

“I’ll have Jake keep an eye on the storm warnings, but I expect travel restrictions to be lifted by this afternoon. I’m sorry you were delayed a day, but we’re ready for you whenever you arrive.” Ian pulled her closer, wrapped an arm around her waist, and dragged his nose up the side of her neck.

God. That felt so good. She leaned into him and the gesture. He was almost done, anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to hang out.

“Of course. We’ll see you tomorrow. Have a safe flight.”

Behind her, something made a
splunk
sound, like a phone hitting a leather seat. “You wear this better than I do.” Ian brushed her hair aside and kissed along her shoulder. “Though the office is closed for the day, and everyone’s working remotely, so you won’t be wearing it for long.”

She was about to spoil his mood. Probably forever. Not that it mattered; their fling already had an expiration date. It had moved up a few days, was all. She braced herself for what she had to say next, burned the sensation of his lips on her skin into her thoughts, and said, “We have to talk.”

We have to talk.
Ian usually didn’t mind that phrase. He’d delivered it himself, and he hadn’t been attached enough to anyone who said it to him. This time, it clenched like a fist around his lungs. He hated to admit it, but this whole thing—a fling; a series of one-night stands; whatever they decided to call it—was starting to mean more to him. Maybe it was a good thing she was doing this now, so they could put distance between them before she went back home.

“Are we breaking up?” He kept his tone light, despite the sludge creeping inside. “Because I think we’d have to be dating first.”
Fuck it.
The resolution bounced in his head. He wasn’t letting her do this. There was a connection between them, and he didn’t know how deep it ran, but he wasn’t willing to cut things off before he found out.

“We
would
have to be.” She stepped out of his grasp and turned to face him. “And no. This is business.”

He didn’t have a hard time reading her this morning, but wished he did. Her playful expression was gone, twisted and hidden under furrowed brows. She kept her gaze on his neck, rather than looking him in the eye. Something told him it wasn’t the longer-than-expected phone call causing this. It might not even be her looming departure. “Tell me.” He placed a finger under her chin and raised her head until he had her attention.

When she clenched her jaw and stepped out of reach, his muscles ratcheted a notch tighter.

She licked her lips, a motion that wasn’t as seductive when she wore this scowl. “That big account I told you I was trying to land? The one that—” She clamped her teeth together and hissed. “Anyway—the work I’m doing while I’m up here? It’s for KaleidoMation. Jonathan Woodhouse.”

His brain stalled, but his mouth moved without his permission. “No worries, then. You can come consult for us.” What the fuck was wrong with him?

“If you think you’re being funny—which I hope is the case—you’re not. If you’re serious, I’ll walk back to the hotel, to prove this conversation is over.” She crossed her arms and took another step back.

At least he knew how to piss Mercy off in under two-point-five seconds. “Bad joke. Tasteless and not funny in any universe.”

“But it meant you were thinking it.”

“Of course I was. You heard me mention it to Woodhouse. I was going to ask you before I had any inkling this was the account you wanted.”

Her shoulders relaxed, but the rest of her posture stayed the same. “It doesn’t matter. I thought you should know, and I probably should find a ride back to the hotel anyway. I’ll call their shuttle. The storm is easing up.”

“Stop.” He closed the distance between them, pulled her arms apart, and tangled his fingers in hers. “This doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Landing this account is huge for me. Career making. I told you that. You being my competition changes
everything.
” Still, she didn’t pull out of his grasp.

“Do you want me to walk away? Because it’s big for me too.”

She twisted her face into a mask of disbelief. “No. I’m not saying that. Not even implying it. Even if I thought you’d forgive me for making such a request, that’s not how I land clients. It doesn’t matter. We weren’t going to last past this week, anyway.”

“You really feel that way?”

“It’s what we promised.” She squeezed his fingers tighter.

He risked pulling her to him, and stopped with a few inches between them. “Things change. We’ve changed.”

“Not when something like this pops up, they don’t.”

“If you hadn’t overheard that call—better yet, if we weren’t competing for the same contract—and I asked you to give
us
a chance, would you consider it?”

She scrubbed her face with her free hand. “That’s not a fair question. It’s not reality.”

“Then answer hypothetically.” Instinct and experience told him to stop pushing the issue. A louder voice insisted he’d never forgive himself if he walked away. “And honestly.”

“I can’t lie to you, Ian.”

“All right. Let’s change the hypothesis. We both move forward like we planned to. We don’t talk business with each other—we weren’t sharing details anyway. We don’t pull our punches, but we don’t fight dirty.”

She raised her brows and pursed her lips. “And at the end of it all, there are no hard feelings or accusations?”

“Exactly.” He could tell she didn’t believe it was possible, and he didn’t blame her. There had to be a balance, though. “We celebrate the winner’s success and commiserate with second place.”

“And you even managed to avoid saying
loser
.” Some of the lines around her eyes faded, but didn’t vanish. “You really know this sell-to-people-using-psychology shit.”

The implication dug deep. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. And you still haven’t given me an answer, but”—he squeezed her hand and held up their intertwined fingers—“this makes me think you haven’t written the idea off yet.”

“Why are you trying so hard?” She looked frustrated but didn’t sound upset.

“Why aren’t you?”

“It’s been two nights. That doesn’t mean anything. Two months don’t mean anything. You can’t form a bond like that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But every relationship has to start somewhere. Either they end or keep going, but there’s no point in stopping one simply because it didn’t pop into existence six months into the experience.”

“That barely makes any sense.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.” She met his gaze. “We’ll keep business and pleasure separate, and I won’t write us off yet. But in a week, I’m still going back home. I’m not a hopeless romantic, and I’m not giving up my business for something sappy like romance. You won’t either, when it comes down to it.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and down to her mouth. She relaxed against him with a tiny sigh. Was she right? What would he choose if it came down to her or the family business? Not that the company was on the line. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel, so I know you’re safe. We’ll get our work done in separate buildings, and we’ll have dinner tonight.”

She rested her cheek against his chest. “You’ve got this all planned out, huh?”

“I’m playing it by ear.” And hoping it didn’t bite one or both of them in the ass. Or heart. He just had to be sympathetic when she lost the contract. No gloating. No pity offers of collaboration. Just sympathy.

She was good. His people were better.

* * * *

The honeymoon suite was astoundingly quiet when no one was around. Mercy settled into one of the overstuffed couches, adjusted her laptop on her legs, and poised her fingers over the keyboard. Like every time she’d repeated the gesture over the last couple of hours, she only got a few words in, before her thoughts drifted back to Ian. She was worse than fifteen-year-old her. Swooning over a guy. Letting him run rampant through her thoughts.

Agreeing to maybe-kind-of date, despite the fact they wouldn’t last and regardless of how she knew he’d react when he lost the contract.

It didn’t matter if he was Ian or the Dalai Lama; no one took that kind of defeat with grace. The stuff his firm turned out was decent, but she and her crew were flexible rather than unyielding, and that contract would be hers.

The latch on the door rattled, and Mercy muttered under her breath, “Do not disturb means do not disturb.” She pasted on a smile for housekeeping and wondered why they hadn’t knocked first.

Before she could ask, the door swung open, and Liz stepped into the room, shopping bags in hand. “Honey, I’m home.” Her grin was wide and as vibrant as the sun striking the fresh snow outside. She stepped aside and nodded to an empty spot on the floor. “You can put those there.” A porter moved around her, settled several shopping bags, and straightened. Liz slipped him a tip, then turned back to Mercy when he was gone. “Miss me?”

“Of course.” Mercy hoped her smile looked genuine. She was happy to see Liz and had been worried about her. Guilt seeped in that she was a little disappointed Liz hadn’t stayed in Salt Lake one more night. “Good trip?”

Liz’s sunshine face drooped for a second, before returning full force. “Fantastic. I got so much new stuff, and… You know what? You’re working. It’ll wait.”

“Okay.” Mercy didn’t want to argue. It was a fantastic offer. But the sharp contrast to the Liz who pouted because Mercy wouldn't go shopping with her was disconcerting. “I can take a break for a couple of minutes. I
am
here with you.” She hadn’t been getting much done anyway, but Liz didn’t need those details.

“Did you get a lot done yesterday?” Liz sat next to her on the couch but didn’t lean back and relax.

“Until the power went out.”

“That sucks. The hotel has backups, right? I can’t imagine they don’t.”

There was no reason for Mercy to stall. Even without the full story, her sleepover last night made sense. “I was at Ian’s still, and the roads got bad up here.”

“Oh, yeah. I get that.” Liz’s spine straightened further. If that was even possible. “Blankets and pillows by the fireplace, like when we were kids?”

Mercy tried to give her a reassuring grin, but whatever had Liz on edge mingled with Mercy’s looming anxiety and marched like ants under her skin. She wasn’t sure how much or what else to say.
We’re dating now. FYI.
That wasn’t true.
We’re fucking, with potential for more.
Because hints of that went over so well last time. “Pretty much.”

“Sounds like fun. I’m sorry I missed it. Really, you should get back to work.”

Mercy gave her another curious glance. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course.” Liz hopped to her feet and grabbed a few bags. “I’ll go in the bedroom. Watch a movie. I think I’ve had enough snow for now.”

Mercy’s tension wasn’t passing anytime soon. She set her laptop on the coffee table and closed the lid. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. A long couple of days. I need some rest.”

“No, really. Tell me.”

Liz flopped into an easy chair and dropped her face into her hands, muffling a sigh. “Do you like your job?” Her words ran together and sifted through her fingers.

Odd direction to take things. “Like, as a general rule? Since I made it for myself, I’m pretty fond of it, even when it’s stressful.”

“Was it hard to learn?” Liz’s question was quiet, and though she removed her hands, she kept her gaze focused on the carpet. “I mean, not that I think what you do would be easy or anything. I know it takes a lot of work, but… is it something someone else could learn?”

Mercy struggled to figure out the direction of the questions. She watched Liz study the room around them, as if the white furniture and soft frills held answers. “Probably. People do it all the time. Ian learned. The people who work for me did.”

“Do you think I could do it?” Liz looked up.

Mercy almost had an idea of where this was going now, but not why. “Be more specific? There are a lot of different things we do, but I’m sure you’d do great at whatever you picked.”

“He had two fiancées in other parts of the country.”

And the subject had changed again. Mercy tried to switch gears. “Ian?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. But I mean George. That’s what the lawyer told me on Tuesday, he’d uncovered it in his research. George preys on socialites with inheritances. Women who don’t have careers. I wasn’t even
the other woman.
I fit a fucking profile. A stereotype. Little rich girl who wanted to get married and have her man take care of her.”

Mercy couldn’t ignore Liz’s bitterness. “That’s not you.”

“It
is
me. The only job I’ve ever had was sorting papers for Dad. And that was so I could say on my college application that I’d worked.”

“But you’re more than that.”

“Am I?” Liz’s question hung heavy with despair.

“Of course you are.” Mercy didn’t have to search for a response; she knew it was true. “You went to school. You got your MBA. You graduated at the top of your class. That was all you.”

“To take my mind off losing my first husband. Once college was over, the moment another guy came along who smiled at me and knew the right words, I fell into a relationship again. I don’t know how to be me.”

Mercy’s heart snagged at the despair in Liz’s voice. “What do you want to be doing?” Mercy poured sympathy into her question. She knew what it was like to be lost. Just because she’d done it half a lifetime ago didn’t meant she’d forgotten.

“You could hire me.”

Mercy’s answer stuck in her throat. That came out of left field. “Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Getting coffee. Learning the ropes. My degree is in finance. I could do your books.”

That was tempting. Mercy hated doing books and couldn’t afford an accountant. But— “I don’t have an office or the budget for a new employee. I’m sorry, hon.” When Liz’s bottom lip stuck out, Mercy added, “I’m not brushing you off, but I’m barely making it.”