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
“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
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