Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I lift up my glass as well. “I have no doubt.”
Mercer sighs and leans back in his chair. But I can tell that he’s pleased with how this is going. Not anything like how he predicted. His mother is… lovely.
“At least you didn’t bring Michael with you this month.”
“Who’s Michael?”
“Oh.” Patricia frowns. “Right. Locke. You call him Locke.”
Mercer shoots me a look that says, Here we go.
But Patricia doesn’t push it. She moves the conversation forward, talks about the menu and what she has been up to the past month, and then Mercer orders dinner for all of us.
A five-course meal that begins with cucumber soup.
“What is this place?” I ask during a rare lull in the conversation between Patricia and Mercer. “A hotel?”
“Oh, darling,” Patricia says. “This is the Club.”
“The Club?”
“The Institute,” Mercer adds.
“Oh. I hadn’t realized that.”
“It’s a hotel as well,” Patricia says. “If one needs a room in Boston. Did you add her name to the logs, Silas?”
“Not yet, Mother.”
“Be sure and do that. She’s your partner now. She needs a soft place to land, should she ever require it.”
I’m not sure what adding my name to the logs implies, but it sounds like a big perk.
“I will,” Mercer says, then offers me a small smile. I truly think he’s happy with how this is going. His mother seems perfectly charming. And I think she likes me. She’s certainly not the Hollywood version of a mother-in-law.
Not that she’s my mother-in-law, and not that this is even that kind of date.
But the way Mercer talked her up—I was expecting someone much different.
And she doesn’t quiz me too much. She doesn’t ask me where I come from, so the whole trailer park thing is never mentioned. She does ask me about my education though. And she’s properly impressed with it, as one should be.
I worked hard to get here.
She asks about the project too. At first, I don’t know how to answer. It’s a secret. But I catch Mercer nodding his head at me—giving me permission—so I fill her in on my small part in things. She’s enthralled with all of it.
By the time the evening is over, Patricia Mercer feels like an old friend.
We air-kiss, and air-hug, and make promises to lunch the next time I’m in Boston.
Then she is delivered to a waiting car, and Mercer and I get in his waiting car, and he pulls away from the Club.
A few moments later he says, “Well? What did you think?”
I turn in my seat to face him. I have an overwhelming feeling of happiness. I think it comes from a sense of belonging. Which is misplaced, but there, nonetheless. “I love your mother.”
He guffaws.
“I swear. She’s delightful.”
He guffaws again. “Stop it.”
“She is! She didn’t ask me anything embarrassing. She was so sweet. And you can bet your ass that the next time I come to Boston, I’m lunching with her.”
His chuckle lingers and his smile is wide. “So. You’re satisfied with the woman who produced me? Is there a resemblance?”
“With your looks, most definitely. But Mercer, she’s a social butterfly. What happened to you?”
He guffaws again. “We blame it on my father.”
“Where’s he at?”
“Dead,” Mercer says, going a bit serious.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Been dead for a long time now. What’s it been? Seventeen years, I think.”
“Were you close?”
He side-eyes me. “If I take after him, do you think we were close?”
I do a one-shoulder shrug. “You’re not a complete disaster, ya know.”
“No?”
“Not at all. You didn’t have any problem getting close to me.”
There is a pause here. A lull in the mood and conversation. He looks at me, then looks away. “You feel like an old soul, Nova. Like perhaps we were soulmates once. In another life.”
I lean back and get comfortable in the buttery-soft leather seats. “Hmm.”
“What do you think of that?”
“I think… I think I could get used to you.”
“Do you? Why is that, do you think?”
“Well.” I let out a long breath. Suddenly realizing that I’m tired. “I kinda feel the same way about you. Like our partnership is something inevitable.”
“What about Locke?”
“What about him?”
“He’s not inevitable?”
Now it’s my turn to pause.
“Have to think about that, don’t you?”
“Kind of,” I admit. “I don’t know why I like him. Because, let’s be honest here, OK? He’s weird.”
Mercer chuckles. “Tell me all about this. Why do you think that?”
“Well.” I roll my eyes. “The whole…”
“Handjob thing?”
“Yes. That. But he’s…”
“Too much?”
“And that. Also…”
“You can’t stop thinking about him?”
“Yes,” I breathe this word out like it’s a relief. “He’s… captivating.”
“He is, isn’t he. I have the same problems with Locke. And what about Olsen?”
“What about him?”
“Is he captivating?”
“Mmm. No.”
“But you like him?”
I shrug. “I do. He feels… comfortable. But Olsen has a ‘friend’ vibe to him.”
“What if he’s with Locke?” Mercer looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Is that something you’re still interested in?”