A Night Of Mercy Page 7

  Elena sighs and comes around the island, pulling me in for a hug. “Just be careful, okay? I’d hate to have to mess up that pretty little rich boy’s face.”

  * * * *

  After getting the kids on the bus and ensuring that Elena will be here in the afternoon when they get home, I get ready to head into Manhattan for my meeting with Parker’s sister. Just as I’m leaving the house, intending to take the train into the city, a black Lexus SUV pulls up on the curb. A man in a chauffeur’s hat and a navy suit gets out of the driver’s seat and comes around the car to meet me.

  “Mercy Chase?”

  I look up and down the street, as though he could possibly be talking to someone else, before answering him hesitantly. “Yes?”

  “Lonny Shore,” he says, sticking out a sun-weathered hand. “Mr. Callahan sent me to give you a lift.”

  “Oh.” I’m a little surprised, but touched nonetheless. “Um, nice to meet you.”

  With a small, polite smile, Lonny opens the backseat passenger door and allows me to slide in. I had wanted to use the opportunity to time my commute into Manhattan so I would know for when I started work, but I’m grateful for the ride nonetheless. Lonny doesn’t seem to talk much which gives me time to mentally prepare for the day.

  Thanks to a quick internet search I conducted on Jason’s computer last night, I’m more than a little intimidated by the idea of meeting Parker’s sister.

  After graduating as valedictorian from an elite all girls private high school, Lorelai Callahan went to Dartmouth University where she double majored in Women’s Studies and Fashion Merchandising. Several years later after earning an MBA from Harvard she went on to take over Bolton’s Department Store where she’s earned a reputation as one of America’s toughest corporate executives.

  I tried to ignore the links on Lorelai’s Wikipedia entry that connected to her brother’s page but in the end, I couldn’t resist. I hungrily devoured everything it said, learning that Parker was a tight-end for the University Of Miami football team and was named an All-American. He likely would have gone on to the NFL, if it weren’t for a bad hit that took out his knee during his senior season. Much to my frustration, the entry didn’t really say much else, other than that after college, he was named a Rhodes Scholar and studied economics at Oxford University. It also mentions that he was named CEO of The CG Group after his father, Silas Callahan, stepped down two years ago.

  It strikes me as a bit odd that Parker’s personal life seems to be exceedingly private, while Lorelai’s is practically an open book. At the thought of Lorelai, I glance self-consciously down at my outfit. A simple gray sheath dress with quarter-length sleeves. It’s one of the few nice things I have left and yet I’m afraid it would barely pass as a dish rag by Bolton’s standards.

  I clear my throat. “Have you worked for the Callahans long?”

  Lonny’s pale gray eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Long enough.”

  O-kay. Points for vagueness. “So… you’ve known Lorelai for a while then?”

  Understanding flashes across his face, morphing into something resembling sympathy. “You want my advice?”

  I nod. “Please.”

  “Try not to panic.” He turns his gaze back to the road. “She can smell fear.”

  * * * *

  I try very hard to take Lonny’s advice as I sit in one of the enormous private dressing rooms at Bolton’s wearing nothing but a white silk robe.

  The second I arrived I was divested of my dish rag gray dress, as well as my white cotton granny panties and dingy old bra. I’m not sure what to expect. I never did much shopping growing up. Since my weeks were spent at school where I wore a uniform, and my weekends were spent at dance competitions where I also wore a uniform, I never had much need for clothes. And then after the accident, I didn’t have the time or the means to obtain them.

  “Alright, bitch.”

  The voice comes out of nowhere and I jump up, spinning to face Lorelai Callahan in all her blonde-bombshell glory. Thankfully, she’s flashing me a great big smile and I relax marginally. Her dark blonde hair spills down around her shoulders in big chic curls that make her look like an old Hollywood movie star. Her satin blouse is baby-pink with a huge, ruffly tie at the neck, tucking into a high-waisted black pencil skirt.

  I’m so, so glad I ditched the dish rag.

  “Let’s get to work.” She winks at me and then the next thing I know, the dressing room is filled with rack after rack after rack of expensive designer clothes.

  “First things first,” she says as she walks along the racks, perusing with both hands on her hips. “Bikini briefs or thongs?”

  “Uh.” I stare at her like an idiot. “What?”

  “Panties, baby doll.” A woman approaches her with a shopping bag and Lorelai reaches in, pulling out one of each option and holding them up for my inspection. “What’s your preference?”

  I spin my wheels for a second, resisting the urge to say, ‘I don’t know, which are most like the kind my mom used to get by the 4-pack from Target?’

  The panty lady chimes in. “It’s always good to have some of both.”

  Lorelai nods. “Yes, you’re right. A mix is good.”

  Once that matter is settled upon, panty lady comes at me with a roll of measuring tape. “All right, sweetheart hold up those arms.”

  After my bra-size is determined, I’m given a precious moment of privacy to change into my new underwear before the real chaos begins. Lorelai and the panty lady return and everything becomes a whirlwind of stockings, pencil skirts, silk blouses and pointy toed high heels. Three hours later, I look in the mirror unable to recognize myself.

  My hair has been tied back into a sleek bun that makes me look at least two years older. I’m wearing a black sweater tucked into a black and white-checkered skirt with black stockings. I look… good? Like an actual grown up.

  Lorelai comes up behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes in the mirror.

  “Remember. Looking the part’s only half the battle, baby doll. The clothes only do so much. The rest…” She pokes me hard on the side of the head. “Comes from in here. Repeat after me, I am a strong, independent, beautiful and powerful woman, with an ass that won’t quit.”

  I snort out a laugh. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Um…” I look around self-consciously but the dressing room is empty, all except for Panty Lady who seems too caught up in folding all my new clothes to be paying any attention. “Can’t I just think it to myself?”

  “Nope. You gotta say it out loud.”

  Oh, God. “Um. Okay. I… uh.. I am…”

  She nods, encouragingly. “Go on.”

  I close my eyes against the self-embarrassment before I force the words out in a rush. “I am a strong, independent, beautiful, and powerful woman, with an ass that won’t quit.”

  “Again.”

  She makes me say it five more times and the crazy thing is, suddenly, it doesn’t sound so ridiculous. Even crazier, I actually start to believe it.

  * * * *

  After sending a small fortune’s worth of new clothes on its way to be delivered to my house, and after coming to the surprising realization that Lorelai Callahan might be my favorite person ever, Lonny and I are on our way to the Callahan Building downtown. I’m wearing my new black sweater and my black-checkered skirt and I feel more confident than I have in a year.

  Funny how the right kinds of clothes can make you feel. When I was sent to Parker’s penthouse, trussed up in that white dress and sky-high heels, I felt like a lamb being sold for slaughter. Now, riding to his office in my new outfit, I feel… capable. Strong.

  When we reach the building, deep in the Financial District, Lonny lets me out of the back seat with an almost approving half-smile. “Knock ‘em dead, kiddo.”

  Technically, this isn’t my first day at CG. I’m just supposed to be stopping by to fill out some paperwork and get my
ID badge. I’m not even sure if I’ll see Parker at all while I’m here.

  That question is answered almost immediately when I step through the revolving doors and into the glittering lobby. Parker is leaned up against the security desk, joking and laughing with some of the guards. It tugs at something in my heart to see it, knowing that most CEOs probably don’t spare security guards a second glance.

  As if sensing my presence, Parker turns to greet me with a knee-buckling smile stretching across his glowing face. The smile slowly fades away as he takes me in, his eyes running over me from head to toe. My steps falter as his gaze bores into me, looking almost angry. All my hard won confidence drains away in a second.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask, fidgeting with my skirt. Is it too short? Too long? “Lorelai said this would be good for today since it’s a Friday and I’ll only be here for a—”

  “Stop.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and I look up, finding his face much softer. “You’re perfect. I’m used to stuffed shirts and pocket protectors around the office and I just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t expecting you to look…”

  “What?” I ask, breathless.

  “So pretty,” he says gruffly, as though he can’t help himself. After a moment he coughs and shakes his head, leading me to the security desk. “Let’s get you set up.”

  I spend the next hour or so filling out paperwork and getting an ID Badge made with the security office. Parker never lets me out of his sight, not even stepping out of the room when he occasionally has to take a phone call.

  At about four o’clock we take the elevator to one of the top floors and he leads me into a room about twice the size of my bedroom. A glass-top desk sits in the center, outfitted with what looks like a top-of-the-line desktop computer and a white leather office chair.

  “Is this your office?” I ask, taking in the panoramic view of Lower Manhattan through the windows.

  “Well, sort of. This is my outer-office. People have to pass through here when they want to see me. My office is through there,” he says, pointing at a door across the room. “This is where you’ll be working?”

  I gape at him. “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me? Mercy Chase? From Long Island?” He can’t possibly be serious. This office looks like it belongs to the kind of person who ends up on the cover of Forbes.

  “Well you know, I’m not sure,” he teases. “It’s such a common name. Mix-ups are bound to happen.”

  I reach out a hand to swat at him and he catches it deftly. Our eyes meet as he almost absently strokes his thumb along my knuckles. A ray from the afternoon sun sweeps in through the window and catches in the different golden shades of his hair, of his eyes, of his skin.

  A phone ringing in the distance breaks the moment and we step apart.

  Clearing my throat, I gesture at the door. “So your office is through there?”

  “It is,” he says, his voice hoarse as he looks everywhere but at me.

  “Can I see it?”

  He nods before putting a hand at the small of my back and leading me through the door. His office is pretty much what you’d expect for a world dominating CEO. Two of the walls are taken completely up by windows. Another wall is covered in flat screen TVs, all playing newsreels from different channels.

  “This used to be your father’s office?” I ask, running a finger over the sleek black desk that seems to command the whole room.

  “Yes,” he smirks, watching me as he stands with his hands in his pockets. I’ve noticed that he does that a lot when we’re together. “It’s funny, but I still think of it has his. He worked in the room for as long as I can remember. I had it renovated and redesigned after I took over. But… I don’t know. It still doesn’t feel like mine.”

  My attention snags on a thick leather book sitting on one of the shelves behind his desk.

  “May I?” I ask as I take the book off the shelf, surprised by its heaviness.

  “Be my guest.”

  I perch myself on the edge of his desk and set the book on my crossed legs. Opening it, I find it’s a photo album. The first picture is a one of Parker in what appears to be a Butcher’s shop, flanked by what appear to be two butchers wearing aprons and red-faced smiles. The next is a similar one of him in the bullpen of a newspaper office.

  “Who are these people?” I look up to find him standing close, his eyes trained on me with shocking intensity.

  He shrugs. “Most of my time here is spent helping rich people get richer. But sometimes… I get to help out normal people. I like to remember that.”

  I nod as I flip through the book, taking time to look at every picture, all of these grateful people, beaming at Parker like he’s their saving grace.

  “You like saving people, don’t you?” I ask as I set the book aside.

  He steps a bit closer to me, a frown marring his handsome face. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “I know,” I say, but that’s only half-true. In the beginning, I know that’s all it was for him. He’s a good man who likes helping people. Now I think, I hope, it’s something more. The connection between us is so all-consuming to me, I can’t bear the idea of it being any less for him.

  His head tilts to one side. “What’s going on in that gorgeous mind of yours, Mercy Chase?”

  “I’m just wondering,” I say with a shrug, super casually as if his words didn’t just make my heart do a somersault in my chest. “If you’re so busy saving people all the time… who’s supposed to save you?”

  Those golden eyes go molten hot as he steps even closer. “Maybe I don’t need saving.”

  “Everybody needs saving sometimes.” I know that better than anyone.

  My breath catches as curls his fingers under my knee where it’s crossed over my other leg, adjusting me so that my legs are spread and he can stand between them. His hands are balled up into fists, pressed into the desk on either side of me.

  “Mercy,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath caressing my lips like a kiss.

  I inhale him, drinking in the smell of him, that intoxicating musk mixed with spearmint and the faintest hint of his early afternoon coffee. I can’t get enough of this. The feeling of his body so close to mine, so hard and strong.

  Remember this, I command my brain. Remember this forever. Remember this, even when you’re old and senile and have to wear one of those bracelets with all your medications listed on it.

  Parker’s forehead is nuzzling hard against mine, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “We can’t.”

  “I know,” I pant out through the stab in my chest. I do know that, I’ve known it since the moment he kissed me in the restaurant yesterday.

  He might be attracted to me, but that’s where it ends. I’m a high school dropout and former hooker from Long Island and he’s a billionaire CEO with a legacy to uphold. He deserves to be with someone who can be his partner, his equal in every way. I am neither of those things.

  I vow to make this easier on him. Though I suspect my feelings for him are growing deeper by the minute, I won’t let it show.

  Finally, he pulls away. My body feels bereft without his, so cold and too hot all at once. I keep my eyes averted away from the land below his belt, mindful of what I felt between my legs a few moments ago.

  “Come on,” he says after a few minutes, his hands once again buried in his pockets. “Let me show you the break room.

  CHAPTER 14

  Mercy

  It’s Monday, around nine-fifteen and I’ve decided that there should be an entirely new category of porn dedicated to men in suits. Specifically, Parker Callahan in suits.

  Around nine-thirty he takes his jacket off, revealing a set of suspenders and oh my God, it’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. His sleeves are rolled up and he’s the epitome of everything perfect and casual, leaning back in the chair across from me as I sit at my brand-new desk in my brand-new office.

  “You look awful good behind a de
sk, Mercy Chase,” he says with one of those slow-growing, heart-stopping smiles, running a hand down the length of his bright red tie. He looks like a ridiculously hot version of one of those 1980’s era Wall Street tycoons.

  “Yeah?” My answering smile is instant, as I run my hands up and down the arm rests of my chair. The words pop in my head out of nowhere— you wanna see me bent over one?

  My cheeks go hot as I look away from him, pretending to adjust the thick black headband that’s currently keeping my hair out of my face.

  If I have any hope of making this work, I’ve got to get a handle on my infatuation with this man. Somehow, I need to drill it into my skull that he doesn’t see me that way. The attraction he feels for me is just that, an attraction. Nothing more.

  If he notices my sudden discomfort, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he claps his hands once loudly before rubbing his palms together. “You ready to get to work?”

  God, I sure hope so. “Let’s do it!”

  I smooth out my navy pencil skirt as I stand before straightening and buttoning the matching navy blazer. From that point on, the morning descends into a blur of back to back meetings in which my main job is to take notes.

  I’ve always found Parker impressive but here, in his element, he’s practically a god. He commands every room he walks into and he makes it look as easy as breathing. I never thought I cared much for the “alpha-male” type in the past, but I realize now it’s because I’ve never truly met one.

  Most guys who claim to possess alpha personalities think they have to back it up with obnoxious displays of dominance. Parker, however, is the real deal. He doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone. That in itself makes him the guy everybody listens to. The man whose approval everyone wants.

  At noon, we share a lunch of deli-sandwiches and potato chips in his office. He sits in his desk chair, taking huge bites out of his caveman-sized Cuban sandwich, wiping sauce from his mouth with the back of his hand.