get moved in this week, I imagine.”
“You’re the boss.”
The boss. An intriguing notion. Boss to a small, inherited army of brutes for now. To a well-groomed team of assistants in a couple months’ time, all things going as planned.
They wandered back to the living room and Jenna stared down at the busy street from the front windows. There was an Asian grocery store and produce stand across the way, flanked by a dry cleaners and nail salon. Not the most elegant neighbors on that side of the block. But she’d wow her clients with a stylish foyer refurb, maybe find some cool framed prints of Chinatown and play up the neighborhood’s colorful history.
She turned to find Mercer’s attention not on the view, but her face. In the sunlight his hazel eyes were the warm, brownish green of a ripe pear. His gaze was direct and unflickering, intense as a floodlight. It seemed as though he were reading her thoughts. For a long moment, they just stared at one another. Too long a moment.
She swallowed, gaze flitting from his bare arm to the shape of his chest, the stubble peppering his jaw, the curve of his lower lip. He mirrored the scrutiny, and in place of the casual calm he’d shown before, there was something else. Something…mischievous.
“I’ve got an extra set of keys down in the office, if you want them today.” His voice sounded so close, and so cool and assured when that stare was anything but.
She nodded, banishing the hyperawareness fogging her head. “That’d be good.”
“You okay staying in your dad’s old room?”
“Yeah. I’ll bring my suitcases over in the morning. If I can arrange to have a mattress delivered by tomorrow night, that is.”
“Works for me. Any furniture you need help with?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll buy most of the stuff new.”
“Gotcha.”
She sighed, feeling too many things. Overwhelmed, elated, terrified. Attracted, most unnerving of all. “Thank you,” she said again. “I know it’s probably not easy being this courteous to me, considering my bias.”
“What choice have I got?”
“Because I’m your boss?”
“Nah. Because I loved your dad. And he loved you. So I have to at least pretend to respect your wishes, as much as they suck.”
She laughed. “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”
JENNA CAME BACK late the next morning, unlocking the door to her new apartment with the keys Mercer had given her.
“Hello?” She waited for a reply, but none came. Good. That gave her plenty of time to wander around in peace, before the awkward dance of cohabitating with the enemy began.
Okay, fine. Enemy was too dramatic a word. Mercer was nice enough, and he was too young to have been complicit in the gym’s infamous criminal activities. It weighed on her, holding his fate in her hands. The uncertainty of the unmade decision loomed like a dark cloud. A big, dark, muscular, Mercer Rowley-shaped cloud.
She dragged her suitcases through the door, struck once again by the size of the living room. Big enough to add a wet bar or breakfast nook, a cozy little home office…. Too much to wrap her head around this soon, and besides, the franchise had to take precedence. All in good time. All in small, manageable steps.
Step one, she unpacked a bag of her favorite coffee and figured out how to work the machine on the counter. While it brewed, she wandered from room to room, making a list of stuff she’d need to buy. Big list. Moderate budget.
She’d lived on the cruise ship for ten months a year for the past six years, her room and board included. During the downtime between seasons she’d stayed rent-free with her mom and stepdad, so she’d gotten used to being greeted by a robust number whenever she checked her bank balance. Goodbye to all that. Still, this was what she’d been saving for all that time, even if she hadn’t known it. A worthy investment—her new business, her first adult home. Something bigger than herself, a grand, exciting, romantic adventure. A calling. She could just sense it.
She covered the living room and dining area, thoroughly ogled her new pantry. Mercer had a single shelf stocked, mostly canned soups and vegetables, boxes of rice pilaf and similar bachelorish fare. Just add meat.
After nosing around the bathroom and her bedroom, Jenna came to the guest room. The door was closed and she knocked, just to be safe. No reply, she pushed it open, panning her gaze around her temporary roommate’s tidy territory. A nice double bed frame. She wondered if that was hers to keep when he moved out. She liked his view more than the one from her father’s window, and thought maybe she’d take this room when Mercer left.
As she went to inspect the open closet, she spotted something on the computer desk—a yellow folder with Business Notes scribbled on its tab. Frowning, she lifted the cover, promising herself she’d only peek at the top page.
Ten minutes later, she’d read half the contents.
It turned out Jenna wasn’t the only one who’d made plans. The folder held a stack of glossy brochures from elite training facilities, with various offerings circled and starred, plus page after typed page of Mercer’s ideas for improving the gym, even quotes from contractors. Most intriguing of all were two prospectuses from local colleges—one for a nutrition science associate program, another for sports medicine, along with their blank applications.
“Hey.”
Jenna gasped and spun around, finding Mercer leaning in the threshold, peeling a banana. She closed the folder and set it back in its place. “I’m sorry. I was snooping.”
He shrugged. “Technically, it’s your room.”
“Maybe, but that wasn’t appropriate. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I forgive you.” He said it in a lofty, joking tone of supreme and holy magnanimity, giving Jenna permission to relax.
She glanced back at the folder. “Looks like you have some big plans.”
“That I do. No clue where the funding might come from, but eventually I intend to haul this place out of the gutter and into the twenty-first century. Or I had. I guess that’s all in your hands, now.”
That stung. Jenna switched topics. “And you want to go to school to be a nutritionist?” She pictured his can-laden shelf, thinking he could use a few pointers.
“I don’t really know…just batting ideas around. But I’m thirty-four, which is ancient in this business. If I was good enough to be a serious pro, I’d have been told so fifteen years ago.”
She frowned sympathetically.
He swallowed a bite of banana. “Nah, don’t feel bad. Fighting was never about that for me. As long as I’m fit enough to keep sparring with the younger guys, and to throw my hat in for the odd amateur tournament, I’m happy.”
Certainly fit enough, some troublemaking bit of Jenna’s brain interjected.
“Tough
