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)
We leave the boat, get in a car, and Mercer takes a phone call from someone. His side of the conversation is generic. He gives no hints at who he’s talking to or what it’s about. And by the time that conversation is over, we’re at the airport.
It’s just a small airfield, actually. And there is just one jet waiting on the tarmac.
Mercer ends his call, then gets out of the car. The driver has opened my door, but Mercer is there to offer me his hand once again. He smiles at me as we walk to the jet stairs.
When we get there, he waves me forward. I stop at the top of the stairs to get my bearings. Mercer presses his chest up to my back and points over my shoulder. “We’re going to sit at the table, Nova.”
I walk to the table and take the first seat, which is facing the rear of the plane. Once again, Mercer sits across from me. A flight attendant appears, An older man. “Your usual, sir?”
Hmm. This is his private jet, I guess.
“Yes, thank you. We’ll both take my usual.”
The flight attendant bows a little, then leaves without another word.
“What’s the usual?” I ask.
“More champagne, of course.”
“We should’ve brought the bottle with us.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. I’m sure the boat staff are enjoying our bottle right now. And I do love popping corks.”
Wow. That sounded kinda dirty. Did he mean it that way?
“I love champagne. Do you love champagne, Nova?”
I shrug. “I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, I don’t think so. Olsen doesn’t like it.”
“How would you know that?” It’s only after I say this that I realize he might misconstrue my question.
“I know him pretty well. But aside from the champagne, I like to eat fruit on trips.”
“More strawberries.”
“Strawberries are for boats.” He says this like everyone knows that strawberries are for boats. “Peaches are for planes.”
And again, it comes out… I dunno. Erotic. Am I losing my mind? Or is he implying things with fruit?
“What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
He snickers. “Am I confusing you, Nova?”
“A little bit, Mercer. Yes.”
“Do you think I’m flirting?”
“Are you flirting?”
His smile drops and he’s suddenly serious. “Do you want me to be flirting?”
“I thought this was… a fake girlfriend kind of date?”
“And I told you it wasn’t.”
“Right. But you’re—”
“Being flirty?”
“Yeah.”
“So let me ask you again. Do you want me to be flirting?”
I don’t know what to say.
“I really need an answer to this, Nova.”
“I get that, but… I feel like this answer might change things.”
“Change things how?”
I sigh, frustrated. “Look, I get it. You people like your games.”
He laughs. “Locke and me?”
“Yeah. And maybe Olsen.”
“He’s not one of us.”
“So you keep saying. But you all… play the games the same way.”
He leans back. Crosses his ankle over his opposite knee. Gets comfortable. “I’m completely fucking with you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I like to do this. Especially with beautiful, intriguing people. I like to unsettle them. I like to challenge them and watch their reactions.”
“So I’m your… what? Lab rat?”
“Would you like to be my lab rat, Nova?”
“Not really.”
“Are you not having fun? Would you rather go home?”
“No.” It comes out too quick. “I mean, you’re not upsetting me or anything.”
“I’m just unsettling you. You’re working things out right now. You’re trying to decipher me, and my motives, and this trip. And I keep presenting you with options. Did you know that options are actually bad for people?”
“Is that so?”
“Freedom can be overrated. Not always. Of course, don’t we all want choices?”
“Yeah.”
“But when we have too many it’s overwhelming. So we compartmentalize, don’t we.”
I let out a laugh that turns into a long sigh. “So that’s what we’re getting at.”
“Are you familiar with dominant men? That was your answer, remember?”
I don’t have to answer. The flight attendant is back with our champagne and two small bowls of perfectly presented peach slices laid atop a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream. It’s maybe two spoonfuls, if that. But there is an equally tiny spoon sticking out of the ice cream. So maybe… ten of those spoonfuls. Which leads me to believe that this day is not about… what’s the word? It’s not about experiences, it’s about appearances.
He’s offered me one bite of a strawberry and the tiniest bowl of ice cream.
Then what he’s really offering finally hits me.
A taste.
That’s what this day is.
A taste… of Mercer.
He pops the cork on the champagne, pours us each a drink, then hands me a glass.
I take it and wait for his toast.
“To fresh starts and new beginnings.”
I tap his glass and laugh. “You toasted that last time.”
“I did. It’s what I crave more than anything, and it’s almost always appropriate, so I love toasting to fresh starts and new beginnings.”
“OK, then.”
We sip. Put our glasses down and Mercer smirks at me. “I’m still waiting.”
“For?”
“Your answer. Are you familiar with dominant men?”