Page 17 of Not In A Billion Years

“What questions?”

“Oh, you know, general stuff.”

“Like what?” Marissa presses.

I throw Marissa a grateful look for asking. I didn’t want to interrogate my dad and sound too eager, but I’m dying to know what Gabriel and Dad talked about.

“The usual. What Blake was like as a girl, how she started her business.”

“And what did you tell him?” I ask, not able to restrain myself. I need all the deets on that conversation.

“Only the truth. That you’re the most hard-working kid I know, and I’m very proud of you, baby.”

I groan inwardly. Maybe sending MGM to meet my father wasn’t my smartest moment. I showed him too much of who I am. To grant an enemy such an unfiltered view into my background was a mistake. But today’s was an impulse decision. My blood was boiling from his prime display of male arrogance, and when I see red, reason flies out the window.

A few customers get in line behind the cash register.

Dad knocks on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

Marissa turns to me with a foxy grin. “Tall, handsome who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively, hoping my cheeks aren’t flushed.

“Your face says otherwise.”

“I don’t even know him, really. Met him this morning, and I’d rather forget about him. The sooner the better.”

Marissa pinches her brows, staring at the ceiling as if hoping the answer will be magically spelled there. “Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel… do we know any Gabriels?”

“No, exactly my point.”

“Does the guy have a surname?”

“Sure he does.”

“Come on.” Marissa widens her arms. “You’re not going to make me beg for it.”

“Mercer,” I mutter with my mouth still full of pizza.

“Come again?”

I swallow. “Mercer. Gabriel Mercer, are you happy?”

“The Gabriel Mercer of Mercer Enterprises, son of Nolan Mercer of Mercer Industries?”

“Yep,” I say, staring at my plate.

Marissa taps her chin with two fingers. “His Insider profile last year showcased unruly black hair, dark eyes, a jawline to die for, and an impressive set of shoulders. Hmm… handsome indeed. Something I should know?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t buy that.”

After some more badgering, Marissa convinces me to give her the full story.

My friend smirks when I’m done. “Is he as good looking in person as he looks on business magazine covers?”

“That’s irrelevant. I’m not interested. Not in someone like him, never again.”

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