Chapter 18 #2
I grip the door frame, and peer into my apartment to make sure it’s still there because I really am unsure of how ten minutes ago I was editing photos and now I’m standing between Ford and Harry, and I’m not even the focus.
They’ve got– “excuse me, why are you using your fake voice?” I keep my hand on the doorframe but I step toward Harry, prodding him with my aggressive body language as best as I can.
“I don’t have a fake voice,” he argues, but in true Harry fashion, he then ignores me completely, facing Ford instead. He grips the metal bannister, but still struggles to stay steady for a moment. “Mr. Mercer, why are you here?”
Ford looks at me, peers inside, then looks at Harry. “Why are you here?”
I step between them, giving up my grip on the doorframe, though part of me wonders if it was the only thing keeping me tethered to planet Earth. That’s how strange this night feels.
With one palm splayed toward each of them, I face Ford. “Harry came here to… get broken up with, I guess, because we just broke up.” I turn and look at Harry who acknowledges the break up with a shrug.
That’s my ex. What a fucking sweetheart.
Turning back to Ford, my heart pounding, I ask, “Why are you here?”
He licks his lips slowly, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a heartbeat, stealing air from my lungs. “The day you graduated college... when I took those pictures of you crossing the stage. Because you weren't sure your parents would make it in time. Remember that?”
Hope flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded, his nostrils flaring as he waits for my answer. Harry lingers like an awkward shadow, but I can't tear my eyes away from Ford. Not when he’s recalling memories that I’m sure I’ve replayed a thousand times or more.
“Yes,” I whisper, fighting to keep my voice steady even as everything inside me shatters. Or threatens to. “I remember.”
He nods, relief softening the hard lines of his face, his shoulders rising as if my assurance had handed him the courage he needs.
“I snapped a photo right as you turned to the audience,” he says, his voice low and rough, like gravel under bare feet.
“You had this little white flower tucked right here.” He lifts his hand, thick fingers brushing aside the strands of hair above my ear.
They linger, tangling gently, sending fire racing through my veins, pooling low and hot in my belly.
“You were breathtaking. You'd been grown for years, but in that moment.
.. that's when I saw you. Not the girl I'd watched grow up but a woman. Mysterious, full of secrets, a woman that I suddenly wanted to know. Was dying to know. I stared at that screen the whole damn ceremony, looking at you in that photo. I almost missed Kat on stage.”
My hand shoots out instinctively, gripping the banister beside Harry's for support. The metal is cold against my palm, grounding me as the world tilts with each word he speaks.
“Don't make things up,” I breathe, tears pricking hot at the corners of my eyes. Fear and hope twist together, choking me. I could be discovering the answer to my question - why? But am I ready to know the answer? I’m not sure.
Leaning my hip against the banister, I twist the ring on my thumb, a nervous tick, a habit of mine.
“I wouldn't lie to you, Juliette.” His words are slow and deliberate, wrapping my name like a caress. Heat floods me, scorching and overwhelming, even as goosebumps break out along my skin, and my nipples tighten against the cool air.
I am burning for Ford Mercer.
Every forbidden inch of him.
But he is Ford Mercer. The playboy of the city.
And that reminder changes everything.
“I realized over the years that when I spent time around you, I was so content. Happy but content, too in a way that’s hard to describe. And as time dragged on, I thought about you, more and more.” He pauses, turning to face Harry, like he’s only just realized he’s here. “Can you leave?”
Harry looks at me, and I bob my head because, “yeah, please, go. Will you? I’ve asked way too many times. You’re being unreasonable now, and I really want to call SFPD.”
He raises his palms in irritating innocence. “I’ll go.” He doesn’t want an arrest to his name because financial district dudes are snotty as shit. Including Harry. He’d probably judge himself, for Christ’s sake.
“Then do it,” Ford urges, stepping toward him, which pushes Harry to turn and scurry down the stairs like a squirrel on the run.
Ford returns to me, and as much as I want this to be a magical moment of coming together, I know that it’s not. Because there’s a knot in my chest that I can’t ignore.
“Juliette,” Ford murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the charged air between us. “I know this feels... insane. The way it's all crashing over us so suddenly. But there is an us. I know there is.”
His large palms settle on my biceps, warm and steady, stroking up and down my bare arms in slow, soothing sweeps that send flashes of needy heat dancing across my skin. God, his touch is everything I've craved. “And if I've got it all wrong, if I've been a complete idiot–”
I can't let him finish. I can't breathe until I close the distance.
My mouth slams against his in a kiss that ignites us both like wildfire, desperate and all-consuming.
Ford's arms band around my waist in an instant, lifting me clean off the ground as if I weigh nothing.
My toes curl in ecstasy, my body molding perfectly to the hard planes of his chest as our tongues tangle in a fiery, hungry dance.
He groans deep in his throat, a raw, masculine sound that shoots straight to my core.
I drink it in, devouring every moan, every ragged breath, kissing him like he can erase years of wanting with the heat of his lips alone.
Until her face flashes in my mind.
Elle.
Just the remembrance of her is a bucket of ice water, dousing the flames between us. It doesn't matter if they are together, if it’s serious or just a fling–I can't do this.
I pull back, stepping out of his arms, out of the danger that is Ford Mercer.
My feet hit the floor with a jolt that echoes the one in my chest. “I'm sorry,” I whisper, a memory of that night ripping through me.
He's done this to me once, kissed me senseless then walked away, leaving me while I was naked, leaving me broken and confused.
But now? Now he looks utterly exposed, fully clothed yet stripped nude by his confessions.
As vulnerable as I'd been that night, naked in more ways than one, he’s as bare as I was.
“You're not wrong,” I admit softly, my gaze dropping to my bare toes.
“Look at me,” he says, the words a gentle command, no bite, just that irresistible pull and his gentle control. I lift my eyes, and find his soul-deep gaze weary but unwavering, locked on mine like I am his only anchor.
“I've been half in love with you since I was fifteen,” I admit, remembering the first time I laid eyes on him. As a teen, I’d seen The Matrix, so I was well aware of Keanu-related flutters below the belt.
But Ford Mercer was something else. The first time I saw him, it rewired something fundamental in me.
Etched into my soul like my hatred of raw onions or the sheer impossibility of swallowing an oyster.
Add to that permanent list: the way my teen heart detonated at the sight of Mr. Mercer, tall and utterly aware of the desire he stirred up in everyone around him.
A slow, heart-stopping smile curves his lips. “I didn't know.”
And just like that, the air between us crackles again, thicker, brighter, impossible to ignore. But reality stands between us, an invisible vise grip.
I smile. “Ford, I saw you with Elle at Velvet. The way you two were.” I shrug. “Just… close. And if you’re about to tell me that it wasn’t romantic–”
“It wasn’t.” He reaches but I don’t let him touch me, for my sake, not his. “We’re not…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he doesn’t.
Tears already sting the backs of my eyes, and my nose burns.
“It doesn’t matter if you two aren’t more than friends.
” I take a steadying breath and bring my hands to my head, holding it for a moment, trying to get things right.
I can’t believe what I’m about to do. Finding the courage to look into his eyes once more, I tip my head up, the moon peeking through the fog in the background, setting the stage for something ominous.
“You’re a man who has loved the company of women, and they love your company in return.
” Somehow, I manage a small smile. “If it’s not Elle that I’m jealous over, it will be someone else.
A receptionist. A broker. The next millionaire to come to a Mercer mixer.
” I shake my head and don’t worry about the tears that break free.
“I don’t want to punish you for who you are.
Beloved, flirtatious, sweet–that’s you, and I love all of that about you.
But I’m realizing, I can’t compete, and I don’t want to feel like I am. Even if it’s only in my head.”
I’ve been spread bare in front of Ford, but what I’ve just admitted feels like I’ve bared so much more.
“I told Kat that I want to pursue you, that I have feelings for you,” he says, blindsiding me yet again. My stomach knots uncomfortably, and I push away from the railing, stepping back into the open door frame. I look at Ford, but there’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes.
“Why?”
He narrows his eyes like he’s confused, like it’s simple and I’m not seeing it. “Because I want to pursue you. I have feelings for you. I have for some time but only after the night on the balcony could I not ignore them.”
With my nipples peeking through my paint-stained Wicked t-shirt and my leggings coated in pilling, I reach up and cup his cheek, a tear sliding down mine. I’ve wanted him forever, and I’ve wanted a moment like this forever.
But I have to be strong for myself. That’s what women like me do: we save ourselves first, even when it feels like ripping out our own heart.
Wanting someone for years doesn’t automatically make it right.
It just makes the ache deeper, sharper, and more impossible to ignore when we realize the wrongs overpower the lust and desire.
I love Ford Mercer with the kind of love that has roots tangled around my ribs, and have ever since I was a girl. My love for Ford is terrifying. And that was exactly why I’d destroy us.
My jealousy would be a living thing, clawing at every glance he gave another woman, every memory of his past. I want an us more than air, but I won’t be foolish enough to believe I can change him. Or that he can change.
“I’m sorry, Ford,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I just… I can’t.”
I shut the door before he can say a word, before his pleading eyes and that broken rasp in his voice can unravel me. Because if I let him fight for me, if he touched me again, I’d cave. And I can’t cave.
Not after finally knowing the devastating perfection of his mouth on mine. Not after feeling him move inside me, filling every empty place, making me feel sated, safe and cherished in a way I’d never known was possible.
I can’t share him. I know he’s been with so many women, but when it comes down to it, I know myself. I couldn’t handle him being so close with Elle, and other women at Velvet. I want him too bad. I need him too much.
He is a man who’s spent years perfecting the art of not belonging to anyone and old habits die hard.
My fingers tremble as I twist the lock. I flip off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, and crawl into my bed alone.
The sheets are cold. The silence is louder than any storm.
And every beat of my heart whispers his name. But I did the right thing. Sometimes, the right thing just really fucking sucks.