CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I made the mistake Monday morning. Nothing dramatic. I did not lie. I did not disappear. I did not change the project or pretend Friday night had not happened. I sent Nadine a text that read, Hope your day goes well.
Then I spent ten hours making sure I did not send another.
By Tuesday afternoon, she called my office. Not my cell. My office. My assistant put her through with a tone that told me Nadine had been polite enough to frighten her.
“Mercer.”
“Mr. Mercer.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Nadine.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because apparently I need an appointment now.”
I closed the budget report on my screen. “You could’ve called my phone.”
“I did yesterday.”
I checked it even though I knew there was no missed call.
She continued, “You answered with a thumbs-up.”
“You sent the cabinet installation picture.”
“I also said I had a terrible meeting.”
The message came back to me.
Cabinets look beautiful. Board meeting was a mess. I need wine and maybe bail money.
I had responded to the picture. A thumbs-up. I had seen the second sentence and decided she might need space after the weekend with Asha, the family dinner, and the night at my house. I had called that decision respectful. It had also been convenient.
“What happened in the meeting?” I asked.
“No.”
The answer was flat. I waited.
“You damn sure don’t get to skip the part where you’ve been acting strange and jump to my meeting because that subject is easier,” she said.
“You’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
I almost smiled. It would have been a bad choice.
“I’ve been careful,” I said.
“I noticed. You were less careful before you got me naked.”
The office door was open. I stood and closed it.
Nadine heard the latch. “Did I embarrass you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you whispering?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Warren.”
“I shut the door because my employees do not need details.”
“Your daughter already found me in your sweatshirt.”
“That does not mean the estimator needs a report.”
A short silence followed.
Then she said, “Why are you pulling back?”
The direct question deserved a direct answer.
“I don’t want to become a mistake you make because I’m the first man after Terrence.”
She went quiet.
I continued before silence turned into self-protection. “Friday meant something to me. It also happened while you were dealing with your daughter, your ex-husband leaving, and the old house being packed. I thought giving you room was the responsible choice.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t give me room. You changed the temperature without telling me.”
I rubbed the edge of my desk.
She continued, “I woke up in your bed, answered my daughter, left after breakfast, and then you started texting me like a coworker whose mother died.”
“That was not my intention.”
“I don’t give a damn what you named it in your head. It felt like regret.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“Then you should’ve said that before I had to call your office.”
She was right again. I did not enjoy how often that happened.
“I don’t regret Friday,” I said. “I want you again. I’ve thought about it enough to make work difficult.”
Her breathing changed slightly.
I continued, “I was trying not to make sex the reason I stayed close.”
“And instead you made it the reason you stepped back.”
“Yes.”
“That is stupid.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“You agree too fast when you know you messed up,” she said.
“I don’t have a better defense.”
“Good.”
I heard movement on her end, then a door closing.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At work. In a conference room because I also don’t think my staff needs a report.”
“Fair.”
“The board meeting was terrible because a grant partner changed the matching requirement after we approved the program. I spent two hours being told the language was always there when it was not.”
“Do you have the original agreement?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are they arguing?”
“That they meant to include it.”
“That isn’t a contract term.”
“I am aware.”
“Send it to counsel.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
She was quiet.
“What?” I asked.
“That was all I wanted yesterday. Not for you to solve it. Just to be the person I tell.”
The sentence landed deeper than her anger. I had spent years learning to show up when something broke. I was still learning that presence mattered before repair.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Better.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I have dinner with Portia.”
“After?”
“She’ll keep me until midnight out of spite.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Come to the house at seven.”
“Personal or project?”
“Personal. But the counters are in, and you’re gonna look at them because I paid too much not to show off.”
“I’ve already seen them.”
“That is not the point.”
“No.”
“And Warren?”
“Yes?”
“Do not make decisions about what my choices mean without me.”
“I won’t.”
“Think before you promise.”
I did.
“I won’t do it again on purpose,” I said.
“That I believe.”
The call ended with no perfect resolution. She was still irritated. I was still ashamed of a habit I had disguised as care.
But the temperature was no longer a mystery.
An hour later, Milan walked into my office carrying a printed email.
“You and Nadine fighting?”
I looked up. “Why?”
“She called the main line.”
“My office has a main line for a reason.”
“She has your cell.”
“This is not your business.”
“That means yes.”
She put the email on my desk before I could answer.
The subject line read: FEATURE INQUIRY—THE GREENbrIAR DIVORCE HOUSE.
I read it once.
Then again, slower. A Philadelphia lifestyle magazine wanted to feature Nadine’s townhouse after completion.
Somebody from the publication had connected the viral divorce-party video to the permit photographs on Mercer Row’s public portfolio.
Their proposed angle was a newly single woman rebuilding her home and life with the contractor who became part of both.
They knew enough to be dangerous and not enough to be accurate.
“How did they find the relationship?” I asked.
Milan sat across from me. “The gallery opening. There are pictures of you dancing.”
“We danced once.”
“Pictures do not include duration.”
“Did our office respond?”
“No. I froze it.”
“Good.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Forward it to Nadine.”
Milan watched me. “That’s all?”
“It’s her house and her story.”
“The magazine named Mercer Row too.”
“Then our answer depends on hers.”
“Good.”
I looked at her. “You expected something else?”
“I expected you to decline it because you hate publicity and tell yourself you were protecting her.”
“That is specific.”
“You raised me.”
I forwarded the email with one line:
They contacted Mercer Row. We have not responded. Your decision first.
Nadine called within five minutes.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Wait.”
I stayed quiet.
She sighed. “I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Let me hear myself.”
“I can argue if you prefer.”
“No. I don’t want the divorce angle. I don’t want my bedroom photographed. I don’t want them turning Warren Mercer, ethical contractor, into some fantasy where a woman renovates a kitchen and gets a man included.”
“I agree.”
“But the house is beautiful, and the design deserves attention. Milan deserves attention. Cedric and the crew did good work.”
“Yes.”
“My foundation also funds neighborhood preservation. A thoughtful piece on restoring older Black-owned properties could help.”
“It could.”
“Stop giving me room.”
“I thought that was the request.”
“Not right now.”
I smiled where she could not see it. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to answer with conditions. No divorce-party headline. No relationship angle. No identifiable exterior address. The story focuses on design, preservation, and me choosing the house. They can mention I’m divorced once if they must. They cannot call the house a breakup makeover.”
“Strong conditions.”
“They’ll probably say no.”
“Then they don’t get the story.”
She paused. “You’re okay with losing the publicity?”
“Mercer Row doesn’t need your private life to sell kitchens.”
“That was the correct answer.”
“It was also true.”
“Have Milan draft the design language. I’ll handle my portion.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“And Warren?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for forwarding it instead of deciding.”
The gratitude made the earlier failure sharper.
“I’m learning,” I said.
“Slowly.”
“Still learning.”
The next evening, I arrived at the townhouse at seven with no food, flowers, or file folders.
Nadine opened the door wearing a long brown dress and no shoes.
The stone counters had been installed. Under the temporary lights, the green vein moved across the cream surface exactly as it had at the warehouse.
She stood beside the island with one hand resting on it.
“Tell me it’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You looked at the counters.”
“I was talking about both.”
“That was almost smooth.”
I stepped inside and closed the door. Nadine did not kiss me right away.
She folded her arms. “Are you still worried I’m using you to get over Terrence?”
“Yes.”
Her brows lifted.
“I’m also worried I work too much, that I will shut down when I should speak, and that you might decide my processes are less charming once the cabinets are done,” I said. “Worry is not a verdict.”
“That’s better.”
“I want to keep seeing you.”
“You said that.”
“I want to see only you.”
The room went quiet.
Nadine looked down at the counter, then back at me. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
“I’m asking whether you want either of us dating or sleeping with other people while we figure this out.”
“I don’t have a roster, Warren.”
“I did not assume you did.”
“Portia wants me to make one.”
“Portia is not part of this decision.”
“She believes she is part of every decision.”
“Is that a yes?”
She took her time. Good.
“I’m not seeing anybody else,” she said. “I don’t want to. You?”
“No.”
“Then yes. Exclusive.”
The word settled between us without a ring, a speech, or an announcement. I moved closer. Nadine placed one hand against my chest before I could kiss her.
“This does not mean you get to pull away every time something feels serious.”
“No.”
“And it does not mean I’m ready to merge calendars, meet every relative, or give you drawer space.”
“I have drawers.”
“In my house.”
“I designed most of them.”
“Exactly why I’m setting the boundary.”
I kissed her palm. Her expression softened.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Kiss me like you missed me, not like you’re proving the conflict is resolved.”
That instruction was clear. I followed it.