Faeling

Merritt was mortified. Merritt was furious. Merritt was... hurt. The mixture of embarrassment and confusion only made him angrier, so Merritt did what one was supposed to when they were pissed off—he got drunk.

Three gin and tonics in, he thought about calling Oz. He wanted to berate her, tell her what an idiot she was. Merritt was not only incredibly handsome and charming (and good in bed), he was also fabulously rich and successful. What the hell was she thinking, turning him down?! What was wrong with her?

Instead, he called Janna. He threw back the last gulp of his fourth gin as the phone rang.

“Janna Mason speaking.”

“Janna,” Merritt said crisply, “I need to make a complaint.”

“Merritt? Are you drunk? It’s only three in the afternoon. What happened?”

Merritt laughed harshly, “Didn’t your little friend tell you?”

“Didn’t who tell me what, Merritt? What are you talking about?”

He paused. Thoughts of Oz and Janna laughing at him had been floating around his head, tormenting him. “Oz didn’t call you?”

Now it was Janna’s turn to pause. “Oz? Why would Oz need to call me? Tell me what happened, Merritt. Did you do something to her?”

“What? No, I didn’t do anything to her, but she should feel honored to kiss me,” Merritt rambled.

“Kiss you? What the hell, Merritt, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Merritt began to protest but was cut short by a definitive click.

“Fine, just hang up on me. I didn’t want to talk to you anyway,” he said to himself quietly as he poured himself another gin and tonic.

Thirteen minutes later, Janna Mason walked through Merritt’s door.

“The hell?” He asked eloquently.

“It was unlocked. I called Theo. He phoned the front desk to have me let up to the penthouse.” She stared at him critically, clearly displeased with his state. “You’re a fucking mess. Why are you getting drunk?”

He waved her off as he stood up and straightened his rumpled appearance. “I’m allowed to get drunk in my own home, Janna,” he hissed.

She sighed and took the glass from his raised hand. He made a face at her and swigged straight from the bottle as she poured his gin and tonic down the sink.

“Jesus, Merritt!” She wrestled the bottle from him and shoved him down on the couch before putting it back on the bar. “You just sit.” She came back and sat next to him, closer than usual. Looking uncomfortable, she even placed her hand on his arm. “Tell me what happened, Merritt,” she said, trying to sound kind and not quite pulling it off. “What happened with Oz?”

“I kissed her,” he replied nonchalantly.

One of Janna’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. “You... Kissed her.”

He nodded. “And then she left.”

“What?”

“She left. She yelled at me and then she left.”

“What?”

“Stop saying what!” Merritt growled at her.

Janna gave Merritt a smirk he returned with a glare. “Oz yelled at you?” She suppressed a laugh.

“What did she say?”

Merritt frowned at her, looking pensive and unhappy instead of just drunk. “She told me I only wanted her because she didn’t fall all over herself like other girls. She said I don’t actually like her.”

“Is she wrong?” Janna asked softly.

“Yes!” Merritt yelled. “No, I- of course she’s wrong.” His brows furrowed over baffled sea-green eyes.

“Okay. Well, if you’re okay, I should be going. I want to go see Oz and I have a meeting at five.”

“No, don’t tell her what I said. Don’t tell her I’m drunk.”

“It’s fine, Merritt. I just want to talk to her about Daedalus, I promise.”

-----

For the next week, Merritt refused to admit that any of it had happened. It was just the absolute worst dream he’d ever had—first he’d been turned down by a girl he wasn’t even interested in but needed to sleep with and then Janna Mason of all people had seen him drunk and miserable—and worse, she’d consoled him!

Merritt Peters didn’t need consoling. He was untouchable. He was steel and stone and bulletproof. A stupid dishwater blonde would never matter enough to even scratch his exterior.

During that week, Merritt was a storm. He thoroughly chewed Theo out for anything he could think of, but absolutely wouldn’t speak to him about Oz or Janna. His employees were in a panic, fleeing before his temper. Any little mistake was enough to turn Merritt into a seething, raging monster.

After ten days of no contact and purposeful amnesia, Merritt got a call from Janna.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Merritt. Janna Mason.” She sounded as calm and cold as always.

He fought the urge to sigh. “What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering when you might have a free hour or two to meet with me and Oz.”

He paused, struggling to keep from letting any emotion seep into his voice. “To do what, exactly?”

“Merritt,” Janna said in a quiet but harsh rebuke, “I don’t really know what happened between you and Oz, but you still have a business obligation to her. You know I’d rather she wasn’t part of your prophesy, but she is. Are you really going to drop her altogether? That’s unfair and it’s not good business.”

Merritt forcefully thought every swear word he knew at Janna before replying with a calm, “Fine. I have time tonight at seven-thirty,” and hanging up. He took a deep breath and called in Theo to ask him to move any important meetings. Merritt, of course, had a secretary for such things, but in his present temper, it pleased him to push as many menial tasks as possible on his friend. Theo never complained.

The rest of Merritt’s work day was strangely unproductive. He seemed to have something else on his mind—an experience he couldn’t quite explain to himself. Had he thought of it, he would have liked to blame it on worry over Rhiannon’s still-failing health, but he hadn’t spared a thought for her in days. Rhiannon was practically dead to Merritt, and he had other things on his mind. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, Merritt was forcing himself to make a few necessary calls regarding Oz’s exhibition at Daedalus. It was two weeks away and everything was falling into place. Theo had called their favorite caterers and Merritt had confirmed their presence at the event himself. Even Cid Rune’s promise of big names was holding water—Pelle Markus, Aleksander Nowak, Cynthia Gold, Lionel Fischer and Casper Grendel had all assured him that they would make an appearance.

Finally, he packed up his briefcase and made his way to Oz’s home. Despite only having been there once before, he remembered it well. At about seven-twenty, he pulled up. Janna was standing outside Oz’s front door, looking even less friendly than usual.

“She’s not home yet,” Janna ground out icily. Her tone was enough to bring a chill to the late-spring air.

“Did you tell her that she had a business meeting tonight?” Merritt asked ruthlessly.

Had it been anyone but Janna Mason, they would have blushed in embarrassment. Instead, she glared at him and whipped out her phone. As she viciously punched in the numbers she apparently knew by heart, they heard a yell from down the street.

“I’m sorry!” It was Oz, of course. “I’m so, so sorry!” She called out, panting. “Hello,” she said breathlessly as she scampered up the steps, keys in hand. “I apologise, I wasn’t meant to be kept this late. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

Merritt was about to give an aloof reply, but Janna cut in, “The Ingalls, again?” Oz nodded frantically as she let them in. “Oz, you can’t keep letting them take advantage of you!”

“No, it’s usually okay, but this meeting was scheduled last minute. They were supposed to be home at six-fifteen.”

“You need to start charging them overtime. What if Merritt was less understanding? You can’t miss business opportunities because your nanny job runs over!” Merritt had never seen this side to Janna. He’d seen her strict and chastising, but never in such a motherly way. Usually there was much more disgust and disapproval in her voice.

“Well, I can’t just leave Noah and Sam, can I?” Oz rushed around, trying her best to tidy up. Again they ended up in the kitchen, though this time it was already filled with a number of paintings. “Please sit,” Oz said. “Can I get either of you anything?” As they shook her off, Merritt unsure and Janna still looking irritated, Oz got herself a glass of water. She did not, however, sit down. Oz simply stood there, staring at her paintings.

Finally, Merritt cleared his throat. “May I ask what I’m doing here?” He asked professionally.

Oz jumped, startled out of her reverie. She blushed, gave a bashful smile and said, “Janna said that you should be involved as I try to make final decisions for the gallery.”

“It is your gallery,” Janna articulated pointedly.

“And these are the paintings you’ve chosen?” Merritt asked thoughtfully, looking carefully at the paintings—examining each line and dot of color. He stood up to get a closer look at one. He couldn’t tell immediately what the subject matter was. Suddenly, he felt a presence next to him.

“It’s the light in June at about two o’clock as it comes through my open door.” Merritt looked sharply at her, trying to decide if she was serious. She only gazed at her own painting critically. “Vaguely inspired by Georgia O’Keefe. This was one that I wasn’t entirely sure about. Portraits tend to do better because people can tell immediately what they are.” She turned and smiled at him. “But I suppose this is where your expertise comes in.”

For what must have been the millionth time, Merritt wished that he could see her insecurities. Staring into those muddy hazel eyes, he saw nothing. She didn’t give anything away, but neither did she act as if anything was different between them. Merritt had been mulling over the night he’d kissed her for more than a week, and it looked like Oz had managed to forget the incident. He was just another person who happened to occupy the same space she did, nothing more. She hadn’t had a second thought about the kiss that was plaguing him.

He turned to another painting, this one of a young man. “Who’s this?” He asked, ignoring her unspoken question about the previous work.

“That’s Eli,” she answered simply.

The man in the painting wasn’t smiling, but the lighting was beautiful and his eyes looked so alive. It was clearly done with a lot of feeling. “Your boyfriend?” Merritt asked frankly. He could feel Janna glaring daggers at him but ignored her. She couldn’t interfere with anything between Oz and himself.

Oz’s face fell slightly, almost imperceptibly. “No,” she said. “Just someone I knew. He let me use him as a model in college.”

Merritt watched her for a second before turning to the next piece. As they discussed the subject matter, lighting and color, he watched her face carefully. She seemed so impassioned, no matter what she was talking about, as long as it was art. Merritt suspected that he could ask her to count the number of bristles in her paintbrush and she would do so fervently. She told animated stories about nearly every painting, so obviously enthralled with it all—even still-lifes... But she didn’t care about him. More than the disappointment and frustration of not knowing why, that revelation made his chest tighten. He would have to work more quickly if he was to have Oz won over by the night of her exhibition.

By ten o’clock, the three of them had chosen an even dozen pieces. Oz was even pickier than Merritt when it came to what would be hanging on the gallery walls. For once, this was a good thing—it meant that as Merritt was saying goodnight, he and Oz agreed to meet again the next day to look over more of her work. This time, it would be without Janna.