Faeling

Merritt walked out of Benedict’s without much more than he went in with. Janna had said that she wouldn’t interfere with his plans to win Oz, but she sure as hell wouldn’t help him either. She had made that much very clear. He was surprised then, when she had accepted his proposal as Oz’s manager to have an exhibition of the blonde’s artwork in Merritt and Theo’s Daedalus Gallery.

“I don’t know or care that it will help you win her, but I would be stupid to say no. It will support her art career and, frankly, she would know something was wrong if I refused you,” she had said.

She was right, but Merritt was still surprised. Even without using any skill, it was obvious that Janna was not happy about Merritt pursuing her friend. To be perfectly honest, Merritt wasn’t sure he blamed her. Ever since he had been a teenager, there was a steady stream of beautiful women waltzing in and out of his life. All of them had been more than willing to walk into his life, and most had been less than willing to leave. He remembered all too well a lovely girl he’d dated when he was nineteen getting his symbol tattooed on her lower back to prove to him that they were meant to be together. He had been on his way out of the relationship, but her desperate move to show him that she was part of his prophesy had been what made him finally show her the door. Merritt had heard from one of their mutual friends a few months later that she was getting the tattoo lasered off.

He wasn’t really sorry. He had always been honest with any woman he dated more than a few times. It would be a temporary relationship. They would have fun—enjoy each other’s company—but he would not fall in love with them. His prophesy came first, no matter what. He learned quickly enough that coming with a warning label didn’t mean that everyone followed the instructions. A lot of those women got burned. Merritt was charming and knew how to appear genuine even when he didn’t care a whit—it was a great business skill. Everyone likes to feel important, but it meant that Merritt left a definite trail of broken hearts in his wake.

With that in mind, Merritt realized that there was something he needed to attend to. Rhiannon. It was an unpleasant necessity. Rhiannon was a sweet enough girl, but she was getting too attached already and Merritt couldn’t be seen romancing two different women—not only was it improper and could hurt his business or political careers, but whatever he was, Merritt was not a cheater. If he told a woman that he was with her, he would be with her and only her until there was an understanding otherwise.

Walking down Longwood Avenue towards the parking garage where he’d left his Beemer, Merritt pulled out his Blackberry and began scrolling through the messages he’d gotten from Rhiannon the past two days. A lot of, ‘Hey are you busy?’s and ‘I miss you’s and ‘When can we meet up?’s. He hadn’t replied to any of them, but that wasn’t entirely abnormal for him—he couldn’t get into the whole texting thing. He wanted to hear a person’s voice when they were having a conversation—he knew enough that even without using his skill, vocal inflection could give him a lot to work with. Granted, Rhiannon’s texts were pretty straight-forward. No wondering necessary.

Merritt walked into the parking garage and took the slow elevator to the third level. Walking down the rows of cars, he steeled himself for a phone call he didn’t particularly want to make. He had to decide how to play this. He liked Rhiannon, and she was related to one of the Council members, so he couldn’t simply tell her that he was bored of her—that was rude, if true, and could easily hurt his chances of joining the Council someday. Merritt didn’t have a problem lying when it was necessary or beneficial to him, but in this situation he thought honesty might really be the best policy.

Finally, Merritt caught sight of his BMW. He walked to the car, running his hand gently along its sleek black side. He stopped in front of it and stared out the open side of the parking garage. It was a gorgeous day, and while cityscapes might not impress everyone, Merritt loved them—and this was his city. Begrudgingly, Merritt found Rhiannon’s number in this phone and hit send. The call rang and rang for so long that he was convinced he would have to leave Rhiannon a message, but she did pick up.

“Merritt!” She yelped gleefully into the phone. It was in such a high pitch that Merritt pulled the earpiece away with a grimace.

“Hi, Rhiannon.” He didn’t attempt to match her excitement. Why bother at this point?

She didn’t notice. “I was starting to wonder if you’d fallen down a well, Merritt. I haven’t seen you all week!”

“Are you busy tonight?” He asked blandly.

She positively squealed with excitement. “No, of course not! Dinner?”

“Sounds great.” Merritt was glad that Rhiannon wasn’t very perceptive—he wasn’t trying very hard, but if he had been he still doubted he could convincingly keep the boredom or distain out of his voice no matter how good he was at faking interest. Rhiannon was a sweet enough girl and made perfect polite arm-candy, but there wasn’t much below the surface. She had been exactly what he had needed—a beautiful girl to show off to his colleagues and nothing more. She knew how to act in public, pander to the powerful and keep up appearances. Rhiannon had never been in a situation where appearing intelligent or interesting was obligatory.

They said their goodbyes and hung up the phone. Merritt heaved a deep sigh and flung himself into the driver’s seat of his car. Just because he was particularly good at breaking hearts didn’t mean that he liked it. In fact, Merritt had wished on more than one occasion that break-ups were an unpleasant odd-job that one could hire someone else to do.

There was one good thing about this break-up, however. Once he was finished with Rhiannon he would be free to court Oz—to win her.

Win her and you win the world.