MERRY 2

Susan Whitaker

I heard a rumor you’re practicing celibacy lately. If you aren’t doing that, you must have plenty of free time. Let’s meet up.

When do you want to see me?

I replied only to Susan and ignored the rest of the messages. Then, I took a deep breath like a ritual before opening the grand finale of messages. It was the most recent one.

Stalker

Still in the meeting? I’m waiting. Behind your car. It’s no use trying to sneak away.

I expanded my chest and let out a breath, repeating mantras of stability to myself, but the effort was in vain. The moment those strings of characters hit my eyes, irritation exploded, making the back of my neck burn. I rubbed my heated skin and muttered.

“It’s because you act like this that my thoughts keep drifting toward you.”

My pleasant, promiscuous life is under threat. All because of that damn stalker, Ethan Reed.

∞ ∞ ∞

— Somerset. Where did you go off to already? I told you to wait.

“I think the fault lies with you, Able, for expecting me to wait patiently for an hour and a half.”

I had loitered in her office for about thirty minutes before leaving, so as far as I was concerned, I’d done my part. Unable to find a rebuttal, Able explained the reason she couldn’t help being late.

— Williams showed up without a word, so we had to have an emergency meeting. That man is truly a law unto himself.

It seemed she’d suffered through the whims of an investor who was practically a business partner. Recalling George Williams’ nasty impression—the kind of man who looked like he’d throw a fit over a single stray eyebrow hair—sympathy for Able surged automatically, though it was canceled out when I realized he probably felt the same way about her.

Knowing Able’s situation didn’t change anything. I covered my mouth, yawned, and asked.

“And?”

— I apologize for making you wait. But we have to finish talking about your schedule before you go.

“Discuss it with my manager. That’s why I hire a manager.”

— I’ll be honest. Your manager makes me uncomfortable. He reminds me of my manager back when I was active, and it’s awkward.

“You know you’ve been saying that for a year, right? I can’t play the Golden Gate Bridge every single time.”

Why would I hire a manager if I were going to handle everything myself?

— I’ll do that next time, so just this once…

“I’ll call you later. I’m busy right now.”

I ended the call and quickened my pace.

“I’m sorry. It was an urgent call.”

As I approached the group gathered in front of the display cases, they smiled, their wait finally over.

“It’s fine. We each had things to organize anyway.”

“Then shall we continue? Give it your best so we can finish before sunset, Quinn.”

I officially have two jobs: model and freelance exhibition designer. I have a knack for styling spaces according to a theme.

The primary goal of the exhibition scheduled to open in a building in midtown Manhattan was to display and unveil a certain wealthy man’s collection. They planned to sell items as well, but only the relatively lower-value pieces were categorized as merchandise. In other words, it was set to be a stage for a collector who couldn’t let go of his greed to kick his bragging into high gear.

I walked around the exhibition hall with a tablet tucked under my arm. The space, still unfinished, was cluttered, but the overall concept was more or less established.

While smoothly exchanging opinions regarding the lighting installation, Connelly, the gallery manager, brought some bad news.

“The client requested that we arrange this accessory to stand out.”

“Ah, that. To be honest…”

“It’s tacky, right? We’re all thinking the same thing, so you can speak freely. Honestly, what are we going to do with this?”

Becoming just as troubled as she was, I looked at the left wall with a headache. I’d intended to shove it over there to keep it as inconspicuous as possible, but that plan was shot.

The collection, already generally flamboyant, had such strong individual characteristics that the key was making them harmonize as one exhibition, yet I’d just been handed an unwelcome task. Barely suppressing a groan, I looked around, wondering where to place that nuisance, when my gaze suddenly drifted out the window.

I reunited with that bastard right out there. As the toxic memory surfaced, I bit my lip and narrowed my eyes. It was as if the playback button in my head was broken, pressing itself of its own accord.

Ethan Reed’s re-entry into my life happened about three weeks ago. At the time, I was in a good mood from landing the exhibition planning gig, and thanks to that, I was excited to maximize my surging energy with some hot sex.

As I was leaving the exhibition hall after wrapping up the contract in record time, a mysterious silhouette blocked my path. The back of the figure, which had appeared without a sound, possessed an excessively excellent aesthetic. Long, extended limbs; a straight posture. A suit jacket hugging a broad back.

I scanned him up and down and thought: This man would be a good partner for today. Let’s try talking to him first. If it doesn’t work, whatever. It’s a fated encounter, so I’ve got nothing to lose.

I soon realized my assumption was wrong. The moment the man turned around slowly to look at me—the moment my eyes met emerald orbs through the lenses of black horn-rimmed glasses—I thought I was seeing things.

‘…Ethan?’

I regretted calling his name immediately. It was a painful mistake that, in my state of shock, my brain had short-circuited and failed to ignore him. Ethan Reed is such a stunningly handsome man that if you let him catch your eye even for a second, you’re caught for good.

The man before me caused an earthquake in my memories. The ground I’d packed down for years shook and cracked wide open, and the tidy man I’d buried in a deep, dark spot brushed off the dust and came leaping out.

The colors that made up the man were clear and bright. It’s a cliché expression, but his skin was white to the point of appearing pale, and his light blond hair evoked the freshness of a flower blooming in summer. The emerald eyes, the finishing touch on his beautiful face, possessed a demonic quality that stimulated the imagination.

At a glance, he reminded one of a prince from a fairy tale or a fairy with shimmering wings, but if you locked eyes with him for long enough, you’d start to suspect he was the incarnation of a vampire who maintained his life and youth by sucking the blood of the humans he seduced.

The fact that he wasn’t a vampire was only proven several years later. Specifically, by Ethan Reed standing before me with a full, ripened maturity, like a piece of well-ripened fruit.

I wavered back and forth between the man in my memory and the man before my eyes. The former, somewhat boyish, had faded into the past tense, while the latter was real but didn’t quite feel tangible. If he had stayed exactly the same as before, I might have just passed him by, thinking he was a hallucination.

The changes weren’t dramatic, but they were distinct. While Ethan Reed’s beautiful eyes and hair hadn’t faded during the gap between us, retaining their unique colors perfectly, the energy held in his eyes and the length of his hair had changed.

Also, perhaps his eyesight had worsened in the meantime, as the black horn-rimmed glasses perched on the high bridge of his nose created an intellectual atmosphere. Even without a book tucked under his arm, he looked like he’d been quite the student. Furthermore, the suit that suited him so well brought to mind a respectable professional. It wouldn’t have felt out of place if he pulled a business card out of his suit jacket and handed it over right then and there.

Provided he and I were total strangers. Unfortunately, we were acquaintances; I knew him, and he knew me too.

‘It’s been a long time, Somerset.’

When his voice—slightly deeper and thicker than the one played back in my memory—flowed into my ears, I finally snapped out of it. I offered my respect to my own patience for not punching Ethan in the face while he stood there casually greeting me.

Yeah, it has been a long time. Since quite a lot of time had passed since you vanished without a trace. You have the nerve to disappear one day and then show up as if you just dropped from the sky and offer a greeting? Oh, for God’s sake! My teeth ground together in fury.

Despite throwing me into a horrific state of confusion, Ethan was shamelessly composed.

‘You haven’t had dinner yet, right?’

‘And if I haven’t, does that mean I’m supposed to eat with you? Why the hell would I do that with you? I’m busy. I have plans.’

I was so flabbergasted that my mouth, having escaped the management of my brain for a moment, spoke of its own accord. As I belatedly bit my lip and went into a defensive stance, the corners of Ethan’s mouth stretched into a long smile.

‘I know you don’t have plans.’

Stalker bastard. A suspicious guy who goes around digging into people’s business. I should have asked him how he knew that.