Page 79 of Almost Ravaged

Before I can stop it, a scoff escapes me. “I’m sorry,” I say, holding my phone aloft between us. “I wasn’t recording. Do you think you could say that again?”

His face lights up with amusement. It’s a look I honestly didn’t think he was capable of. “I’m serious,” he says. “You’ve completed a substantial amount of research in a short period, and many of these ideas are not half bad.”

I raise one eyebrow. “So by marketing math standards, a fourth of my ideas are doable?”

That smirk is back. “Not half bad and doable exist in two different realms, Ms. Davvies. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

I grin back, then quickly shake my head. Are we… bantering? Is this meeting actually going well?

“Talk me through the full report, from the top. This is good stuff, truly, but I don’t know that we can expect such advanced work from the class.”

I scoot forward in my seat, and we spend the next hour going through the report, page by page. I share my insights, and Mercer asks lots of questions, making notes in the margins of his copy.

My chest expands with each breath I take. He’s taking this seriously. He’s takingmeseriously.

By the time we’re done, we’ve narrowed our focus to a few key strategies and developed two additional assignments for the class.

“This is good work,” he says again. “But now it’s up to the class to discover this on their own. We may know the answers, but that doesn’t mean they’ll get there. Or come anywhere close to achieving any of your optimistic projections.”

My heart sinks. This plan will work. We at least have to try. “But the orchard needs this boost. Even if the class doesn’t catch on right away—”

He raises his hands, cutting me off. “The challenge of teaching a pragmatic field of study in a university setting lies in the intersection of knowledge and application. We are here toeducate, Ms. Davvies. Despite the professional satisfaction we’d get by executing this plan for Evercrisp Orchard, the true purpose here is to create experiential learning opportunities for our students.”

All the excitement I’ve allowed to build up over the last hour crumbles. What’s the point if we can’t actually help Noah?

“That isn’t to say this report can’t be shared with the orchard once the semester ends. You’re aware that Noah Henry and I are acquainted.”

If byacquaintedhe means they’re drinking buddies who are close enough to smack each other upside the head, then yes, I am aware.

“I’ve been bugging him for years to bring on a dedicated marketing employee. Perhaps there’s opportunity there.”

Hope sparks behind my ribs. Though I’m not sure I could handle my course load, the ice arena, and this assistantship—

“Always thinking, aren’t you, Ms. Davvies?”

I snap out of my mental spiral and find him watching me.

This look is unlike any he’s ever given me. For the last hour, he’s been almost lost in his own head. Considering. Deducing. Now, his eyes are hooded, though his gaze is sharp and intentional.

“I’m thoroughly impressed with how your mind works,” he murmurs. “You’ve far exceeded my expectations.”

My cheeks warm, and on instinct, I look away.

The air is suddenly heady, the energy in the office charged, making my nerves spark.

His words linger, weighted, as the moment stretches out. Tension mounts between us. I feel exposed. Like he’s really seeing me. It throws me off, just how deferential I feel in this man’s presence.

I want to look up, but my eyes stay fixed on his tan arms, on the dark hair that trails down to his wrists. On his long fingers and blunt, polished nails. I don’t mean to stare, but now that I’m looking, I can’t stop.

My throat goes dry, making it impossible to swallow.

The attention he’s giving me has a charge to it I’m only now identifying. Without a heaping dose of animosity hampering our interaction, I can recognize the tension between us for what it is.

Attraction.

I like the way he looks. I like the way he speaks. The way his mind works and the rapid-fire way he carries on a conversation. I like a lot of things about him, I realize, now that I’m not so focused on proving my worth.

Still avoiding direct eye contact—I’m certain my chest, neck, and cheeks are flaming crimson by now—I straighten in my seat. The subtle shiftdoes nothing to quell the crest of arousal I’m experiencing, unfortunately. If anything, I now have to focus on not squirming as I press my thighs together.