ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴄᴋᴇᴛᴇᴇʀ

Fifty | ᴅᴀᴘʜɴᴇ

William Mercer stood at Daphne's threshold, the sharp brim of his fedora pulled low over his eyes and his hands hidden in the pockets of his trousers.

“G'evening, Miss Lancaster,” he greeted her, his voice and expression somber. “May I come in?”

Daphne gawked at him. In her partially inebriated state, she had no presence of mind to censor her reactions. “You're asking?” she scoffed. “When and where did you acquire manners?”

He ignored her question, instead asking one of his own, “Is that a yes?”

Daphne's hand twitched with the desire to slam the door in his face, but that would only inspire him to force his way in. And to spend any more time conversing in the open doorway would draw unwanted attention. Her best option for swift resolution was to let him inside. She seethed at the realization.

“I have nothing more to share with you,” she informed him, her tone terse.

“I've got no more questions about Rose,” he replied with a shrug.

Her fingernails rapped against the wood, a nervous tic. At last she released a little huff and held the door open to let him pass. “Fine,” she said. “Come in. It's your flat, anyway. Right, Mr. Mercer?”

He walked past her over the threshold and removed the hat from his head, then proceeded into her small parlor and sat down on the sofa. Stretching his legs out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other, he studied her in silence as if waiting for her to join him.

Daphne rolled her eyes. Turning her back to him, she closed and locked the door. What in the name of all that was holy was William Mercer doing back here? Did his audacity know no bounds? Well, if he was going to impinge on her time again, he was going to get an earful.

Squaring her shoulders, Daphne spun back around and marched across the room to where he lounged on her sofa. Without the slightest care regarding whether or not he could tell she wasn't sober, she stood before him with her hands on her hips, hoping the stance gave her a look of authority.

“Since your last lovely visit, there have been three developments of some interest,” she stated. “One, Mr. Hughes made me a senior editor. Two, my landlord telephoned to say that my rent for the next two months has already been paid in full. And three, Rose will not return my calls or speak to me. I'm guessing all of the above are your doing?”

Mr. Mercer tilted his head off to one side and continued to study her. He was silent for so long that Daphne nearly began to fidget. What was he looking for? And did he have to be so bloody calm and enticing while he looked for it?

Finally, he said, “Don't s'pose I could get a drink? Before your interrogation really begins?”

Exasperated, Daphne threw up her hands. “A drink? Really?”

“A drink. Really.”

“Drinks are for guests,” she snapped. “Guests are invited. I didn't invite you. I don't want you here.”