Unwrapped (Sugar & Spice #1)

4. Asher

Chapter 4

Asher

M y office is perched high above the city, a wall of windows offering a perfect view of Chicago’s skyline, glittering beneath the afternoon sun. I stare out, tapping a pen against the desk as I try to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me. But my mind keeps wandering to her. A notification buzzes on my phone, and I glance down to see a message from an unknown number.

Unknown

Hey, it’s Ivy. Tessa and I will be at the party. Thanks for the invite.

I lean back, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Ivy Calloway. I can’t say I expected to hear from her, but I’m not complaining. Seeing her at the office the other day was like flipping through an old yearbook and finding the one photo you always lingered on—nostalgic, but somehow still a stranger. She’s different now, and yet I could still see that shy girl trying so hard to take over her confidence.

I type out a quick reply.

Asher

Glad to hear it. Looking forward to catching up. Is it just you and Tessa?

It’s a simple enough question, but I can’t help the curiosity. I know Ivy was always the quieter one between the two of them, always hanging back while Tessa lit up every room she walked into. Back then, it was easy to overlook her. Now, it’s impossible. But that’s not where my curiosity lies. I fully expected her to come along; I just wasn’t sure if I should expect a date on her arm.

There’s a pause before her reply comes in, and I find myself staring at the phone like some teenager waiting for a message. I let out a small laugh at myself—a man on the verge of thirty shouldn’t be acting like this. But the truth is, Ivy’s different. Always has been, I was just too stupid to notice.

Ivy

Yep, just the two of us. Tessa’s already planning our outfits, so there’s no backing out now.

I grin, imagining Ivy reluctantly getting dragged into whatever plan Tessa has cooked up. I send another text.

Asher

Good. I wouldn’t want you to back out. Besides, I’m sure you’ll look amazing.

I don’t know what I’m expecting—a playful response, maybe even a little banter—but there’s a thrill in waiting for her reply. It’s a little reminder that, no matter how much I’ve achieved or how successful I’ve become, there are still things that make my pulse race in ways no amount of money ever could.

Her reply pops up after a moment:

Ivy

Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not really up on party attire but Tessa has promised to make me presentable. I promise, I’ll be in something other than black jeans and a black sweater.

I chuckle, picturing Ivy in her usual low-key outfits she wore in high school, something about her that hasn’t seemed to change. She was never one for the spotlight, which makes me wonder how she handles working alongside Tessa, who always thrived on it, like me. Then again, maybe that’s why their dynamic worked so well.

Instantly, I’m left wondering how she’d do in my life. The spotlight of business, social media, politics, and everything else always on me. I knew going into this business that was a small price to pay for everything that comes with success. But I’ve also realized along the way, through my own heartache, that some people want nothing to do with a life like mine and no amount of love can overcome it.

I push the thoughts aside, sending a response back.

Asher

As my guest of honor, I can’t wait to see what Tessa comes up with. But if you ask me, you’d stand out in anything.

I contemplate sending something else, something not so subtle about just how fucking sexy I actually find her, but decide against it. I’m trying to be a different man, trying not to lead with the one thing I’m confident I don’t have to try with—sex.

I toss my phone onto the desk, forcing myself to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me. It’s the quarterly earnings report from Michelle I’d requested during our meeting. The numbers are strong, the growth projections even stronger. Mercer Enterprises is set to have another record-breaking year, and as the face of the company, I have plenty of interviews, press conferences, and investor meetings lined up to keep it that way.

All the things Zane hates doing. I can’t help but compare me and him to Ivy and Tessa. I smile, thinking about how similar Tessa and I were in high school—outgoing, loud, the center of attention. And then there was Zane, lurking in the shadows, keeping to his angry self.

Shit, maybe I should try and hook those two up.

There’s a knock at my door. Keri steps in, a tablet in hand and a serious look on her face.

“Mr. Mercer, Forbes wants to confirm your availability for an interview next week. They’re doing a spotlight feature on young CEOs and their impact on local communities.”

I nod. “Set it up. Make sure we highlight the new program we’re launching with the local schools—internships and mentorship opportunities.”

She types a note on her tablet. “Got it. Also, the Wall Street Journal is requesting a statement on the recent acquisition. They want to know how you plan to integrate the new tech into our existing platforms.”

I rub the back of my neck, glancing at the email notification on my laptop. There’s always something, always someone looking for a quote or a soundbite. “Draft a response for me to review, but keep it focused on growth potential and synergy. Investors need to see that this move is going to pay off long-term.”

Keri nods and exits, leaving me alone with the steady hum of business as usual. I know the drill by now. Ever since Zane and I turned Mercer Enterprises from our parents’ struggling manufacturing business into a tech and media empire, the spotlight’s been relentless. We’re the golden boys of Chicago’s business scene—the Mercer brothers, a brand in and of itself. I can’t count how many times I’ve been on the cover of Crain’s Chicago Business or how often my name pops up in the local news.

From Small-Town Quarterback to Tech Titan, one headline read last month. And another read, Asher Mercer’s Rise to the Top—Chicago’s Favorite CEO Speaks Success and Strategy. I should be used to it by now. I know how to smile for the cameras, how to answer the reporters’ questions, how to play the part of the young, charismatic leader with a vision.

And yet lately, I’ve felt a little off. Like I’m watching my life from the outside, going through the motions but missing something real. Maybe it’s the endless events or the way the press expects me to always be “on.” Or maybe it’s because, when I look at all the articles and news clips, I see someone polished, someone the public expects me to be. And the truth is, I don’t know if that’s really me anymore.

Neither is my personal life that’s been splashed through the tabloids over the years as well—decisions I’m not so proud of.

I glance down at my phone again, Ivy’s message still open. I’m used to people seeing me as a CEO, as the guy who can turn a company around and land million-dollar deals. I’m used to it being business, not personal.

But with her, it felt different. In that meeting, when she talked about the bakery, there was a passion in her eyes, a realness I haven’t felt in a while. I remember when I had that same passion, before it only ever became about numbers. For the first time in months, it felt like I wasn’t just Asher Mercer, CEO. I was just Asher, sitting across from a woman who looked at me like I was still the same guy she remembered from high school. A guy she felt comfortable enough with to ask for advice but wasn’t there to pitch me something.

I lean back in my chair, staring out at the skyline. Ivy and I never really crossed paths back then—sure, I noticed her, but I was too wrapped up in football, parties, and my own ego to make a move. She was always there, though, on the edge of things. I wonder if she knows I remember her, that I noticed the way she’d sit alone with a book or how she’d quietly laugh at something Tessa said.

My phone buzzes again, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a news alert.

Mercer Enterprises CEO Asher Mercer Set to Expand Youth Mentorship Programs Across Chicago.

I shake my head, swiping the notification away. Sometimes it feels like all the headlines are just noise. I know the work we do is important—Zane and I built this company to be more than just another tech giant. We wanted to create something lasting, something that would give back. But the media frenzy that comes with it is exhausting.

I remember the simpler days when the biggest thing on my mind was getting through a football game or passing my next math test. Things were clearer then—straightforward. Now, everything’s wrapped up in appearances, numbers, and managing perceptions. There’s no room for mistakes.

Keri comes back in, her expression more urgent. “Asher, the Chicago Tribune wants a statement on your rumored involvement with the mayor’s initiative for tech hubs in low-income neighborhoods.”

I let out a slow breath. “Tell them we’re committed to supporting local communities and providing resources, but that we’re not ready to make any formal announcements.”

She nods, and as she leaves, I think about how this life—this whirlwind of meetings, press releases, and interviews—is exactly what I signed up for. I built this, and I take pride in it. But lately, I can’t help wondering what else is out there.

My phone buzzes again, and this time it’s Ivy.

Ivy

Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure about being the ‘guest of honor.’ Don’t want to steal your spotlight.

I grin, the tension in my chest easing a little. There it is again—that playful honesty.

I type back:

Asher

Trust me, Ivy, I could use a break from the spotlight. It’s nice to have someone around who’s not just trying to get a headline with me.

Ivy

Shoot. Guess I’ll have to pass now since my plan has been foiled.

I laugh out loud when I read her quick response.

She’s going to be fun.

As I set the phone down, I feel that familiar tug—like maybe there’s something more here than a chance reconnection. Maybe, for once, I can just be myself around someone who doesn’t see me as the rich CEO who has to perform—around someone who I want to be myself with.

Maybe I want that more than I realized.