Hello friends, it's been a while...

Thank you for your patience, your continued interest, your continued support and everything in between. I hope this update finds you and yours in love, peace and happiness.

I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own The Billionaire's Embrace.

MERCEDES

I woke up alone the next morning and judging from the sun pouring through the windows, it was mid-morning... Time for me to get going. I had to work that afternoon.

Sam had promised me bagels though... Mmm...

I splashed my face with some cold water and made sure my hair wasn't doing anything too strange, and then I padded out of the bedroom, tying his robe around me.

I smelled coffee right away as I made my way down the hall towards the main room of the apartment.

Sam, I had learned, was a coffee snob. He ground his own coffee every morning and I don't think he would set foot in a Starbucks even if his life depended on it.

He was sitting at the table with his laptop open, but closed it and pushed it aside as soon as he saw me.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty," he said.

I smiled even as my face heated.

"Is it that late? I didn't mean to sleep in."

"It's only ten," he said, smiling at me. "I know you keep odd hours, so I didn't expect you to be up at the crack of dawn. Plus, I haven't been up very long, either."

I looked him over... Judging from the fact that he was fully dressed and already hard at work, I thought he had probably been up for at least a couple of hours.

But it was sweet that he was trying to set me at ease.

"Is there coffee?" I asked.

He nodded, got up and went into the kitchen and I trailed after him.

The tiles in the kitchen were cold beneath my bare feet...

I watched as Sam poured a cup of coffee, then handed it to me. And I leaned against the counter and sipped at it.

"What kind of bagel would you like?" he asked. "I have plain, onion and cinnamon raisin."

Did he really think I would eat an onion bagel in front of him and risk onion breath?

Hmm... Maybe that wasn't the sort of thing men worried about.

"Cinnamon raisin sounds good," I said.

At that, he opened a paper bag on the counter and pulled out a bagel.

"Butter? Cream cheese? Orange marmalade?"

"Mmm...cream cheese," I answered.

Sam sliced the bagel and dropped it into the toaster, then swiveled to face me, one hand on the counter on either side of my body.

"How's the coffee?" he asked.

I reached over his arm to set the mug on the counter... And then, feeling incredibly brave, wrapped my arms around his neck and gazed up into his eyes.

"Pretty good," I said.

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss me, slow and sweet... Not one of the heated kisses we had shared the night before...but a sleepy morning kiss, fond and familiar.

The kind of kiss I allowed myself for a single, idiotic second, to imagine sharing with him every morning for the rest of our lives.

I squashed that thought mercilessly, like a cockroach though. If I started down that road, I would never find my way back. Better to avoid temptation altogether.

Sam pulled back and kissed my cheek and my forehead.

"How did you sleep?"

"Pretty good," I said again. "I don't think I moved all night."

"You were talking in your sleep," he said.

I groaned and buried my face against his chest.

"I still do that?"

"Oh yes," he said. He stroked one hand up and down my back, slowly. "Something about muffins, I think. Then you started laughing."

"I hope I didn't wake you up," I said, mortified.

"It was adorable," he said, which didn't mean I hadn't woken him up. "You sounded very happy. I wanted to wake you up and ask you what kind of muffins you were dreaming about, but I thought it would be kinder to let you sleep."

"You should just wake me up if I do that," I said. "I mean, not that I'm assuming we'll do this again, or that, I mean...I obviously don't..."

"Are you still so nervous around me?" he asked, and tugged on my hair gently, tipping my head back. "Mercedes. What else do I have to do to prove that I want to spend time with you? Why is it so hard for you to believe that I find you beautiful and fascinating and easy to be around?"

Because nobody had ever thought those things about me before, but of course I couldn't say that to him...

I shook my head, at a loss for words, and then the toaster popped.

I could've kissed that toaster, because Sam was immediately distracted with fishing out the bagel, putting it on a plate and getting the cream cheese out of the refrigerator.

And just like that, I was off the hook.

I reclaimed my coffee mug and took a searing gulp, burning the roof of my mouth.

Bullet dodged...

We ate at the table...or, really, I ate, while Sam sat and watched me. Then he asked me what he thought he should buy his secretary for Christmas.

"What does she like?" I asked.

He looked stricken.

"I don't really know. That's the problem. She's a wonderful secretary and we have an excellent working relationship, very congenial, but we don't exactly talk to each other about our personal lives. She's married, and she has a son in high school, and there's a picture of a golden retriever on her desk. But beyond that, I don't have a clue."

I chewed my bagel thoughtfully...

"Hand lotion," I said. "Or fancy soap. Something expensive. All women like hand lotion. And even if she doesn't like it, she can just re-gift it."

"Expensive hand lotion," Sam said. "See, this is why I need you in my life. The other women I know have too much money and too little common sense. If I had asked my mother about this, she probably would've told me to buy my secretary a new Porsche."

"Maybe she would like a Porsche," I said.

He sighed...

"She told me not to buy her anything ostentatious. That's a direct quote."

"Your secretary sounds like someone I would get along with," I said.

"I'll have to introduce you, then," he said. "Maybe you can pass me some inside information that will help with future present-buying decisions."

I smiled at this handsome man, even as I ate the last bite of my bagel and dusted the crumbs off my hands.

"I should get going," I said, already regretting the thought of leaving him. I didn't want to go home, or go to work later. I wanted to spend all day lounging around his apartment, watching him work and maybe luring him back to bed later.

It was a nice fantasy, but not realistic. Keeping my job was more important than indulging my infatuation with Sam Evans.

He glanced at his watch.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose I should get to the office at some point." He leaned across the table and kissed me deeply. "I'll have Harry take you home. When can I see you again?"

I thought about it...

I was scheduled to work for the next three days, which made it impossible to do more than grab a quick lunch with him. And that was as unsatisfying as eating a single potato chip...

Because as soon as I got a taste, I wanted more and more.

"Maybe Thursday," I said. "I'm not working."

"Let's go to the art museum," he said. "Have you been?"

I shook my head. I didn't know which art museum he was referring to, but it didn't matter. In the six years I'd been in New York, I've never been to a single museum.

I was usually hustling so hard to pay my bills that I didn't have the time, energy, or spare cash to go look at expensive paintings.

"Let's go," Sam said again. "I enjoy seeing you in daylight. It's worth the trip. I'll take the afternoon off. It won't be as crowded then."

"That sounds really nice," I said. Maybe not the art so much, but being together with him in public, holding hands, maybe... That sounded nice.

"Good," he said and kissed me again. "You are a beautiful temptation. Go get dressed and I'll call Harry. If you don't get out of here soon, I won't be able to let you leave."

I knew he was right. And Thursday wasn't so long to wait, even though it seemed like a million years away.

I went back to the bedroom and dressed in the clothes I'd worn the night before. Then, Sam escorted me to the building's underground garage, and kissed me beside the car, both hands circling my waist.

"I'll see you on Thursday," he said, and opened the door.

It was too perfect to last. I knew it, but I was still going to enjoy every second it.

We met at the art museum on Thursday... Sam wanted to send his driver, but I insisted on taking the subway. Being driven around in a town car was surreal, and riding the subway was my way of maintaining some sort of control over my life.

He wanted to whisk me into his world of expensive conveniences and high-limit credit cards, but I wasn't ready yet.

I didn't know if I ever would be.

It was too much like a movie... Like I was watching my own life from the outside.

I walked the few blocks from the subway station to the museum, my hands shoved into the pockets of my coat.

It was a bitterly cold day, but clear and bright, and the wind kept blowing my hair into my face.

As I approached, I noted that the museum was a huge, imposing building, and as I waited to cross the street, I scanned the steps for Sam...

There weren't many people out, probably because of the temperature, but I found him easily, standing on the top step in his familiar overcoat, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

I realized I was smiling and ducked my head to hide my no doubt foolish grin. I was doing that a lot lately, smiling like an idiot every time I saw him or got a text message from him or even thought about him.

The traffic light changed and I crossed the street, then began climbing the steps. And I knew the exact moment Sam saw me, because a smile blossomed on his face, and he lifted one hand in greeting.

After that, I barely felt the steps under my feet as I climbed. It was like I was being tugged along by a rope and lifted up into the air.

My body wasn't doing any work though. Neither were my knees bending. I was gliding.

I mounted the final step, just as Sam reached for me and slid one arm around my waist, holding me close. Then he bent his head to kiss me.

"Your poor face," he said.

I lifted one hand to touch my cheek.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It looks flushed," he said. "You must be freezing. I shouldn't have let you taken the subway."

"I like being outside," I said, which was true. I liked walking and looking in shop windows and watching the people who passed me on the sidewalk.

"Well, let's go inside where it's warm," he said. "We'll get a map, and you can decide what you'd like to see."

We went into the atrium of the museum, which was enormous and crowded with people, even on a weekday afternoon.

I'd forgotten about the usual Christmastime swarms of tourists. However, Sam confidently sailed across the room and I actually held onto the back of his coat like a small child so that I wouldn't be left behind.

There was a long line to buy tickets, but he went right past it and up to the desk that said Museum Members.

He fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to the girl behind the counter, who took a glance at it and chirped,

"Welcome back, Mr. Evans!"

I could tell from the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled at him that she knew exactly who he was...

I glanced over at all the people waiting in the regular line. That's where I would've been, ordinarily.

Surprisingly, none of them looked upset or impatient; they were all just waiting for their turn.

But all doors opened for Sam...

"Are you ready?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I smiled at him and took the arm he offered to me, crooked at the elbow like he was an old-fashioned gentleman. He handed me a map and said, "First, I think, the Temple of Dendur. We can sit down there and plan where you'd like to go next."

Sam guided me through the crowded atrium towards a sign that said Egyptian Art...

"I hope you don't mind the crowds too much," he said. "Christmas in New York."

"No, it's fine," I said. "I'm not agoraphobic."

He laughed.

"I've never heard anyone use that word in casual conversation."

I ducked my head and looked down at my feet. I didn't want him to think I was showing off. Sometimes I spoke before I thought, was all. Most of the time, actually. I just open my mouth and words fall out.

I decided to change the subject...

"You must come here a lot, if you're a member."

"Evans Industries is a corporate sponsor," he said. "I come a few times a year for events. But it's been a long time since I came here just to look at the art."

Corporate sponsorship sounded fancy and expensive...

"So you really care about art, I guess?"

Sam shrugged.

"Supporting the museum is a worthy cause, and it makes the company look good. Plus, my mother has been on the board for years, so it makes her happy, which makes her less inclined to call me and complain about my other life decisions." He grinned. "Also, I really like the rooftop café."

We passed through a huge doorway into the Egyptian wing and turned right, and the noise from the atrium immediately dropped off.

Sam said,

"Let's go straight to the Temple and then we can look at these displays on our way out, if you'd like."

"Okay," I said, even though I would've liked to have stopped and looked at the huge sarcophagi he led me past.

I had read about ancient Egyptian burial practices, but I had never seen the grave goods in real life.

Things like the elaborately carved figurines and the coffins as big as bathtubs. I wanted to pause for a while and think about the people who had made these things, and why, and why they had stopped.

But Sam was on a mission, and he had said we could linger on the way back. I could wait.

He took my hand and guided me through the winding hallways and the series of nested rooms, and I let myself be led along.

It was nice in a way, to let him take over. I didn't have to make any decisions or try to figure out where I was going. I could just let him do all the work.

It was freeing.

At last, we came out into a huge room with windows all along one side, and Sam said,

"There it is!"

It didn't look so big as we walked towards it, skirting the reflecting pool; but then we climbed the steps onto the low dais where the temple sat, and I realized that only the cavernous size of the room made the temple look small.

"Wow!" I said.

"They shipped it over from Egypt in the '60s," Sam said. "The whole thing, block by block. It was going to be flooded when they finished constructing the Aswan Dam."

"Can we go inside?" I asked.

People were lined up to do that and I wanted to go into the inner sanctum and see the carvings on the walls I could barely glimpse from the outside.

"Of course," he said, and we got in line.

The line moved quickly. But it seemed as though people were being courteous, and not spending too long inside.

As we approached, I noticed the graffiti carved on the outer walls... A name, halfway eroded, and "1891 OF NY US."

I pointed it out to Sam and he grinned.

"There's actually quite a bit of graffiti," he said. "Testosterone makes a person do strange things."

We got inside finally, into the tiny innermost chamber of the temple and I looked straight up through the open ceiling at the hazy light filtered through the glass.

It was lovely and peaceful, even with all the people waiting to come inside.

I could've stayed there for hours, looking at the carvings and the tiny headless statue, trying to decide if it was meant to represent a man or a woman. But I didn't want to prevent other people from getting inside the temple.

And so, I said to Sam after just a few minutes,

"I guess I'm ready."

"Okay." He ran one hand through my hair and kissed me, and then said, "We can sit outside and look at the map."

We took a seat in front of the reflecting pool and spread out the map... The museum was huge and more overwhelming than I had realized.

There was no way we would be able to see everything in one day. And some of it I had little interest in, like "Arms and Armor" or "European Sculpture and Decorative Arts."

I wasn't even sure what "decorative arts" entailed. I liked old things and things that had meant something to people...that they had made not to put in a museum but to use in their lives, to celebrate or go to battle, or to put someone to rest.

"What do you think we should see?" I asked because I didn't even know where to begin.

"We can see anything you'd like, Mercedes," Sam said. "I took the afternoon off. And if you want to spend the next four hours sitting in front of Monet's water lilies, well, I might fall asleep, but I'll sit there with you."

I wasn't sure how to feel, or how I felt about a billionaire skipping work to spend the afternoon escorting me around an art museum.

Flattered...yes, and happy...yes, but also guilty. There were other things he could be doing that were far more important than keeping me entertained.

But I wouldn't say anything to remind him of all the work that was waiting for him. If he wanted to spend the day with me at the museum, I wasn't going to complain.

"I don't really know anything about art," I said. "What do you think is worth seeing?"

"Well," Sam started as he leaned over the map. "Everyone should see a Van Gogh in person at least once, I think. His use of impasto is incredible and it can't really be captured in pictures."

"Sure," I said. I didn't even know what impasto meant.

"The contemporary art collection here isn't worth the trouble," he said. "Which I understand; they've made a curatorial decision. But we'll be better off sticking to the classics."

"Okay," I said. I folded my map and stood, looking down at him. "Which way do we go from here?"

Sam led me back through the Egyptian wing and up an oddly-placed staircase.

However, I looked back over my shoulder regretfully, wishing I'd had time to look at more of the artifacts.

He had forgotten his promise, too excited by the prospect of Van Gogh to linger.

The Fancy European Paintings collection was packed with tourists, many of them speaking Chinese and taking pictures of the paintings with their oversized cameras.

Sam, on the other hand, moved through the gallery with complete assuredness, and I followed him, trying to look at paintings without falling too far behind.

He stopped in the doorway of a room and satisfactorily said,

"There."

I looked to where he was pointing and recognized a painting on the far wall... A spindly, dark green tree and blue swirls of sky.

The room was crowded, but we were able to move directly in front of said painting once an older couple stepped away.

I bent in close, amazed by the thick layers of paint rising from the canvas. It must have taken days to dry...

"I know it's a cliché," Sam said. "But I love Van Gogh. There's no one else like him. The color palette, the brush strokes, the deep communion with nature... I've seen this painting dozens of times, but I'm always struck by the fact that Van Gogh touched this canvas...that he stood in front of it, just the way we are and that we're connected to him because of it. It's almost like time travel."

His hands moved as he spoke. I gazed up at him seeing the excited light in his eyes, and felt a chasm opening between us.

He cared about this painting so much that he had imagined a personal connection with the artist, and to me, it was...simply a painting. A nice one, sure. Not hideous. Pleasant to look at. But I didn't have his vocabulary to discuss what I was seeing, or his deep understanding of art to place it in some historical context.

It was a painting.

That was all.

Suddenly, I imagined Sam's childhood...

Coming to these museums with his mother, learning from her about the famous painters and maybe, also the ones who weren't famous but should've been, the ones who were forgotten by history.

The only art I saw growing up, was my mother's faded portrait of Jesus on the cross, tacked to the wall above the kitchen sink.

I'd known from the very first time I met Sam, that we came from different worlds. And I have seen the evidence of it over and over again... The car, the penthouse, the phone call with the President, even the casual way he mentioned having dinner with famous people.

I had been telling myself it didn't matter, that people from different backgrounds could be friends, and even possibly fall in love...

But it did matter. I couldn't deny it anymore, not seeing the rapt look on his face as he gazed at the painting. In some ways, at least, we would never be able to understand each other.

"There are some very nice Renoirs here, too," Sam said, touching my cheek.

I forced a smile... He was trying to be kind.

"I can't wait," I said.

My voice sounded hollow, but he didn't seem to notice. But he took my hand and led me into another room.

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. We would look at a few more paintings and then I would tell Sam I needed a drink and we could go somewhere else. Somewhere with Renaissance tapestries or Greek sculptures... Something safe.

Although he probably knew all about those things, too...

'You just need to get over yourself,' I told myself sternly.

I also told myself...sternly...that Sam didn't expect me to know anything about art, and he wasn't judging me for it. It was something he enjoyed and he only wanted to share that enjoyment with me.

It didn't really make me feel any better, though.

So, things are still really hectic on my side of the world. Work is grueling, still seven days a week and really long hours. So much is happening that some days I don't know whether I'm coming or going (lol). I hope you guys and your families are doing well though.

Stay safe!