Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Ok this was an extremely long delay and for that I apologize. Grad school is kicking my ass y'all, but this has been a great distraction. To make up for it I made this chapter super long (comparatively).

Thanks as always for the views, follows, favorites and reviews. Please let me know what you think about this one!

Enjoy :)

Sam was having a hell of a week. The endless meetings and conference calls that held his calendar hostage were almost enough to take his mind off of last month's trip to the bar. Almost.

As much as he tried to fight it, the fact that he didn't have a way of reaching the woman in the red dress was gnawing at him. He forced himself to play the waiting game and hope that their paths would cross again, but, although Sam was a man of many virtues, patience wasn't one of them.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair and sat back in his desk chair, spinning around to stare off into the city view in front him.

Get your shit together Evans, he mentally reprimanded himself. You don't even know her… which of course, a voice reminded him, is the issue. The internal argument he'd been having for weeks was cut short by the sound of his door opening followed by a loud knock.

He turned around and raised an eyebrow as his secretary approached his desk.

"Usually people knock first and then enter."

"Yeah, but that's for people who are requesting permission. I was putting you on notice. Kinda like a 'Stop beating off, I'm coming in' typpa thing."

Sam shook his head. "You know Zizes…"

Lauren Zizes smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes as she tilted her head. "Yes Mr. Evans…?"

"I should fire you."

"Psh, yeah okay," she shot back, unimpressed with his threats. She had been with the company when it opened and wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "We all know that I'm the reason this operation is still running. I bring in the clients with my sex appeal." As if to drive her point home, she slowly leaned across the desk to pass him some paperwork, displaying ample cleavage and giving him a wink.

"You're absolutely right," he chuckled as he scanned the documents, playing into their routine banter.

"And don't you ever forget it," she said turning to leave the room. "Go home, Mr. Evans. The work day is over."

Sam glanced down at his watch and saw that it was almost five o'clock.

"I will eventually," Sam called after her, continuing to look through the paperwork. He sighed and tossed the files on his desk, looking around his office.

At first glance it didn't make any sense. Standard rules suggest that three guys with a combined total of twelve semesters of college, one graduate degree, and a rap sheet longer than some artists' discographies should not have built one of the most successful security firms in the country, but, as always, Sam and his business partners were the exceptions.

Ohio State's housing office lumped him, Noah Puckerman and Mike Chang together their freshman year and it was hate at first sight. Forced into a room too small for one person much less three growing teens, they butted heads for a whole semester before dropping the act and accepting that each considered the other two family. After that they did virtually everything together until junior year when Sam and Puck both ended up leaving the university to travel different paths – Sam to his hometown of Nashville to help his family after his father's diagnosis and Puck to the Marines after one fight too many. Mike had stayed behind and went on to earn his MBA a year after graduating.

The men stayed in close contact over the years and it came as no surprise when Sam called them together for drinks one afternoon. It took some convincing and a lot of trial and error, but what started as a bar room discussion quickly grew into offices across the country and a client list composed of wealthy business executives, politicians and celebrities. The three had connections in virtually every industry and, as of tomorrow morning, would take their talents internationally with the opening of a branch in London.

Professionally things were lining up according to plans he didn't even know he had, but Sam's personal life left a lot to be desired. When his schedule allowed for it there had been a couple of dates here and there, but he had yet to find anyone worth the distraction.

After flipping through a few more files and finalizing his notes for his meeting the next day, Sam shut down his computer and prepared to leave for the night. Stomach grumbling with approval, his mind drifted to the empty fridge waiting at his apartment.

And yet another thing added to my to do list, he said to himself, closing the office door behind him.

As she inched her way through West End's unforgiving traffic, Mercedes impatiently tapped her hands against the steering wheel, exhaling with frustration as the traffic light changed from green to red. The cars ahead of her had barely moved. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, anxious to get her errands done so she could go home and relax after a hectic day. As she contemplated the best route to take to the grocery store, her phone rang and she answered without looking at the screen, her eyes fixed on the road.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Jones? This is Officer Abrams."

"Hi Officer," she said, her breath catching in her throat. Worst case scenarios raced through her head. "Has something happened?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to provide some updates on the case."

Mercedes listened as he explained that in her absence, the police had gathered enough evidence to link Jesse with Nick's murder. Grief, relief and confusion washed over her in waves, each beginning where the other ended. Yes, Nick had been a criminal, but he had also been a friend. That wasn't something she could easily forget.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

"Now we wait for a court date. I can't go into too many details, but Mr. St. James has agreed to cooperate. He'll be giving us information on Mr. Mitchell in exchange for a reduced sentence."

"Wait, so you mean that he gets to just walk away?" The knots that were forming in her stomach tightened.

"Not quite. The D.A. has to choose their battles with this one. St. James has the smoking gun we need to put this guy away and he knows it. He'll still serve time, but it will most certainly be reduced as a sign of good faith."

Mercedes swallowed and processed what he was saying.

"So what do I do?"

"Nothing. We've been keeping a close eye on these guys and there's nothing to suggest that you're of any interest to them anymore. Keep staying under the radar until the dust settles, but you should be fine." He paused and she heard him say something to someone on his end. "Ms. Jones I've gotta go attend to something," he said when he returned to the line, "but please don't hesitate to call if anything comes up. I'll do my best to keep you posted if there are any additional developments."

"Thank you," she said, saying her goodbyes and hanging up the phone.

Jesse was going to jail. Donovan, or Klauss Mitchell or whatever the hell he called himself, would be going as well. None of that brought Nick back or made up for what they did, but it was something.

Mercedes stared at the phone in her hands for a few moments longer and fought the urge to call or text Kurt and Santana. As much as she wanted to update them, she knew that bringing them any further into the situation was selfish. Her need to speak about what she'd learned wasn't worth their safety. Beeping horns broke into her contemplation and she looked up at the light to see that it was her turn to go. As she turned down the street and made her way to the store, she realized for the umpteenth time since emerging from the closet how alone in this situation she truly was.

Sam grabbed a cart from the front of the store and rolled up his sleeves as he made his way over to the produce section. The original plan had been to pop in for some steak and beer, but now that he was in the store he knew he'd be there for a while. He loved to cook and, although late nights in the office made them infrequent, each moment in front of the stove was treated like Thanksgiving.

He placed some vegetables in his cart and slowly wandered through the aisles, mentally preparing multiple meals and stopping along the way to get the necessary ingredients. When Sam reached the coffee aisle he stopped his cart and made his way over to the array of beans, reading each description in search of the perfect roast with which to start his mornings. With his back facing the aisle, he heard someone softly ask to get by and moved closer to the stands to give them more room, looking up as they turned the corner. When he saw caught the side profile of his fellow shopper, his heart stopped and a smile crossed his face. It was her. The woman from the bar.

Mercedes made her way through the aisles, not really paying attention to what was in front of her. Ordinarily she would've been having a field day, imagining new dishes as she moved from aisle to aisle like she was on a Food Network special, but the call from L.A. left her shook. While Officer Abrams had told her that she was safe, her mind couldn't help but drift into the arena of "what ifs." What if Jesse or Donovan somehow found out where she was? What if they still thought she knew something? She wasn't broadcasting her new location, but she wasn't exactly well hidden either.

Mind racing, she narrowly missed hitting someone as she walked down the aisle. Completely wrapped up in her thoughts, Mercedes muttered an "Excuse me" and went around them, turning into the next aisle. Stopping in front of the breakfast cereals, she reached up to grab a box of her favorite from the top shelf and sent a sarcastic thanks to her mother for her vertical limitations. Even in her heels she had to stretch a little bit to grasp the sides.

As she leaned back to plan a second round of attack – damn whoever pushed the boxes towards the back! - she heard a deep voice filled with laughter.

"Need help?"

After catching a glimpse of her, Sam had left his cart exactly where it was and walked down the aisle after the woman. There was no way in hell he was going to let her go again.

He quickly scanned the aisles in the direction he saw her turn and found her in the cereal aisle trying her hardest to get something from the top shelf. He raised an eyebrow as she tried standing on her tiptoes, the heels of her black pumps making a small click as she settled back down in defeat. Damn if he wasn't thankful for the supermarket's layout at that moment. The world should be full of tall shelves if it meant he'd get to watch her stretch like that all the time.

When Sam walked over and asked she needed help, it was all he could do to not touch her. Four weeks. One month. Twenty-eight days. No matter how you framed it, it had been too damn long since their last, albeit brief, encounter. He waited until she looked up at him and smiled when her eyes widened as she realized who he was. Her reaction made the weeks of anxiety worth it.

"Let me get that for you," he said, his eyes smiling as he easily grabbed the box and placed it in her cart.

He watched as she inhaled deeply and exhaled, her eyes locked on his somewhat defiantly. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

"Thank you, but that really wasn't necessary."

"You're very welcome and it really was. I'm Sam Evans by the way."

"Well, thanks again Sam Evansbytheway. Now if you'll excuse me... Have a good night."

Sam moved to the side so she could grab her cart.

"Seeing you just guaranteed me a great night," he said conversationally, walking beside her.

She kept her eyes trained in front of her and walked down the aisle, pausing to pick up some flour.

"Is that so?"

"It is. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you again."

She continued walking, turning her cart into the frozen food section. She opened the case and grabbed some packaged berries.

"Oh? And why would that have mattered?"

"Because we never finalized a time for dinner."

"If memory serves me correctly you've already asked me to dinner. I declined."

"Yes, but I'm asking again."

She stopped suddenly and turned to look at him. "Why are you so interested in seeing me?"

Looking at him was a bad idea. She had been doing so well, walking not too fast so he didn't think she was running away and not too slow so that he didn't take it as an invitation, but, rather than being put off by her curt responses, he walked at her pace and carried on as though they were friends.

Being friends with him was the last thing she needed. Being near him was the last thing she needed too.

Mercedes tried her best to ignore the fit of his slacks and the way his shirt looked against his toned forearms. She fought so hard to ignore the way his voice made her stomach flutter and how, as he stayed at a respectable distance to give her her space, she wanted him closer.

It had been four week since she'd seen him at the bar and in that time she'd convinced herself that there was no way he looked as good as she had remembered, that the pull she felt that night had been imagined. Seeing him again proved her right and wrong.

He looked better. And that feeling was real.

Fooled into thinking she was safe based on his casual contributions to their exchange, Mercedes saw a completely different story when she looked at him. In his green eyes she saw an intensity that she remembered from that night, one that reflected what she herself had been trying to deny since the moment he stood beside her.

When she asked her question, a flash of heat flickered in his eyes and he shrugged.

"Because you look like a smart woman and I know that you know that we'd be foolish to walk away from this."

She found herself staring at his lips as he spoke, mesmerized by the way they parted to form his words and wondering how they would feel against her skin. She blushed and quickly looked away, hoping that he couldn't pick up on her thoughts. A glance back at him told her that he was well aware.

She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips.

"And what exactly is the 'this' that you refer to?"

The corners of his mouth curved into a slight smile and he took a step towards her. Her eyes flew up to meet his and she inhaled sharply, taking in his cologne and undeniable male scent.

"'This'" he began, green eyes searching hers, "is the fact that I was doing fine before, but now that I know you exist?" He shook his head. "I can't go back. Not without finding out more."

As she listened to his words, the logical part of her brain tried to tell her that what he was saying was insane, but the other part, the one she dare not give a name to, understood exactly what he was saying.

She cleared her throat, suddenly very warm despite being in the coldest section of the store.

"Oh."

"Yeah," he said. "'Oh.'"

It took everything in his power to take a step back from her, especially when her lips formed that single syllable.

"So, are you going to tell me your name or…"

She blinked and narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Mercedes."

"Mercedes…" he asked questioningly, waiting for more.

She smoothed out her pencil skirt and turned back to her cart, pushing it down the aisle.

"Jones."

Sam walked slowly after her, appreciating the way the plum colored fabric gripped her thighs.

"Mizz Jones eh? So about that dinner…"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine."

"Please don't sound so excited."

He caught up to her and placed himself in front of her cart, effectively stopping her path.

Mercedes looked at him, raising an eyebrow and fighting a smile.

She raised her hands and clasped them together. "Omg, please Mr. Evans," she said with wide eyes and sugary sweetness, "Can you please have dinner with me? It would be so swell."

Sam smiled at her sarcasm and reached into his pocket for his wallet and a pen.

"Ok fine, you don't have to beg. Here's my number," he said, taking out a business card and flipping it over to write on the back. "How does tomorrow at 7 sound?"

"Fine."

He shot her a pointed look.

Mercedes rolled her eyes as she reached out to accept his information. "7 tomorrow sounds great. Really."

"Good. Call me tomorrow and we'll decide on a place."

"Ok," she said clearing her throat. "Have a good night Mr. Evans."

"You too Mizz Jones," he drawled, watching her turn and continue on her way.

As Mercedes walked away she felt his eyes on her back. Feeling a little devilish she put an extra sway in her hips and smiled, fighting the urge to look back at his reaction. Once she was a safe distance away, she looked down at the business card in her hand and shook her head.

Sam Evans was going to be trouble.