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That Night with the CEO
Karen Booth


It was a one-night stand—until her next project has them working side by side! Entrepreneur Adam Langford always gets what he wants. And he wants the blonde who shared his bed a year ago—then vanished. Now a tabloid scandal whisks Melanie Costello back into his life—as his new PR guru! But the real headline would be if their red-hot secret got out. Transforming the rebellious image of the soon-to-be CEO will take Melanie’s best makeover skills. But how do they hide their sizzling chemistry? Her PR firm is on the line. Will she risk everything for the one man she can’t resist?









Adam traced his fingers up and down her spine as Melanie leaned into him.


He was drawn back into the memory of having her in his apartment, the way she felt in his arms. Her words from that night came rushing back. You feel like a dream.

“I shouldn’t have hugged you. It was unprofessional.”

“I thought we were taking a break from professional.”

She reared her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “Are you going to let me go?”

“As near as I can tell, you’re holding on to me just as tight.”

She rolled her eyes—childish from most women, adorable from Melanie. “I’m trying to keep myself upright.”

He was certain he’d heard every word she’d said, but her lips were so tempting and pouty that it was hard to grasp details. “Then stop being upright.”

Before Melanie knew what was happening, Adam was kissing her. And like a fool, she kissed him right back.


That Night

with the CEO

Karen Booth




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KAREN BOOTH is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on ‘80s music, Judy Blume and the films of John Hughes. She loves to write big-city love stories. When she takes a break from the art of romance, she’s teaching her kids about good music, honing her Southern cooking skills or sweet-talking her supersupportive husband into mixing up a cocktail. You can learn more about Karen at www.karenbooth.net (http://www.karenbooth.net).


For Bobbi Ruggiero and Patience Bloom.

We share an unbreakable bond—the sisterhood that comes from loving John Taylor for more than thirty years. Now, let’s arm wrestle for him.


Contents

Cover (#u5721de82-9c91-504e-8c37-1107ca982d10)

Introduction (#u14e953b2-d7ce-5e04-98bc-710afb3be499)

Title Page (#uf97d171a-2706-5560-827d-a40556b4e039)

About the Author (#u3eac18ca-5598-5317-a7f3-7db3129b5ef1)

Dedication (#ue5ed9700-f710-5648-8d11-f150bd9e2f2c)

One (#u1ccd4a38-6093-5cd6-ae01-a4fc55fa35f9)

Two (#u79a8a0fc-955c-5b76-86dc-b8dabfb84d5b)

Three (#u84a41cbc-a280-5c53-97cf-8f2e211474f4)

Four (#u59109623-ae94-5589-945d-1016fb7759ad)

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Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_a95c5499-1461-58c9-be46-4dabac1c63df)

Women had done some nutty things to get to Adam Langford, but Melanie Costello was going for a world record. Adam watched on the security camera as her car pulled through the gate in the most relentless rain he’d seen in the four years since he’d purchased his mountain estate. “I’ll be damned,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Thunder boomed.

His dog, Jack, nudged his hand, whimpering.

“I know, buddy. Only a crazy person would drive up here in this weather.”

The hair on his arms stood up, but the electricity in the air wasn’t from thunderstorms. The anticipation of seeing Melanie for the second time in his life left him off-kilter. She’d done a number on him a year ago, giving him the most consuming night of passion he could remember and then slipping out the door before he awoke. There’d been no goodbye whispered into his ear, no nudge to wake him for a parting kiss. All she’d left behind was a memory he couldn’t shake and countless questions, the most pressing of which was whether she’d ever make him feel that alive again.

He hadn’t even known her last name until a week ago, not that he hadn’t tried like hell to figure it out after she disappeared. No, it had taken a personal nightmare of monstrous proportions—a tabloid scandal that refused to die—to bring Melanie Costello to him. Now she was here to save his ass from the gossip rags, even though he doubted anyone could do that. If any other public relations person had been given this job, he would’ve found a way out of it, but this was his chance to capture lightning in a bottle. He had no intention of passing that up, even if he also had no intention of letting the lightning know that he remembered her. He wanted to hear her say it. Then he would get his answers.

The doorbell rang and Adam made his way over to the fireplace, jabbing at the smoldering logs. He stood before the flames, staring into them as he polished off his small-batch bourbon. He was needled by guilt, knowing Melanie was standing outside, but she could wait to begin the reformation of his public image. She’d been in such a hurry to leave him alone in his bed. She could sit tight for a few minutes before he’d let her in.

* * *

It was just Melanie Costello’s luck that she’d end up regretting the best sex of her life. As recently as a week ago, her one night with Adam Langford was her delicious secret, a tingly memory that made her chest flutter whenever she thought about it, and she thought about it a lot. The phone call from Adam’s father, Roger—the call that required a confidentiality agreement before they could speak a single word—had put an end to that. Now the flutter in her chest had sunk to her stomach and felt more like an elbow to the ribs.

Melanie parked her rental car in the circular driveway of Adam Langford’s sprawling mountain retreat. Tucked away on a huge parcel of land atop a mountain outside Asheville, North Carolina, the rustic manor, complete with tall-peaked roofs and redwood arches, was lit up in spectacular fashion against the darkening night sky. She couldn’t have been any more impressed or intimidated.

Cold smacked her in the face as she wrestled her umbrella, her pumps skating over the flagstone driveway. I’m the only woman boneheaded enough to wear four-inch heels in a monsoon. She bound her black raincoat against her body, shuffling to a grand sweep of stone stairs. Icy raindrops pelted her feet, the wind whipped, her cheeks burned. Lightning crackled across the sky. The storm was far worse now than it’d been when she’d left the airport, but the most daunting assignment of her public relations career, retooling Adam Langford’s public image, required prompt attention.

She scaled the staircase, gripping the rail, juggling her purse and a tote bag weighed down with books on corporate image. She eyed the door expectantly. Surely someone would rush to usher her inside, away from the cold and rain. Someone had opened the gate. Someone had to be waiting.

No welcoming party appeared at the towering wood door, so she rang the bell. Every passing second felt like an eternity as her feet turned to blocks of ice and the cold seeped through her coat. Don’t shiver. Once she caught a chill, it took her forever to warm up. Imagining the man waiting for her, Adam Langford himself, only made her more certain she’d never stop trembling if she started.

Memories flashed, of one glass of champagne, then two, while watching Adam across a crowded suite at The Park Hotel on Madison Avenue. Perfectly unshaven, he wore a slim-cut gray suit that flaunted his trim physique so well that it had made her want to forget every etiquette lesson she’d ever learned. The party had been the hottest invitation in New York, held to celebrate the launch of Adam’s latest venture, AdLab, a software developer. Prodigy, genius, visionary—Adam had been given countless labels since he earned his fortune with the headline-grabbing sale of social media website ChatterBack, all before he graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Business School. Melanie had snagged an invitation hoping to network with potential clients. Instead, she did the last thing she’d ever imagined, going home with the man of the hour, who had one more notable label on his résumé: notorious philanderer.

He’d been so smooth with his approach, building heat with eye contact as he wound his way through the bustling room. By the time he’d reached her, the notion of introductions seemed absurd. Everyone in the room knew who he was. Melanie was a virtual nobody in comparison, so he’d asked for her name, and she’d answered that it was Mel. Nobody called her Mel.

He’d held on to her hand when he shook it, commenting that she was the highlight of the party. She blushed and was immediately sucked into the vortex of Adam Langford, a place where sexy glances and clever quips reigned supreme. The next thing she knew, they were in the back of his limo headed to his penthouse apartment while his hand artfully slid beneath the hem of her dress and his lips roamed the landscape of her neck.

Now that she would again be in the presence of the man who’d electrified her from her pedicure to her last hair follicle, a man from a powerful Manhattan family and who had no lack of money or good looks or mental acumen, she couldn’t help but feel queasy. If Adam recognized her, the “absolute discretion” his father had demanded would fly right out the window. There was nothing discreet about having slept with the man whose bad-boy public image she’d been hired to overhaul. Adam’s reputation for one-night stands had certainly contributed to the wildfire nature of the tabloid scandal. She shuddered at the thought. Adam was her only one-night stand, ever.

It seemed rude to ring the bell a second time, but she was freezing her butt off. The sooner she and Adam got the first chunk of work done tonight, the sooner she could be in her pj’s, warm and toasty under the comforter at her hotel. She pressed the button again, just as the latch clicked.

Adam Langford opened the door, wearing a navy and white plaid shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, showing off his muscled forearms. Jeans completed his look, an appealing contrast to the suit she’d last seen him wear. “Ms. Costello, I presume? I’m shocked you made it. Did you pick up a canoe at the airport?” He held the door with one hand while the other raked through his thick chestnut-brown hair.

She laughed nervously. “I upgraded to the fan boat.”

Melanie’s heart was a jackrabbit thumping against her chest. Adam’s steely-blue eyes, edged with absurdly dark lashes, made her feel so exposed, naked. She knew full well that other aspects of his manner could make her feel the same way.

He smirked, welcoming her inside with a nod. “I’m sorry if you had to wait. I had to put my dog in the other room. He’ll charge at you if he doesn’t know you.”

She averted her gaze. There was no way she’d sustain another direct hit from his eyes so soon. She held out her hand to shake his, which was impossibly warm. “Mr. Langford. Nice to see you.” She’d stopped short of saying “meet you,” since that would’ve been a big fat lie. When she’d accepted this job, she’d rationalized that Adam kept company with countless women. How could he possibly remember all of them? Plus, she’d lopped off her hair and gone from dishwater blond to golden since their tryst.

“Please, call me Adam.” He shut the door, mercifully cutting off the cold. “Did you have any problems finding the place in the rain?”

He’d greeted her with the niceties you reserve for a stranger, and for the first time since he’d opened the door, she felt as though it was okay to breathe. He doesn’t remember me. Perhaps it was okay to make eye contact again. “Oh, no. No problem at all.” The complexity in his eyes held her frozen, stuck in the memory of what it had felt like the first time he looked at her, when he seemed to be saying that she was all he wanted. Those eyes were enough to leave her tongue-tied. “Piece of cake.” Apparently they also made her want to lie, as she’d just spent two hours squinting through a foggy windshield and cursing the GPS.

“Please, let me take your coat.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” This wasn’t what she’d expected. Adam Langford had enough money to hire an assistant for someone to take her coat. She fumbled with the buttons and turned herself out of it. “No hired help up here in the mountains?”

He hung her coat in a closet and she took that millisecond to smooth her black dress pants and retuck her gray silk blouse. After the long, stressful drive from the airport, she had to be a wreck.

“I have a housekeeper and a cook, but I sent them home hours ago. I wouldn’t want them out on the roads.”

“I know I’m a few hours late, but we really need to stay on schedule. If we can go over the media plan tonight, we can devote the entire day tomorrow to interview preparation.” She reached into her bag and removed the books she’d brought.

He blew out a deep breath and took them, examining the spines. “Crafting Your Image in the Corporate World?You can’t be serious. People read this?”

“It’s a fabulous book.”

“Sounds like a real page-turner.” He shook his head. “Let’s take this into the living room. I could use a drink.”

Adam led her down a far-reaching hall and into a cathedral-like great room with redwood-beamed ceilings. A sprawling sectional and leather chairs made an inviting seating area, softly lit by a dimmed wrought iron chandelier and a blazing fire. Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the far wall, animated by raindrops pattering the panes against the backdrop of the gray evening sky.

“Your house is stunning. I can see why you’d come here to get away.”

“I love New York, but you can’t beat the quiet and the mountain air. It’s one of the only places I can take a break from work.” Adam rubbed his neck, stretching the shirt taut across his athletic chest, showing her a peek of dark chest hair her fingers had once been wonderfully tangled in. “Although apparently, work somehow managed to find me.”

Melanie forced a smile. “Don’t think of it as work. We’re fixing a problem.”

“I don’t want to insult your profession, but isn’t it tiring spending your day worrying about what other people think? Molding public opinion? I’m not sure why you bother. The media says whatever they want to. They couldn’t care less about the truth.”

“I think of it as fighting fire with fire.” She knew that Adam would be a difficult case. He hated the press, which made the persistent nature of what was now known as the Party Princess scandal much worse.

“Frankly, the whole thing seems like a colossal waste of money, and I can only assume that my father is paying you a lot of it.”

But you wouldn’t want to insult my profession. She pursed her lips. “Your father is paying me well. That should tell you how important this is to him.” As annoyed as she was by Adam’s diatribe, the retainer from his father was greater than she’d make from her other clients combined this month. Costello Public Relations was growing, but as Adam had alluded to, it was a business built on appearances. That meant a posh office space and an impeccable wardrobe, which did not come cheap.

A bark came from the far side of the kitchen, the door beyond the Sub-Zero fridge.

Adam glanced over his shoulder. “Are you okay with dogs? I put him in the mudroom, but he’d really rather be where the action is.”

“Oh, sure.” She nodded, placing her things on a side table. “What’s your dog’s name?” She already knew the answer, and that Adam’s dog was a sweet two-hundred-pound hulk—a Mastiff and Great Dane mix.

“His name is Jack. I’ll warn you. He’s intimidating, but he’ll be fine once he gets used to you. The first meeting is always the roughest.”

Jack yelped again. Adam opened the door. The dog barreled past him, skidding on the hardwood floors, taking the turn for the great room. Jack thundered toward Melanie.

“Jack! No!” Adam may have yelled at the dog, but he made no other attempt to stop him.

Jack sat back on his haunches and slid into her. Immediately, Melanie had a cold dog nose rooting around in the palm of her hand. Jack whacked his sizable tail against her thigh.

She hadn’t bargained on Adam’s dog ratting her out by revealing that they shared a past, too. “He’s friendly.”

Adam narrowed his stare. “That’s so strange. He’s never done that with anyone he’s never met. Ever.”

Melanie shrugged, averting her eyes and scratching behind Jack’s ears. “Maybe he senses that I’m a dog person.” Or maybe Jack and I hung out in your kitchen before I left your apartment in the middle of the night.

The only sound Melanie could hear were Jack’s heavy breaths as Adam stepped closer, clearly appraising her. It made her so nervous, she had to say something. “We should get started. It’ll probably take me a while to get back to my hotel.”

“I’m still not sure how you got up the mountain, but you aren’t getting back down it anytime soon.” He nodded toward the great room windows. It was raining sideways. “There have been reports of flash floods in the foothills.”

“I’m a good driver. It’ll be fine.” She really was nothing more than a skittish driver. Living in New York meant taxis and town cars. She kept her license valid only for business trips.

“No car can handle a flood. I have room for you to stay. I insist.”

Staying was the problem. Every moment she and Adam spent together was another chance for him to remember her, and then she’d have a lot of explaining to do. This might not be a great idea, but she didn’t have much choice. She wouldn’t get any work done if she was lost at sea. “That would give me one less thing to worry about. Thank you.”

“I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms.”

“I’d prefer we just get to work. Then I can turn in early and we can get a fresh start in the morning.” She took a pair of binders from her bag. “Do you have an office where we can work?”

“I was thinking the kitchen. I’ll open a bottle of wine. We might as well enjoy ourselves.” He strode around the kitchen island and removed wineglasses from the cabinet below.

Melanie lugged her materials to the marble center island, taking a seat on one of the tall upholstered bar stools. “I shouldn’t, but thank you.” She flipped open the binders and slid one in front of the seat next to hers.

“You’re missing out. Chianti from a small winery in Tuscany. You can’t get this wine anywhere except maybe in the winemaker’s living room.” He cranked on the bottle opener.

Melanie closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Drinking wine with Adam had once led down a road she couldn’t revisit. “I’ll have a taste.” She stopped him at half a glass. “Thank you. That’s perfect.” The first sip took the edge off, spreading warmth throughout her body—an ill-advised reaction, given her drinking buddy.

Jack wandered by and stopped next to her, plopping his enormous head down on her lap.

No. No. You don’t like me. Melanie squirmed, hoping to discourage Jack. No such luck.

Adam set down his glass, his eyebrows drawing together. “I swear, Miss Costello. Something about you is so familiar.”


Two (#ulink_4469abff-359e-5cef-bd82-9549bd448304)

“People say that I have a familiar face.” Melanie’s voice held a nervous squeak. She turned and practically buried her face in her project binder.

Adam considered himself an expert at deciphering the underlying message in a woman’s words, but he was especially fluent in coy deflection. I can’t believe she’s going to try to hide this. “Have you done any work for me?”

She shrugged and scanned her blessed notebook. “I would’ve remembered that.”

Time to turn up the heat. “Have we dated?”

She hesitated. “No. We haven’t dated.”

To be fair, she might have him on a technicality there. They hadn’t really been on a date. He scoured his brain for another leading question. “Do I detect an accent?” A slight twang had colored the word dated.

She screwed up her lips and sat straighter, still refusing to make eye contact, which was a real shame. Her crystalline blue eyes were lovely—plus, he’d be able to tell if she was being deceitful. “I grew up in Virginia.”

“I met a woman from Virginia at a party once. She was a real firecracker. Maybe a little bit crazy. If only I could remember what her name was.” He rubbed his chin, took another sip of wine, rounding to the other side of the kitchen island and taking the seat next to hers. Jack hadn’t moved, standing sentry at her hip. That’s right, buddy. You know her.

“I’m sure it’s difficult to keep track of all of the people you meet.” She pointed to a page titled “Schedule” in his notebook. “So, the interviews...”

He scanned the page, getting lost in a confusion of publication names and details. “No wonder my assistant was panicked this afternoon.” He flipped through the pages. “I generally work eighteen-hour days. When exactly am I supposed to find time for this?”

“Your assistant said she’ll rearrange your schedule. Most interviews and photo shoots will take place at your home or office. I’ll do everything I can to make sure your needs are met.”

Right now, his greatest need was to seek comfort in a second bourbon as soon as he’d dispatched the Chianti. Continuing this charade held zero appeal, and her refusal to own up to their past was frustrating as hell. He needed the question that had been hanging over his head for the past year to be answered. How could a woman share an extraordinary night of passion with him and then disappear? Even more important, why would she do that?

“For the moment, the biggest interview is with Metropolitan Style magazine,” she continued. “They’re doing a feature on you and your home, so that will entail a photo shoot. I’m bringing in a professional home stager to make sure that the decor is picture-perfect. Jack will need to see a groomer before then, but I’ll take care of that.”

Adam bristled at the idea of home stagers messing with his apartment, but no one decided what happened with his dog. “Jack hates groomers. You have to hire my guy, and he’s always booked weeks out.” Of course, his groomer would make himself available whenever Adam needed him, but it was the principle.

“I’ll do my best, but if he isn’t available, I’ll have to hire someone. Jack is important. People love dogs. It will cast you in a more favorable light.”

“How did you know I have a dog anyway?”

She cleared her throat. “I asked your assistant.”

She had a roundabout answer for everything. He’d never endure an entire weekend of talking in circles. “What if I didn’t already have a dog? What would you do then? Rent one?”

“I do whatever is needed to make my clients look good.”

“But it’s all a lie. Lies catch up with you eventually.”

Dropping her pen down onto the notebook, Melanie took a deep breath. She rolled up the sleeves of her silky blouse with a determination that made him wonder if she wanted to flatten him.

“The home stager is a waste of time,” he added. “My apartment is perfect.”

“We need it to look like a home in the photographs, not a bachelor pad.”

He saw his chance. She knew what his apartment looked like, but only because he’d seduced her in it. “So I have to get rid of my neon beer sign collection? Those things are everywhere.” He hadn’t owned one of those since college, but he wouldn’t hesitate to fabricate absurdities to get her to spill it.

She twisted her lips. “We can work around that.”

He had to up the bachelor-pad ante. “Now, what about the stuffed moose head above the mantel? Does that scream single guy or does that just say that I’m manly?” That was hardly his taste either, and she knew it.

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temple. “This isn’t really my area of expertise. Can we come back to this later?” Melanie clenched a fist, waves of frustration radiating from her.

“No. I want to get this straightened out now.” His mind raced. His goal in sight, he was prepared to crank out crazy ideas for hours. “There are the beer taps in the kitchen, and I need to know if they’ll photograph my bedroom. I have a round bed, like in James Bond movies.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why? Lots of men have moose heads and James Bond beds.”

“But you don’t,” she blurted.

The color drained from her face, but that gorgeous mouth of hers was just as rosy pink as he’d remembered. Just thinking about her lips traveling down the centerline of his chest charged every atom in his body. She didn’t say another thing, but he swore he could hear her heartbeat, drumming between her heavy breaths.

“How would you know?” he asked, wishing he felt more triumphant at having caught her.

She straightened in her seat, struggling to compose herself. “Uh...”

“I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what, exactly?”

“Waiting to hear the real reason why you know I have a dog and what my apartment looks like. I’m waiting for you to just say it, Mel.”

* * *

Melanie’s shoulders drooped under the burden of her own idiocy. Her mother had always been emphatic that a lady never lies. Melanie had already skirted the truth, and she didn’t want to be that person. “You remember me.”

“Of course I do. Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t?”

His disbelief made her want to shrink into nothingness. How could she have been so foolish? “Considering your reputation with women, I figured I was a blip on the map.”

“I never forget a woman.”

His response might have prompted extreme skepticism if he hadn’t said it with such conviction. He hadn’t forgotten her. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t forgotten him. Of course, there were probably lots of other women he hadn’t forgotten, too.

“You changed your hair,” he said.

Her pulse chose a tempo like free-form jazz—stopping and starting. He really did notice everything. “Yes, I cut it.”

“The color’s different. See, I still remember what it looked like splayed across the pillows of my bed.” He rose from his seat and stalked back around the kitchen island, refilling his wineglass. Plainly still angry, he didn’t offer her more. “Did you really not see a problem with taking this job even though we’d slept together? I’m assuming you didn’t reveal that little tidbit to my father. Because if you had, he never would’ve hired you.”

Adam was absolutely right. She’d stepped into a gray area a mile wide, but she needed the payday that came with this job. Her former business partner had crippled her company by leaving and sticking her with an astronomical office lease. The crushing part was that he’d also been her boyfriend—nearly her fiancé—and he’d left because he’d fallen in love with one of their clients.

“I would hope we could be discreet about this. I think it’s best if we just acknowledge that it was a one-time thing, keep it between us, and not allow it to affect our working relationship.” Mustering a rational string of words calmed her ragged nerves, but only a bit.

“One-time thing? Is that what that was? Because you don’t seem like a woman who runs around Manhattan picking up men she doesn’t know. Trust me, I meet those women all the time.”

Did it bother him that it had been a one-night stand? She wasn’t proud of the fact either, but she never imagined it would even faze Adam. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“What about the contract my father had you sign? The clause about no fraternization between you and the client?”

“Exactly why I thought it best to ignore our past. I need this job and you need to clean up your image. It’s a win-win.”

“So you need the job. This is about money.”

“Yes. I need it. Your father is a very powerful man, and having a recommendation from him could do big things for my company.” Why she’d put her entire hand out on the table for him to see was beyond her, but she wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything.

“What if I told you that I don’t want to do this?”

She swallowed, hard. Adam was doing nothing more than setting up roadblocks, and they were becoming formidable. If he wanted to, he could end her job right then and there, send her packing. All she could do now was make her case. “Look, I understand that you’re mad. The scandal is horrible and I didn’t make things any better by hoping that you wouldn’t recognize me. That was stupid on my part, and I’m sorry. But if you’re looking for a reason to go through with this, you don’t need to look any further than your dad. He’s not just worried about his company and your family’s reputation. He’s worried about what this will do to your career. He doesn’t want your talents to be overshadowed by tabloid stories.”

Dead quiet settled on the room. Adam seemed deep in reflection. “I appreciate the apology.”

“Thank you for accepting it.” Had she finally laid this to rest? She took a deep breath and hoped so.

“And yes, it was incredibly stupid on your part. I’d go so far as to call it harebrained.”

There went the instant of newfound calm, just as Melanie’s stomach growled so loudly that Adam’s eyes grew as large as dinner plates.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, horrified, wrapping one arm around her midsection to muffle the sound.

“Coming up with bad ideas must’ve made you very hungry.”

“Very funny. I’m fine.” She shifted in her seat, mad at herself for not owning up to the fact that she would’ve killed for a day-old doughnut. Her stomach chimed in, as well.

“I can’t listen to that anymore,” he declared. “It’s unsettling.” He marched to the fridge and opened it, pulling out a covered glass bowl. “My cook made marinara before I sent her home. It’ll take a few minutes to make pasta.”

“Let me help.” Desperate for the distraction of a new topic, she shot out of her bar stool and walked to the other side of the island. Jack followed in her wake.

“Help with what? Boiling water?” He cast her an incredulous smirk. “Sit.”

“Are you talking to me or Jack?”

He cracked half a smile and she felt a little as if she might crack. In half. “You. Jack can do whatever he wants.”

“Of course.” She filed back to her seat and watched as he filled a tall pot with water and placed it on the six-burner cooktop. “Careful or I might have to book you an appearance on the Food Network.”

“You should see me make breakfast.” He sprinkled salt into the water then placed a saucepan on the stove and lit the flame beneath it. “I could’ve made you my world-famous scrambled eggs if you hadn’t done your Cinderella routine that night and taken off.”

The man had no fear of uncomfortable subjects. What was she supposed to say to that?

“Care to comment, Cinderella?”

“I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat and picked at her fingernail. “I couldn’t stay.”

Adam spooned the sauce into the pan, shaking his head. “That’s a horrible excuse.”

Excuse or not, there was no way she could’ve stayed. She couldn’t bear the rejection of Adam running her off the next morning. She couldn’t bear to hear that he’d call her when she knew that he wouldn’t. She’d already suffered one soul-crushing brush-off that month, from the guy she’d thought she would marry. The pain of a second would’ve prompted the question of whether she might make a good nun. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

Wisps of steam rose from the pot, and the aroma of tomato sauce filled the air. Adam dropped in a package of fresh pasta and gave it a stir. “All I’m wondering is why you wouldn’t stick around when you have that kind of chemistry with someone. At least say goodbye or leave a note. I didn’t even know your last name.”

When he had the nerve to say it out loud—to be so rational about it—it sounded as if she’d done the most insane thing ever. Wait. Chemistry? She’d assumed that what she’d felt was mostly one-sided, a lethal combination of champagne and Mr. Smooth. Regret and embarrassment weighed on her equally. What if she’d stuck around? Would he have said what he was saying now? “Hopefully you can find a way to forgive me.”

He narrowed his gaze, eyes locking on hers. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me the real reason.”

Oh, no, that’s not going to happen.

The timer buzzed. Adam gripped the pot handles with a kitchen towel and emptied the contents into the prep sink. Steam rushed up around his face and he blew a strand of hair from his forehead. He slung the towel over his shoulder, capable as could be, adding the noodles to the sauté pan and giving the mixture a toss with a flick of his wrist. The most brilliant man to hit the business world in recent history, the man who’d given her the most exhilarating night of her life, was toiling away in the kitchen. For her.

Adam divided the pasta into two bowls and grated fresh Parmesan on top. He set one bowl before her and filled her wineglass then topped off his own. Tempting smells wafted to her nose, relief from her epic hunger in reach. He took his seat, saddling her with a return of nerves. Now that they were shoulder to shoulder again, she was acutely aware of the specter of Adam Langford.

“Cheers,” he said in a tone still more annoyed than cheery. He extended his arm and clinked her glass with his.

“Thank you. This looks incredible.” She took a bite. It was far better than her usual Friday night fare, Chinese takeout on the couch. She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. “This is delicious. Thank you.” Quieting her rumbling stomach was wonderful, but they hadn’t resolved the greater issue—she still wasn’t sure he was willing to let her do her job. “Now that we’ve talked through things, are we okay to get to work tomorrow? We need to bury the Party Princess scandal.”

“Can we put a ban on saying that? No man wants a scandal, but the princess part just makes it worse.”

“I know it’s awful. That’s precisely why I’m here. I can make all of that go away.”

“I don’t see why we can’t just ignore it. Aren’t we feeding the fire if we go on the defensive?”

“If we had a year or more, that might work, but with your father’s illness, there just isn’t that kind of time. I’m so sorry to say that. I really wish that part was for a different reason.”

“So you know. The timetable.” Adam blew out a deep breath and set down his fork.

Her heart went out to him. She could only imagine what he was going through, about to ascend to the immensely powerful job he’d likely dreamed of since he was a boy, all because his father’s cancer was terminal. “Yes. He told me in confidence. I think he needed me to understand just how urgent this is. It’s crucial that the board of directors see you in a better light so they’ll approve your appointment to CEO. The scandal needs to be a distant memory by the time the succession is formally announced at the company gala. That’s only a few weeks away.”

“The board of directors. Good luck with that.” He shook his head, just as his phone rang. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

“Of course.”

Adam got up from his seat and walked into the living room. Melanie was thankful for a break from persuading him that she could do this. Even if he cooperated, the pressure of turning around public perception in a month was monumental. She wasn’t entirely sure she could pull it off. She only knew that she had to.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, when he got off the phone. “Problems with the launch of a new app next week.”

“Please don’t apologize. I understand.” Melanie got up and took her dish to the sink. She rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. “You should finish your dinner. I’m going to grab my suitcase and get some rest. If you could point me in the direction of the guest room.”

“Call me old-fashioned, but no woman should have to go out in the rain for a suitcase. I’ll do it.” He held up a finger, just as she was about to protest. “I insist.”

She watched from the doorway as he braved the rain and wind without a jacket. His hair and shirt were soaked by the time he was back inside. He stomped on the entryway rug and combed his fingers through his dripping-wet hair. Her mind flashed to their night together—stepping out of the shower with him, sinking into the softest bathmat she’d ever felt beneath her feet. He’d raked his hand through his soaked locks, a sultry look in his eyes that said he was ready to claim her again. He’d coiled his arms around her naked waist, pressed his hands into her back, and kissed her neck so delicately that she’d trembled beneath his touch.

She might faint if she ever saw him toy with his wet hair again.

“Your room is upstairs. Second door on the right.”

Adam trailed behind her as she climbed the grand staircase.

“This one?” she asked, poking her head inside, still a bit light-headed from the memory of the shower.

Adam reached past her and flipped on the light, illuminating a bedroom outfitted with a beautifully dressed king bed, a stacked stone fireplace and its own seating area. “I hope this will work.” He followed her into the room, placing her suitcase on a luggage stand next to a gorgeous Craftsman-style bureau.

“It’s perfect.” Melanie turned to face him, his physical presence exercising undue influence on her as he rubbed the closely cropped stubble dotting his jawline. Her brain wasn’t sure how to react to his kindness, but her body knew exactly what it thought. The flutter in her chest returned. Heat flooded her, the memory of his fingers tracing the length of her spine while he had her in a bed much like the one she was standing next to. “Thank you for everything. The room. Fetching my suitcase.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not the cad the world thinks I am.” He strode past her, stopping in the doorway.

She wasn’t sure what Adam was, where exactly the truth lay. Maybe she’d find out this weekend. And maybe she’d never know. “That’s good. That will make it a lot easier to show the world the best side of Adam Langford.”

A clever smirk crossed his face. “You’ve seen me naked, so I’d say you’re definitely qualified to say which is my best side.”

Melanie’s brain sputtered. Her cheeks flamed with heat.

“Good night,” he said, turning and walking away.


Three (#ulink_3e48c627-df00-5bfe-a6a5-0fa35116ebcc)

Melanie sat up in bed, half-awake, tugging the butter-soft duvet to her chest. Last night hadn’t gone according to plan, but in many ways, it was a relief to have the whole, stupid, ridiculously hot thing out in the open.

It’d taken hours to fall asleep. Adam’s reminder that she’d seen him naked had only set her on the course of determining which side was indeed his best. After revisiting their night together...kissing in the limo, unzipping her dress in his living room, peeling the paint off the walls in the shower...she’d decided the front. Definitely the front.

Too bad she could never see him like that again.

She threw back the covers and glanced outside at the open vista of the grounds surrounding the house. A creek rushed along the edge of manicured gardens, threatening to breach its rocky banks. Towering pines framed the view of the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond. It was a new day, storms a distant memory. Time to start fresh.

She retrieved her makeup bag, beelining to the beautifully appointed guest bath—gray granite countertops and silvery glass tile, a soaking tub for two. After a quick shower, she dabbed on foundation and undereye concealer to hide her lack of sleep. A sweep of blush, some eyeliner and a coat of mascara came next. Polished was appropriate, not done-up.

Finishing with a sheer layer of pale peach lip gloss, Melanie rubbed her lips together and popped them to the mirror. She could hear her mother’s syrupy Virginia drawl. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. She remembered first hearing that when she was a little girl, only six years old. It was the strongest memory she had of her mother, which also made it the most bittersweet. She and her sisters lost her to a car accident months later.

Melanie ruffled her pixie-cut hair and swept it to the side. Lopping off and dying her hair to exorcise the memory of her lying, cheating ex might have been drastic, but she’d had this crazy idea about renewal. It hadn’t really worked. She still hadn’t gotten past the fact that she’d thought Josh would propose. She hadn’t forgotten that he’d packed up and left with another woman, leaving her to fend for herself. No, she might’ve looked a little different on the outside, but she was the same Melanie on the inside—hurt some of the time, lonely most of the time, determined not to quit all of the time.

Back in her room, she slipped on a white scoop-neck tee, black cardigan and slim-fitting pair of jeans. She stepped into ballet flats and hurried downstairs, the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen. She was invigorated, undaunted, ready to go. And then she saw Adam.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She’d come downstairs prepared to work, but she hadn’t bargained on Adam’s bare chest. Or his bare stomach. Or an extra eight hours of scruff along his jaw and the narrow trail of hair below his belly button. More than that, she hadn’t bargained on any part of him glistening with sweat.

“Morning.” He stood in the kitchen, consulting his phone. “I made coffee. Let me get you a mug.” He turned, opened the cabinet and reached for a coffee cup. Gentlemanly behavior, all while showing off the sculpted contours of his shoulders and defined ripples of his back.

Her eyes drifted south, calling into question whether the front really was the best. The way he filled out the rear view of his basketball shorts made a compelling case for the back. Then she remembered what that view looked like without clothes. She was all kinds of conflicted over the best-side verdict.

“Cream? Sugar?” he asked, filling her mug.

“Both, please.” She shook her head in an attempt to think straight. “I’ll do it.”

“Help yourself.” He gestured to a small white pitcher and sugar bowl. “Sleep well?”

She spooned the sugar into the mug, gluing her focus to the steaming coffee. “I did, thank you. I’m ready to get started whenever you are. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

“Already got in my workout.”

“So I see.” She turned, but even a fraction of a second was too long to look at Adam right now. Her eyes darted all over the room, desperate for something undesirable to look at.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just...” Her voice trailed off, betraying her. “You can’t put on a shirt?”

“Why? Does it bother you? I can’t help the fact that I’m hot.” He grabbed her attention with his blazing smile, smoothing his hand over the flat plane of his stomach.

“Excuse me?”

“Hot, as in temperature hot.”

Damn him. “It’s a little difficult for us to keep things professional when you’re traipsing around the house half-dressed.”

“I assure you, I have never once traipsed.”

“Regardless, isn’t it polite to wear a shirt to breakfast?”

“It is. My mother always made me wear one when I was a kid. She also told me to floss every day and wear clean underwear. So I’ll be two-for-three today. Nobody’s perfect.”

He knows what he’s doing. He’s making me crazy because he can. “Look, we have a ton of work to do. I suggest you grab a shower so we can start.”

“It’ll go faster if I have someone to scrub my back.”

“Adam, please. The contract I signed? No fraternization or interpersonal relations? I take those things very seriously, and I know your dad does, too.”

“We both know the only way to enforce that is the honor system.” His eyebrows bounced.

“Yeah, well, you need to keep your honor system in your pants.”

“Hey, you’re the one suggesting showers. Not me.”

Melanie exhaled in exasperation. “Things will go smoother today if you cooperate. Why do you have to joke around about everything?”

“Because it’s Saturday and I work my ass off all week and I’d much rather read a book or catch a game on TV than practice answers to interview questions and talk about whether or not you think Oprah will like me.”

“First off, Oprah said no. Secondly, I know you hate this, but we have to put the scandal to an end.” Her phone buzzed. “Excuse me. I should check this.” She reached into her pocket. The push notification on her phone did not bring good news. “There’s something new in the papers this morning. A reporter got your ex-fiancée to comment on the scandal.” She shook her head, feeling a little sorry for Adam. “This is why you need to let me do my job. This can’t be what you want.”

Adam buried his face in his hand. Jack wandered over and nudged Adam’s hip. “Hey, buddy.” Adam’s voice was tinged in sadness, which seemed odd considering his fondness for his dog. He crouched down and looked Jack in the face, ruffling his ears. “No, that’s not what I want.”

* * *

Adam parked himself on the long leather bench in his walk-in closet and untied his sneakers, cradling his cell phone between his ear and shoulder. His mother answered after a few rings.

“Mom, hi. Is Dad around?”

“Well, hello to you, too. You don’t want to talk to me?”

“Of course I want to talk to you, but I was hoping to talk to Dad and see how he’s doing.” He peeled off his socks and tossed them across the room, connecting with the hamper.

“Your father’s fine. I’m screening his calls. Otherwise, he takes work calls all weekend and never gets any rest. He needs his rest.”

Dad.Once a workaholic, always a workaholic. “Has he been tired since he got home last night?”

“Yes. Fridays are the worst. I don’t know why he continues with this charade of going into LangTel every day.”

“I don’t know why he does it either.”

LangTel was the telecom corporation Adam’s father started from the ground up in the seventies. Adam had grown up heir apparent, but once he went to Harvard Business School, he realized that—just like his father and every Langford man before him—he would never be content taking over someone else’s empire. He wanted to build his own, which was precisely why he started his first company while he was still in school. It made him his first fortune before the age of twenty-four.

Even so, when his parents had asked him to help run LangTel from behind the scenes after his father first fell ill, he had done his familial duty. At the time, Roger Langford’s prognosis was uncertain and they didn’t want him to appear “weak” for fear of the company stock plummeting.

It was meant to be a dry run and Adam passed with flying colors, but it was the worst year of his life—preparing to launch his current company while running interference at LangTel. The timing couldn’t have been any worse—right on the heels of his fiancée ending their two-year relationship. LangTel had worn a hole in his psyche.

“At some point,” Adam continued, “we’re going to have to tell the world that his cancer is far worse than anyone realizes. I’m tired of the song and dance.”

“I agree, but your father doesn’t want to say a word until things have been cleared up for you with, you know, the newspapers.”

His mother couldn’t bring herself to utter the word scandal, and he was thankful for it. At least it had been only photographs that had been leaked and not something worse, like a sex tape. Adam glanced at his Tag Heuer watch, which sat atop the mahogany bureau in the center of the closet. It was nearly nine thirty and Melanie had been clear that she was ready to get to work. “Hey, Mom. Can I put you on speaker?”

“You know I hate that.”

“I’m sorry. I just have to get into the shower in a minute.” He pressed the speaker icon on his iPhone. He shucked his basketball shorts and boxer briefs and tossed them over his head, but missed the hamper this time. “I’ll talk to Dad about it when I’m back in the city. Maybe I can come by on Sunday afternoon after I fly in.”

“Be sure you call first. There are still photographers camped outside our building. You might have to sneak in through the service entrance.”

Such a pain. It was one thing for him to have to deal with the photographers, quite another for his mother and father to have to do it. “Okay.” He grabbed his robe from the end of the bench and slipped it on.

“If you want to stay for dinner, we could invite your sister, too. Your father and I would love that.”

“That sounds great. Anna and I can work on Dad, see if we can talk to him some more about working Anna into the succession plan for LangTel. We both know she’ll do an incredible job.” He no longer talked to his parents about the fact that he didn’t want to run LangTel. It was always dismissed as ludicrous. Now his focus was getting his dad to give his sister, Anna, the chance she wanted and deserved.

“Your father would never dream of letting your sister run the company. He wants Anna shopping for a husband, not sitting in a boardroom.”

“Why can’t she do both?”

“I’m about to lose your father, and now you don’t want me to have any grandchildren? You won’t have any until you find the right woman, and Lord knows when that will happen.”

There she goes. “Look, Mom. I have to go. I have a houseguest and I need to shower.” He strode into the bathroom, across the slate tile floor.

“Houseguest?”

He reached into the shower, cranking the faucet handle. “Yes. Melanie Costello, the woman Dad hired to do this futile PR campaign.”

“It’s not futile. We need to preserve your father’s legacy. When he’s gone, you’ll be the head of this family. It’s important that you’re seen for your talents, not for the women you run around with.”

He sighed. He didn’t like that his mom saw him this way, but he also didn’t like feeling as if he couldn’t make his own damn decisions, bad or not. He’d be thirty-one soon, for God’s sake.

“So tell me. Is she pretty?” she asked.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom, this isn’t a date. It’s work. Nothing else.” He couldn’t tell his mother that he wouldn’t mind if this was a date or that he and Melanie had a past. He certainly couldn’t tell her how much he loved being around Melanie, even when she got mad. It made her already vibrant blue eyes blaze, which was particularly intoxicating when packaged with gentle curves and those unforgettable lips.

The mirrors in the bathroom began to fog up. “I need to go, Mom. Tell Dad to call me if he has a chance. I’m worried about him.”

“I’m worried, too, darling.”

Adam said his goodbyes and slid his phone onto the marble vanity. He dropped the robe to the floor and stepped into the spray, willing the hot water to wash away his worry about his father, if only for a moment. His mother wasn’t doing well either. He could hear the stress in every word she said.

He lathered shampoo and rinsed it away. However heartbreaking his father’s illness, he could do nothing about it except to make his father’s final months happy ones. That was much of the reason Adam had agreed to the PR campaign. The final deciding factor he’d kept to himself—the instant he looked up the Costello Public Relations website and saw Melanie’s picture, he had to say yes. After a year of wondering who she was, he not only knew the identity of his Cinderella, he’d be working with her.

Adam shut off the water and toweled himself dry before heading back into his walk-in closet, bypassing the custom-made suit he’d worn on the corporate jet into Asheville. Those clothes were made for the city, and he relished a respite from Manhattan and the media microscope. He certainly preferred the uniform of his freer existence in North Carolina—jeans, plaid shirts and work boots. Choosing to dress in exactly that, he headed downstairs to find Melanie, curious how she planned to air his dirty laundry in public.


Four (#ulink_6dcb4ebd-cb8d-5b7c-8748-2c975c8ff2d0)

The inside of Melanie’s purse might have resembled a yard sale, but she never forgot where she put something.

“Have you seen my binders? The ones with the interview schedule?” she asked, peeking behind the cushions of the massive sectional in Adam’s living room. Nothing.

Adam was tending the fire, a welcome sight even though the rain had cleared up. “Not the binders again. Can’t you send that to me in an email? I’ll read it off my phone.” He stood and brushed the legs of his perfect-fitting jeans. She had a weakness for a man in an impeccably tailored suit, but a close second was a guy dressed exactly as Adam was. Each held its own appeal—in-command businessman and laid-back mountain guy. So of course Adam had to knock both looks out of the park.

“I like paper. I can rely on paper,” Melanie said as she headed into the kitchen and tapped the counter. “It’s so weird. Did I bring them up to my room?” She went for the stairs, but didn’t make it far. Her notebooks sat mangled behind one of the leather club chairs. She scooped them up. “Did you feed these to Jack?”

Adam was tapping away on his phone. “What? No. Did you actually leave those out where he could get them?”

“I assumed they’d be safe on the coffee table.”

“Um, no. He’s only three. As well trained as he is, he might as well be a puppy. He’ll chew on anything if you give him the chance.”

She flipped through the notebooks. One had massive teeth holes at the corners, and the binding of the other was twisted. “I hope he enjoyed his snack.”

Jack was sound asleep in front of the fire.

“I’d say he’s dead-tired after it.”

“We should probably concentrate on interview preparation anyway. You’re going to need coaching.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m unflappable.” He sat on the couch, running his hand through his touchable head of hair, giving off a waft of his cologne or shampoo or perhaps it was just plain old Adam. Regardless, it made Melanie’s head do figure eights.

“Okay then, Mr. Unflappable.” She took a seat opposite him. “We’ll do a mock interview and see how you do.”

“Fine. Good.”

Melanie clicked her pen furiously, well acquainted with the techniques writers might use to put Adam on edge. “Mr. Langford, tell me about that night in February with Portia Winfield.”

Adam smiled as if they were playing a game. “Okay. I went out, I ran into Portia. We’d met a few months ago at a party. We had a few too many drinks.”

“Don’t say how much you had to drink. It casts you in an unflattering light.”

“Why? It’s a free country.”

“Never, ever say that it’s a free country. It’s an excuse to do whatever you want, without regard for the consequences.” She ignored the scowl on his face. “Now try again. Tell me about that night in February.”

There was deep confusion in Adam’s expression. Hopefully that meant he was realizing what a narrow tightrope he had to walk to get past a scandal. “That question is so open-ended, and I already told you the truth. Now I don’t even know where to start.”

“These journalists are skilled in the art of tripping someone up. They want you to say something embarrassing or break down. They want something juicy. It’s your job to control the conversation. Make the scandal exactly what you claim it to be.”

“Which is?”

“You tell me.” She flipped her pen in her hand, watching him. The gears were turning behind his dappled blue eyes. For someone with an IQ that was reportedly off the charts, this was clearly a puzzle to him.

“I didn’t go to the club with her. I just ran into her.”

“That makes it sound like you were there to pick up women. Focus on the benign or the positive. Nothing that can be construed as negative.”

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I’d been working like crazy on a new project and I wanted to blow off some steam.”

“I’m sorry, but that won’t work either. The work stuff is good, but blowing off steam makes you sound like a man who uses alcohol to have fun.”

“Well, of course I do. What’s the point, otherwise?” He sank back against the cushions. “You know, I don’t think I can do this. My brain doesn’t work like this. People ask me a question, I answer it and move on.”

“I know this is difficult, but you’ll get it. I promise. It’s just going to take some honing of your answers.”

“Why don’t you show me what you mean? If I don’t defer to you on this, we’ll be sitting here for days.”

“Okay. First off, you establish your relationship with Ms. Winfield. Maybe something like, ‘I’ve known Portia Winfield for a few months and we’re friends. She’s a delightful woman, a great conversationalist.’”

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You do know she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, right?”

“All I said is that she’s amusing and can talk a lot.”

A flicker of appreciation crossed his face. “Go on.”

Melanie deliberated over what to say next, not enjoying the idea of Adam with another woman. Feeling that way was irrational. She had no claim on him, and Adam’s reputation suggested that he could have any woman he wanted. Just last year he had a brief romance with actress Julia Keys, right after she’d been deemed the most beautiful woman in the world. Melanie remembered well standing in line at the drugstore, seeing Julia’s perfect face on the cover of that magazine, a distinct sense of envy cropping up, knowing that Julia was dating the man Melanie could have for only one night.

“You could say that you two enjoyed a drink together,” Melanie said, collecting her thoughts.

“It was more like three and she was well on her way when I got there.”

“But it’s true that at some point in the evening you enjoyed one drink, right?”

“Sure.”

“There you go.”

He grinned. “Please. Keep going.”

“Here’s where I get stuck, because I can’t figure out exactly how you two ended up kissing, while the back of her dress was stuck in the waistband of her panties, the famous disappearing panties.”

Adam sighed and shook his head in dismay. “Do you have any idea how idiotic this whole story is?”

“You’re going to have to paint me a picture, because I really don’t.”

Adam folded his arms across his chest. “I kissed her, and it was more than a peck on the mouth. That much is true. But I quickly realized how drunk she was. I wasn’t about to let it go any further. I had no idea she was mooning half of the bar. She’d just come back from the ladies’ room. And I definitely didn’t know that anyone was taking pictures with a camera phone.”

As the woman who had more than once tucked her skirt into her pantyhose by accident, Melanie knew this was a plausible explanation. “Then what?” Curiosity overtook her, even when the story was making her a bit queasy.

“I told her that I thought it would be a good idea for me to walk her to her car so her driver could take her home. I settled up the tab while she went back to the ladies’ room. I walked her outside, but she could hardly walk and was hanging on me. She dropped her phone on the sidewalk, bent over to pick it up, but I still had my arm around her. That’s when she showed the entire world her, well, you know...”

“Ah, yes. The hoo-ha that launched a million internet jokes.”

“I’m telling you, I had no idea.”

“And from that, the world assumes you took her panties off at the bar.”

“Of course they do, but that’s not what happened. I have no idea what she did with them or why she took them off in the first place. I was trying to be a good guy.”

“The reality is that the press loves to catch famous people doing stupid things, but the bad publicity doesn’t hurt her like it hurts you. All she does is ride around in a limo all day and go shopping. If anything, this probably makes her more interesting to her fans.”

“I never should’ve bought her a drink. Or kissed her for that matter.”

She almost felt sorry for him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It had all gone horribly awry.

“Are you going to tell me what my ex said in the paper about the scandal? I don’t think I can read it for myself.”

Melanie cringed, knowing how bad it was. If her ex had ever said anything this ugly about her, she’d probably curl into a ball and die. “I don’t think we should worry about that. Nothing good will come from it. As far as the PR campaign goes, we’re going to have to hope that today was just a slow news day.”

“No. I want to know. Tell me.” He spoke with clear determination.

“Just remember. You asked.” Melanie pulled the article up on her phone, sucking in a deep breath. “She said, and I quote, ‘I’d love to say that this surprises me, but it doesn’t. Adam has always had a huge weakness for pretty girls. I don’t know if Adam is capable of taking any woman seriously. I certainly don’t think he’s capable of love. I feel sorry for him. I hope someday he can figure out how to be with a woman and finally give of himself.’”

Adam shot up from the couch, marched over to the fireplace and began anxiously jabbing the logs.

“I know you’re mad, but setting the house on fire won’t solve anything,” she said.

“Do you have any idea how hurtful that is? I’m not capable of love? She was my fiancée. We were going to get married and have kids.”

Call it an occupational hazard, but Melanie often had to look past clients’ hurt feelings over the way they’d been treated by the media. It was far more difficult in Adam’s case, because she’d experienced the same rejection. She knew how hard it was to go on, alone, living a life that bore no resemblance to the one you’d thought you’d have. No wedding bells, no home to make together, no children to love and care for.

“You obviously loved her very much.”

“I did. Past tense.” He returned to poking at the fire. “The minute she walked out on me, I knew she never really loved me.”

Melanie had to wonder if that was true, if he’d known right away that it hadn’t really been love. It’d taken her months to figure that out when Josh left, and in many ways, that made the pain far worse. “Why did she break it off? If you don’t mind me asking.” Her curiosity was too great not to ask.

“She said I was too wrapped up in work.” He shrugged and left the fire to blaze away. “If you ask me, I think she was disappointed I didn’t want to feed off the Langford family fortune and jet around the world, going to parties. It’s ridiculous. I work hard because that’s the way I’m built. I don’t know any other way.”

“There’s no shame in working hard.”

“Of course not, but I don’t get to tell my side of the breakup in the papers. I just have to accept the awful things she said about me.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s difficult to have your personal life on display like this.”

“I’m not the guy in those pictures. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately, that’s all people care about.”

Adam shook his head in disgust. “The whole thing is so ridiculous. Can’t we go back to my plan? Ignoring it?”

“Not if you want Portia Winfield’s lady parts to be the first thing people think of when they hear your name.”

He groaned and plopped down on the couch again. “Let’s keep going.”

Melanie closed her notebook and set it on the coffee table. She needed to switch gears for both of their sakes. “Let’s discuss wardrobe. For most of these photo shoots, I’d like you to appear polished, but still casual. We’ll do a suit for the business publications, but for the lifestyle magazines, I’m thinking dark jeans and a dress shirt. No tie. I’d love to see you in a lavender shirt. It will bring out your eyes, and women react well to a man who isn’t afraid to wear a softer color.”

“You have got to be kidding. I wear blue, gray and black. I wouldn’t know lavender if it walked up to me and started talking.”

“I’m not asking you to pick the color out of a box of crayons. I’m asking you to wear it.”

“No lavender. No way.”

Melanie pressed her lips together. There were only so many battles she could win. “We’ll do blue. A light blue. Nothing too dark. You’ll have to wear makeup too, especially for the TV appearances, but you don’t need to do anything other than sit there and let them take care of it. It’s painless.”

“How’d you learn all of this, anyway?”

“Public relations? I studied it in college.”

“No. The things about lavender and women liking softer colors.”

“Let’s just say I grew up in a family that cared a lot about appearances.” That may have been underselling it a bit, but she wasn’t eager to open up this particular can of worms.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Trust me, it’s boring.”

“Look, I need a mental health break after the mock interview and the quote from the paper. Just tell me.”

She didn’t want to dismiss him, mostly because she hated it when he did the same to her. Maybe the highlights, or lowlights as she referred to them, would be okay. “Both of my parents were big on appearances, although my mother passed away when I was little, so I don’t remember being lectured about it by her.” The way Melanie missed her mom wasn’t what she imagined to be normal. She’d been so young when she lost her, that it was more like losing a ghost than a real person. “I definitely remember it from my dad.”

Adam frowned. “Like what?”

Melanie shrugged, looking down into her lap. She’d told herself many times that she shouldn’t allow these memories to make her feel small, but they did. “He’d order me to put on a dress, or try harder with my hair, be more like my sisters. I’m the youngest of four girls and I was a little bookish growing up. They were all into beauty pageants. My mother had won tons of pageants as a girl, but she was stunning. I knew I’d never live up to that.”

“Why? You’re pretty enough.”

She blushed. It was silly, but she enjoyed hearing Adam say she was pretty, or at least pretty enough. “There’s more to it than that. You have to walk up on stage and smile perfectly and wave your hand a certain way and follow a million rules that somebody, somewhere, decided were the ways a girl should present herself. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be that plastic girl.”

He rubbed the stubble along his jaw. “And yet you chose a profession that involves an awful lot of smoke and mirrors.”

She’d never really thought of it that way. “But I can make my own rules when I need to, make my own way. It’s creative and strategic. I love that part of my job. It’s never dull.”

“Did you participate in any beauty pageants, or did you rebel from the beginning?”

A wave of embarrassment hit her, quite a different type of blush from the one she got when Adam had said nice things. “I did one pageant. I actually won it, but that was enough for me.”

“Little Miss Virginia? You’re from Virginia, right?”

“Yes. Rural Virginia. The mountains. And I can’t tell you what my title was or I’ll have to kill you. It’s far too humiliating.”

“Well, now you have to tell me. No one gets past me without sharing at least one humiliating story.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. We’re discussing business. Let’s get back to your wardrobe.”

“Come on. We already had to talk about me and the girl who can’t keep track of her own undies. And one could argue that this is business. These are your qualifications for being my wardrobe consultant.”

“It’s dumb.”

“What if I say I’ll wear a lavender shirt? One time.” He held up a single finger for emphasis.

She really did want him to wear lavender. It would make for some great pictures. “Okay. Fine. I was crowned Little Miss Buttermilk. I was five.”

Adam snickered. “I can’t believe you won the coveted Little Miss Buttermilk title.”

Melanie leaned forward and swatted him on the knee. She’d never told any man this stupid, stupid story, not even her ex. “If you must know, I think I largely took it based on the talent portion. I was an excellent tap dancer.”

“I have no doubts about that. I’ve seen your legs, Buttermilk.”

Melanie swallowed, hard, and tucked one leg under the other. Had he ever seen her legs—every last inch of them. Adam cleared his throat. Thankfully, Jack got up from his nap and ambled over, providing a logical means of changing the topic.

“Hey, buddy.” Adam scratched Jack behind the ears.

“Your parents must’ve made you do things you didn’t want to do when you were a kid.”

“It’s always been about business. Some kids got baseball mitts for Christmas from their dad. I got a briefcase.” Adam nodded, looking at Jack. “That actually happened, by the way. No lie. I love my dad, though. I really do.” That sadness was in his voice again, the one that cropped up whenever he spoke of his father.




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