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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.