by Karen Booth
Oh, he was all kinds of wrong, only in that he was a little too right. Ideas swirled in her head, of a hot kiss in the break room, his insistent lips on hers. Maybe he’d back her up against the refrigerator with enough force to flatten the back of her hair, maybe even hard enough to make the magnets fall off the door. If that ever happened, he wouldn’t hesitate to untuck her blouse and snake his hands along her back. He’d unhook her bra, mold her breasts in his hands. She’d have no choice at that point—she’d have to take off every stitch of his clothes so they could send each other into blissful oblivion. Or she could slam on the brakes, as she had in the mountains, because a tryst with Adam in the kitchen, or anywhere else, would be wrong.
Melanie’s eyes fluttered. Her face flushed, her chest burned. She’d have to stick her head in the freezer if she allowed herself any more daydreamy latitude. No more Adam fantasies. Not today.
She filled two mugs emblazoned with Costello Public Relations. What a joke. Her company was hardly custom coffee cup–worthy in its current state. Adam had insinuated as much. “Anything else, Mr. Wizard? Should I be taking notes?”
“Very funny. Mr. Wizard. I’m just giving you a little free advice. I do know what I’m doing, you know.” He claimed one of the coffees from the counter and added a splash of cream. “I made my first million out of a dorm room. I know how to grow a company.”
“You know how to grow your company. We’re in two completely different lines of work. Believe me, I know how to grow mine.” Sure, she could snag a lot more clients if she didn’t have to worry about things like vacuuming the office before meetings. It didn’t matter. She simply didn’t have the means. She’d have to work more and sleep less until that turned around.
“Okay.” Adam headed out of the kitchen and back into the reception area. “We can talk about it later. I’ll take you out for a drink after the interview. One of my favorite neighborhood bars is around the corner.”
“A drink?” Just what I need. Liquor to fog up my already questionable resolve.
“Yes. I know it falls outside the scope of going to work and going home, but I think you’ll enjoy yourself. We haven’t spent enough time together that wasn’t related to work.”
“We’ll still be talking about work. I think that counts.”
“Something tells me we’ll get around to other topics.”
Other topics. Melanie did not want to discuss her family or her love life. What else was there? The weather? She made a mental note to check the forecast online while Adam did the interview. Maybe she’d brush up on NBA scores, knowing that Adam followed the Knicks. Anything she could launch at him to steer the conversation toward the benign. If he brought up Julia, she wanted to be prepared to change the subject, pronto.
There was a knock at the door and a lanky man opened it. “I think I’m in the right place. I’m looking for Adam Langford.”
“Yes, you’re in the right place,” Melanie answered, smiling and rushing across the room to shake his hand. “Please. Come on in. I made coffee.”
Twelve
This was as close Adam could come to taking Melanie out on a date, at least while he was in a fake relationship with another woman. And at least while Melanie was dishing up roadblocks and mixed signals.
He opened the creaky, dark wood door of Flaherty’s Pub for her. “Ladies first.”
She grimaced, peering into the dimly lit bar. “Something tells me they aren’t going to want to make me a mojito in this place.”
“Sorry, Buttermilk. Nothing with a sugared rim, either.”
She pointed at him accusatorially, pursing her lips, but he caught a fraction of a smile. “You know how I feel about that nickname.”
He ushered her ahead. “I do, but the problem is it fits you so perfectly. A little sweet, a little sour. Most of the time I can’t think of anything better to call you.”
“Adam Langford, you’re lucky I need a drink so badly.”
His favorite watering hole in Manhattan was dark as could be—poor lighting, worn mahogany, deep maroon upholstery on the booths. A jukebox predating them both sat at the back. A few regulars were lined up at the bar. They’d probably spent their afternoon knocking back a cold one, preserving the lost art of conversation.
Melanie clutched her purse to her chest. “This isn’t what I imagined when you said you’d take me out for a drink.”
Adam shook his head, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Relax. Don’t you trust me? I’ve been sneaking in here since I was a teenager. I love it. It’s totally different from anywhere else I spend my time. My parents would be appalled if they knew about it.”
Jones, the gray-haired bartender, flipped a towel over his shoulder and nodded at Adam. “Look who’s here. The prodigal son returns.” Jones had long called him that, but he knew little about Adam’s background. He never asked, Adam never offered. Coming to Flaherty’s was time for throwing darts and leaving everything else behind.
Adam laughed and curved his hand at Melanie’s waist. “Come on,” he said quietly. As much as she looked out of her element, she did trust his taste enough to follow his lead across the room. Adam shook Jones’s hand. “How are you, my man? Business treating you right?”
Jones pushed his black-framed glasses up onto his nose. “I’ve got every microbrewery in the country trying to get me to sell their beer, but for the most part, I can’t complain.” He wiped a spot on the bar with a towel. “Where are your manners? Are you going to introduce me to the lovely lady you brought to my fine establishment?”
Adam nodded. One thing he loved about Flaherty’s was that nobody gave him a hard time about anything serious. There was no speculation about him or his character. They certainly wouldn’t know what was playing out in the tabloids. Jones, especially, was concerned with the sports page and not much else. Here he could be single Adam Langford and he could take Melanie out for a drink. “Yes, of course. This is Melanie Costello. Her office is about a block from here. I’m surprised you two haven’t run into each other.”
Melanie smiled, seeming to warm to her surroundings. “Probably just on different schedules.”
“Jonesy, I need you to make Melanie a very special drink. She loves mojitos. Anything you can get close to that?”
Jones scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I spent two years in Puerto Rico after I was in the military. I make the best mojito ever. My wife grows the mint out at our place in Staten Island.”
Melanie saddled up to the bar, perching in a swivel stool and crossing her splendid legs. “That sounds wonderful. Tell me about your wife. How long have you been married?”
“Her name is Sandy. Been married twenty-seven years. Not counting tomorrow, of course.” Jones winked at Melanie as he got out a pint glass.
What the hell? “How did I not know you could make a mojito?” Adam asked.
“Maybe because you never ordered one.” Jones went to work, muddling mint and sugar in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. “Maybe because you never ordered anything more than a bourbon or a beer. And maybe because lovely Melanie is the first woman you’ve ever brought in here.”
Melanie rested her elbow on the bar and turned back to look at Adam. She flashed her beguiling blue eyes. “The first woman ever. I feel so special.”
He knew she was being sarcastic, but he loved bringing out that side of her—the sassy, flirtatious side. It made his entire body tight, especially everything below the belt. He opted not to sit next to her, instead draping his arm across the back of the bar stool. Here, in a place where he could be anonymous, he didn’t mind allowing his mind to wander to thoughts of what it would be like to be with Melanie. To have her as his girlfriend, or more.
In that world, he could deal with his other problems in a much better fashion. If he had Melanie, she would understand his work stresses. She would understand at least some of h
is family stresses because she’d dealt with similar things herself. And damn if she wouldn’t be a sight for sore eyes after a long day.
Jones finished up their drinks. “I’ll put yours on your tab, Adam. Melanie’s is on the house.” He again winked at her, which elicited an uncharacteristic giggle.
Adam wasn’t shocked by Jones’s attempt at flirtation. How could a man not be drawn to Melanie? Aside from her beauty—deep blue eyes and soft pink lips, curves designed to make him lose all sense of direction, and that was only the start—she had something within her that was simply magnetic. There was her staunch independence and her fiery devotion to her work, but she also possessed vulnerability. There was a caring and gentle woman inside, as well.
Melanie stirred her glass, poking at the ice with her straw. “Jones, this is delicious. Absolutely the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had more than my fair share of mojitos.”
Adam drank in the vision as Melanie skimmed the corner of her mouth with her tongue and flashed a satisfied grin. He had both feet firmly planted on the ground and still he felt as if he might fall over. “Let’s take one of the booths in the corner,” he said.
“Keeping her all to yourself?” Jones asked.
“I’m no dummy,” Adam replied, taking his drink from the bar.
They settled into the small, half-round booth, Melanie placing her large purse squarely between them.
Damn. He’d been counting on a chance to inch closer. “Talk to me about Costello Public Relations. I want to know how you can run a one-woman shop. And don’t tell me you’re keeping it lean and mean. I don’t buy it.”
Melanie cocked her head to the side. “What is so mystifying about the concept? I’m capable. I get stuff done.”
“I never said you didn’t. I only said that you’d get more done if you had support staff. You must be bringing in enough money. I know how much my dad is paying you and it’s substantial.”
The sound that came out of Melanie was equal parts frustration and resignation. “Let’s just say I’m upside down in my office lease and I’m still paying off the furniture.” She shook her head and took another long draw of her mojito. “If you must know, that’s the real reason I don’t have a staff. I can’t afford it. Yet.” She planted her finger on the table. “Someday I will.”
“Why’d you spend so much money on your office? You had to have had a business plan, a budget for the first few years.”
“It was my former business partner’s idea.”
“So sue her.”
She paused before she answered, seeming to calculate what to say. “Sue him. And it’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is. You have to be ruthless when it comes to things like this. It’s just business.”
“It’s not just business.” Melanie took a sip of her drink that was so long, he thought she might make it all the way to the bottom. “It’s personal. Very personal.”
Whatever was very personal was also clearly a sore spot. Maybe she didn’t like talking about work after hours. It wasn’t his intention to draw her into an unwelcome conversation, especially now that they finally had the chance to go out together, but he had to know.
“I’m listening. Tell me everything.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
He fought disappointment that she still didn’t trust him enough to simply come out with it, but he had to keep trying. “Please don’t be afraid to confide in me. I’m only trying to help. No judgments. Just help.”
She looked him in the eye, searching, for what he did not know. He took the opportunity to reciprocate, scanning her lovely features, his heart heavy that she was obviously suffering over whatever had happened.
Finally, she sighed and dropped her shoulders. “My business partner was also my boyfriend. I thought he was about to become my fiancé, but I was clueless. He had an affair with one of our clients, while he and I were living together and talking about marriage and children.” Her voice wobbled, but her resolve was still evident. “He left with her. For San Francisco. They went into real estate together. And unfortunately, I trusted him and it’s only my name on the lease, or anything for that matter. Costello PR is all mine. Sink or swim.”
Anger bubbled under Adam’s skin. He hadn’t been in many fistfights in his life, but he wouldn’t hesitate to flatten Melanie’s ex, to make him feel a fragment of the pain he’d caused her. “I’m so sorry. Talk about a double whammy.”
He was about to reach across the table and take her hand, but she pulled it back, picking up her drink and downing the last of it.
“A triple even,” she muttered when she came up for air.
“An affair. With a client...” And there it was. Aside from the contract with his father and her extreme attachment to doing things her way, there was another reason to keep him at arm’s length.
“Yes, Adam. An affair. With a client. It looks a little different from the outside, doesn’t it? Some people would call it unseemly.”
Adam wanted to protest, to say that it wasn’t the same because this excuse for a man, her ex, was a coward. And he had to be certifiable. Why would anyone leave her? “The way he went about it, it does. It wouldn’t have to be like that. If two people were attracted to each other, they could wait until the working relationship had come to a close and then proceed with romantic intentions.”
“But both people would have to be unattached, completely, for real.” Something wouldn’t allow her to say that she meant Julia. “And both people would have to be capable of commitment. Because I don’t do casual. It’s not in my DNA.”
Did this mean she was interested? And could he do commitment? Could he start out a relationship that way? Usually he eased into that mode, knowing he’d likely never get there, but Melanie deserved far more. “Are you giving me a checklist?”
“Even if I did, it still wouldn’t account for my checklist, and trust me, mine is a mile long.”
Adam’s phone beeped with a text. Dammit. Just when he was learning the landscape of the epic battle to win over Melanie. “I’m sorry. I should’ve put it on vibrate.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
Adam cringed as he read the message from Julia.
I need you at a dinner Saturday. Director in town.
It turned out that the fake relationship benefited Julia more than they’d originally thought it might. She’d landed a gritty role as a mouthy Long Island mob wife, a part her agent said she wouldn’t have been considered for before she got serious with a man immersed in controversy. Julia was convinced this was her chance at industry awards.
The text was an unwelcome reminder of what was waiting for him outside Flaherty’s—obligations that revolved around other people’s needs, all of it keeping him from Melanie, and just when he’d convinced her to open up. She knew so much about him, even the bad things. He didn’t know much beyond Little Miss Buttermilk and now, her bastard of an ex.
“Crisis in the office?” she asked.
Adam clicked off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. “Just something that will have to wait.” He smiled, relishing his return to conversation with Melanie. “Where were we?”
“Nowhere. I’d like a change of subject.” She looked over her shoulder. “Or a turn with the jukebox.” She whipped back and dug through her purse. “Shoot. I don’t have any change.”
“The machine takes quarters. I’ll get some from Jones.”
“And another drink?” She lifted her glass and shook it at him.
He laughed quietly. He adored her playful side, especially since she didn’t show it often.
Melanie slid out from the booth and wound her way to the jukebox. Adam got change and another round of drinks, listening dutifully as Jones informed him that he was a “certifiable idiot” if he did anything less than treat Melanie like a prince
ss and figure out a way to make her his wife. For the moment, he was going for a successful first date.
Adam watched the sway of Melanie’s hips as she stood before the jukebox, pushing the button and making the records go by. He would’ve done anything for the chance to walk up behind her, wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. But even in the place where they could shut out the world, he wasn’t sure she’d be amenable.
“About time,” she said when he reached her. She plucked the quarters from his hand and plugged the machine, then tapped away at the numbers.
“Don’t I get to pick any?” He moved in next to her until they were standing virtually hip to hip. He had several inches of height advantage, even when she was wearing heels. Heels that he couldn’t help but notice made her legs look incredible.
She grumbled. “I don’t even know if you have good taste in music.” She turned to block his access to the number pad controlling the jukebox.
You clever minx. “You’ve got to be kidding. I have excellent taste in music, and don’t forget that I financed this endeavor. I at least deserve a turn.”
She punched in another number. “Okay. You can pick one song. But it’d better be good.” With a flourish, she stepped back, placing the tips of her graceful fingers on her collarbone.
Give me strength. Adam’s head was doing somersaults. When Melanie let down her guard, when she was being sassy and independent and sexy, exactly the way she’d been the night he first met her, he had no logical thought other than getting her into his bed, ASAP. He chose a song with little deliberation, so little that he didn’t remember what he’d picked.
“What’s your song? I didn’t see.”
“Um. It’s a surprise.”
Melanie swirled her drink with the straw. “I could drink about seven of these, but then you’d have to put me in a cab because I would either be asleep or very, very stupid.”
“I don’t want you to drink that much, but I’m willing to go along with whatever you want tonight.”
Melanie cast him a smirk. “You ready to put your money where your mouth is? Because I want to dance.”