Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series)

by Whitney, Mary

  When we met back up with Adam, Sylvia said, “Should we go to the National Gallery now?”

  Shaking my head, I pointed to my phone. “My conference call this evening was canceled because people are stuck in airports. It’s dumping snow outside. If I’m going to get a cab home, I should go find one now.”

  “A taxi? Don’t be silly,” Sylvia said. “Adam can give you a lift, but really you should stay for dinner tonight if you’re free. I’m cooking.”

  “Oh, that’s nice of you to offer.” I had no idea how to respond. I wanted to say yes, but should I? And did Adam even want me there?

  “Please do,” Adam said eagerly. “David’s not there, so the place is actually clean for once.”

  “Oh…okay.” I clenched my bag, hoping I made the right choice.

  When we arrived at his car, snow covered it, so he told us to get in and get warm while he dusted it off.

  “I’ll sit in the back,” said Sylvia happily. “I don’t mind.”

  “Okay.” I felt like we were replaying our roles from 1993.

  Ever the gentleman, Adam opened the doors for us and shut us in. I huddled in my seat trying to get warm, though shivering had its benefit of releasing nervous energy. When he got in, he revved the engine for a second and then looked at me. It was déjà vu all over again. Adam and I together in the front seat of a car, only now the car wasn’t his high school Honda. Now he drove a sleek BMW.

  “Sorry about the cold leather. The seat warmer switch is on your left if you want it. The control for your side of the heat is on the dashboard.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered, feeling another urge to text Juan Carlos. While Adam drove and talked with Sylvia, I whipped out my phone and dashed off a carefully crafted message.

  Hi, sweetie. Having dinner with these two.

  I’ll call you later. I love you.

  His reply soon popped up.

  Still drinking. Hope I can even talk later. Love you, mi reina.

  Somehow just checking in with Juan Carlos made me feel more at ease. I wasn’t hiding anything, or at least not much.

  When we got to Adam’s apartment in Dupont Circle, we first took off our wet coats and boots. Standing in his apartment in my wool socks, I felt more comfortable as I looked around the large open space that flowed from the kitchen to a dining and living area.

  “Your place is so nice,” I said.

  “That’s because I designed it,” said Sylvia.

  “You picked out the art,” Adam said as he hung up our coats. “I chose the furniture.”

  “What? We gutted the entire space, and I designed the layout and placed everything.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ll take you on a tour while Adam gets us some wine and starts a fire.”

  “Okay.” I laughed nervously. “But, Adam, please don’t go out of your way.”

  “Not at all. I was going to do it.” His smiling eyes for me morphed into a glare for his sister. “I didn’t need to be told.”

  Sylvia tossed her head and ignored him as she began to tell me about how she came up with the design. When she got to the mantle, she then went on about the painting she’d chosen to rest above it. I sipped the wine Adam had provided and stayed tuned in to Sylvia as best I could. After she finished, she announced, “Let me take you through the rest of the flat.”

  Oh God. Adam’s bedroom? I didn’t have time to object before she walked on, and I had to catch up with her. First she led me into the spare bedroom and its attached bath. Maybe if I knew more about decorating I would’ve been as impressed as she was with the Italian tile. When she led me out of the bedroom, I headed left to return to the living room. There was Adam standing in the hallway before me.

  Sylvia headed in the other direction and asked, “We can go in your room, right, Adam?”

  I met his gaze and really wanted to tell him he didn’t have to let us, but that might have sounded even worse than saying nothing.

  He simply said, “Sure.”

  He hadn’t sounded incredibly enthused, but he followed us along. Now I was really nervous as I entered his room. The cream-colored space had a large bay window with two leather chairs in a sitting area, and beyond that was a large alcove that looked to be a little home office. A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room.

  Sylvia pointed to the art above the bed. “This is a very special print. The artist worked on it for months…”

  She continued talking, but I stopped listening. Adam’s bed was too much of a distraction. I let my eyes drop down to inspect the perfectly made blue duvet and matching shams. Adam’s bed—where every night he slept and probably did all sorts of things with many different women. I didn’t like thinking about the latter, so I wondered instead what he looked like sleeping in it. That made me crack a smile, which I had to hide.

  After she finished with the art, Sylvia faced the rest of the room. “That alcove is a work area I designed. I like a more open space rather than a separate office. Now let’s go back to the living room, and I’ll cook.”

  She turned around, but I was intrigued by the artwork above his desk, which was really a drafting table. “You still draw?” I asked him.

  “Yeah.” He seemed sheepish.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “I don’t know.” Running his hand through his hair, he said, “It’s only a hobby.”

  “Can I see?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I was too curious. Adam had drawn political cartoons and caricatures when we were young. I’d thought he was really good at the time and wondered what he did now.

  From behind, I heard Sylvia say, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  I picked up a sketch from his messy desk. “So you’re doing caricatures of President Logan?”

  “I’m trying,” Adam said, walking up behind me.

  “Can I see some more?”

  “Of course.” He pulled a stool out for me. “Take a seat.”

  As I studied all the drawings on the table, he sat on another stool beside me. His work had matured. The drawings were sharper, and the contexts were more informed. That made sense. He was a reporter now, after all.

  I smiled. “These are so good, Adam. Why aren’t you publishing them?”

  “I don’t think they’re really good enough.” He grimaced. “Plus, it’s a hard profession to break into.”

  “But you’re already a journalist. I would think it would be a leg-up. People know you. It should be easier to get them seen.”

  “I’m a television journalist. You know we’re looked down upon by print. It probably hurts more than helps me that I’m already in the field.”

  I gently tapped a drawing. “I still think you should try. You’ll never know if you don’t, and wouldn’t you rather be drawing than your current job?”

  “Well, yes, but it seems like a futile endeavor. Not even worth the effort.”

  I wondered why he was so defeatist, but I didn’t press him. Instead, I studied the work itself. I held up the drawing of President Logan. “You’ve really captured him well, but you could add something here. You’re right that he’s got a really long neck, but in this drawing—where he’s angry—you should make some veins bulge out. They always do when he’s pissed, though that’s rare.”

  “Are you giving me secrets about your boss, Nicole Johnson?” He laughed.

  “Hardly.” I smiled. “He’d think these were hilarious. Now, he may not like the captions you put with them, but he’d like the drawings themselves and wouldn’t mind them being accurate. He’s got a really good sense of humor.”

  “Thanks. That’s good to know.”

  “I like that one, too,” I said, spying a cartoon of Gordon Brown. “He’s probably a fun one to draw.”

  “Definitely. He’s got a million different expressions, and he looks uncomfortable in every one of them.” Sounding a little more confident, he pulled out a sketchpad and said, “This is what I’m working on right now. I thought I’d practice Angela Merkel since we’re going to Berlin.”
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  “Oh, let me see.” I looked at the sketch. “This is really good. I’ve met her before. I’d give her a short necklace. She wears them all the time, even though they’re not very flattering.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They show off her jowls.”

  “Let me add a necklace, then,” he said, grabbing a pen.

  As he sketched away, we talked about his drawings and the people in them. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him they had potential, and I certainly didn’t believe him when he said I was helping him. “How on earth am I helping you?”

  “You have good insight.” And then he gave me a compliment. “You’re very clever, you know.”

  Years ago, he’d called me clever. It was the first compliment he had ever paid me, and I think I had blushed for a week after he’d said it. Today, normally somebody telling me I was smart was no big deal. It would go in one ear and out the other. Coming from Adam, though, it was an entirely different matter.

  “Whatever,” I said, but I felt a full-fledged flush come over me, starting with my cheeks and spreading all over. When I tried to look him in the eye, I noticed he wasn’t looking at my face. His eyes wandered around my body, obviously checking me out. From his expression, I guessed he liked what he saw, but he was still polite and said nothing.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of his bed—not what I needed to see at that moment. I looked down and said under my breath, “I should go see what Sylvia is up to.”

  “Of course.” His lips twitched into a smile.

  We walked back to the kitchen, and everything was normal again. Throughout dinner, Sylvia kept us laughing—sometimes at her, but usually with her—and her cooking, like her art and sense of style, was amazing.

  After dinner, I checked my watch. “I really should get home,” I said with some regret.

  “When do you get to the office in the morning?” Sylvia asked. “Maybe we could meet for coffee.”

  “I don’t think so.” I chuckled. “Unless you want to meet me at six. I’m at my desk by seven.”

  Sylvia giggled. “Perhaps not, then.” She pointed to the mess in the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll let Adam take you home while I tidy up.”

  Alone in a car with Adam? Not just alone in a public museum? I took a deep breath. It shouldn’t matter. And if it shouldn’t matter, I had the power to make sure it didn’t. I smiled at Sylvia. “Well, if Adam takes me home, then I have to say goodbye to you now.”

  With the snow falling heavily, there was plenty for Adam and me to talk about as we made our way to Lisa’s apartment. We had a safely boring conversation about the strange weather for March and poor road conditions. That was helpful, as I needed to figure out how I was going to say goodbye.

  Just as we pulled into the apartment building’s circular driveway, I stole a look at him. Yes, he looked older than he used to, but in jeans, he resembled young Adam more. When he stopped the car, he turned to me with such a knowing smile that the words of my planned goodbye escaped me for a moment.

  Instead, I contemplated what it might be like to kiss him again. Would it be the same? I could see my old friend Rachel laughing and saying, “Like Adam Kincaid forgot how to kiss? If anything, it’s going to be even better.” That got my mind in even more trouble.

  After a day like we’d had together, I had the urge to say goodbye like when he used to drop me off. I wanted to climb into his lap, kiss him long and hard, and rub myself against his dick for so long we’d both be panting with want. At that moment, it seemed like such a good bad idea, and when he gave me that sly look, I was pretty sure he’d welcome whatever I did.

  Then I remembered Juan Carlos, and a punch of guilt caused my prepared words to finally rush out of me. “Thanks so much for letting me crash your day with Sylvia, and thank you for dinner and the ride home.”

  “Well, you have to thank Sylvia for dinner, but the rest has been fun. I’m happy we got to spend some time together.”

  “I am, too,” I said in a confessional whisper.

  Our eyes locked, a little too long and a little too intensely, causing my thoughts to stray again. I had to stop wondering what it would be like to kiss him. There was no way I could be friends with the guy when my every instinct was to throw myself at him.

  A smile slowly formed on Adam’s face, and he said, “Now go on up. We’ve got a big week ahead, you especially.”

  I nodded. “The president’s first international trip.”

  “Indeed.”

  After I made it inside the apartment, I peeked in the living room. Lisa had clearly spent the day sacked out on the couch. Huddled under a quilt, she had everything she needed within hand’s reach—her phone, the remote, Diet Coke, takeout, and a glass of wine.

  “Where have you been all day, stranger?”

  “Out.” I coyly studied the fringe on a throw pillow before I smiled. “With Sylvia and Adam. We had dinner at Adam’s place together. Sylvia cooked.”

  “Ah ha.” Her expression was full of judgment, but she said nothing else.

  “I’m not hiding anything. Juan Carlos knows.” Thank God I’d told him. Otherwise I would’ve backed down from her stare.

  “Yeah…” After a second, she must’ve decided to keep her analysis of my private life to herself. She smirked. “I also sort of spent the day with the Kincaid family.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The cousin called me…more than once.”

  “I don’t believe he’s technically a Kincaid,” I said with a giggle. “His mother is Adam’s aunt.”

  “That’s what he keeps telling me. He says his side of the family is much more down to earth than the Kincaids.”

  “How did he get your number?”

  “Adam found it for him. The bastard.” She smiled.

  “Wow. He’s persistent.”

  “Very.”

  “Would you go out with him?”

  “I don’t know…” she said. Her eyes narrowed at me. “Would you go out with Adam?”

  The fringe on the pillow became fascinating to me as I mulled it over. If Juan Carlos weren’t in the picture and I was honest with myself, the answer would be yes. At a minimum, I wanted to tear his clothes off and have my way with him one more time. I tried to find a genuine middle ground. “I was out with him today, but it wasn’t a date. I think there’s a difference.” With more confidence, I added, “I have a professional stake in this, too.”

  Lisa pursed her lips in what had to be another round of judgment, but eventually she allowed a smile to creep through. “Well, I’d go out with David if it wasn’t a date, so we’re even.”

  Chapter Six

  AIR FORCE ONE WAS A GIDDY PLACE the evening the plane took off for Berlin. Everyone, from the reporters to the staff to the president himself, was excited about the first international trip. Not that the groups really interacted much. The president had spacious private quarters, where he could do everything from work out to sleep to watch TV on a big flat screen, and then a large office upstairs. In the far back of the plane, the White House Press Corps traveled like they were in coach on any American airline. The president’s staff was quartered in somewhat better accommodations toward the plane’s front, and with a full office for us to work in.

  My job had me making the rounds everywhere. As Matt walked alongside me, he yawned before giving me the job he didn’t want to do. “Just tell them we’ll give them extra time with the president later in the trip.”

  “Okay, but they’re going to complain…”

  “They’re the press. All they do is bitch and moan.” He waved his hand. “The quicker you tell them, the quicker you can catch some sleep.”

  As I walked down the stairs to the media, I heard a ruckus over the airplane engines. Rowdy reporters. It was a good thing they weren’t near Logan. He was a light sleeper and mean as a bear when you woke him up.

  When I walked through the curtains, I saw what caused so much noise. R
eporters were grouped in clusters, gossiping and chatting. Some played cards while another group drank beer and wine and occasionally erupted in fits of laughter and squeals. I spotted Adam on the outskirts, where a few stragglers read or tried to catch some sleep. His The Economist magazine was in his hand, but his Bose headphones hung around his neck like he’d just taken them off. The crowd must’ve been bothering him. I gave him a small wave, just as I had every day since our Sunday together. The wave was easier than talking, but still friendly enough.

  When I approached the loudest group, I first saw Lydia Mixon in the center of it. She was the perky correspondent from CBS News, and she had to have been a cheerleader in high school, the kind Adam had once dated. If we were in high school, Lydia wouldn’t have given me, the geeky outsider, the time of day. Now roles were reversed, and I was the one in power.

  She caught my eye and grinned. “Hi, Nicole. It’s good to see you. Are we being too loud?”

  “No. No one has complained.” I smiled at the group. “But you do seem to be having a good time? What’s going on?”

  “Just a little impromptu party.” Lydia gestured to Dan Roark, who stood hunched over the back of a seat, holding a glass of beer. “Dan has us playing games that are making us laugh.”

  “Drinking games?” I asked Dan.

  “Nah. More like truth or dare, but without the dare.”

  “Oh dear,” I said in a playful tone.

  Lydia sidled up to me and said, “Well, it’s a little silly, but we’re having fun.”

  “Dare I ask what ‘truth’ everyone is revealing?”

  “We’ve been sharing where we lost our virginity and to whom,” she said. “It’s harmless.”

  I froze my smile. Holy shit.

  Leaning closer to me, Dan asked, “Wanna play, Nicole?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.” I played it cool, hoping I could end it all sooner that way.

  “I’ll tell you mine,” he said. “My high school girlfriend, Charlotte Clark, in my Mustang. How’s that? Now your turn.”