Love On My Mind

by Tracey Livesay

“Why not?”

  She shrugged. “One, you needed money. And two, you needed someone invested enough to take you and share the experience. I had neither.”

  He blinked. They’d spent so much time focusing on the presentation and his needs that it occurred to him he didn’t know much about her background. He intended to remedy that immediately. However, before he could question her further, she changed the subject.

  “No offense, but don’t most computer geeks spend an inordinate amount of time avoiding the outdoors? It’s how they acquire their pasty pallor.”

  “Saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t mean offense won’t be taken, and it doesn’t excuse your fault in causing it,” he said. She slapped his thigh and he laughed, picking up several pieces of trail mix and popping them into his mouth. “I’ve always been active.”

  He didn’t mention that playing sports was his way to atone for the son he could never be. But nothing he’d done had alleviated the biting disappointment always present on his mother’s face.

  “Always? Are you trying to tell me you were the star quarterback of your high school football team?”

  “Not at all. I didn’t enjoy team sports. I ran cross-­country and wrestled.”

  “As I said, full of surprises.” She bumped his forearm with her shoulder. “But isn’t wrestling a team sport? Don’t they call it a wrestling team?”

  “There is a team of wrestlers, but when you’re on the mat, facing off against an opponent, it’s just the two of you. Unlike in football, where the mistakes of your teammates can affect your chances of winning, in wrestling my success or failure depended entirely on my own efforts. It’s a physical version of chess, where my goal was to outmaneuver my opponent and gain control.”

  Considering the lack of it in his life at that time, seeking control was something he’d desperately needed.

  “I bet your family came to all of your events. A genius and an athlete? They must’ve been proud of you.”

  Were they? “My life isn’t governed by thoughts of my family’s feelings about my achievements.”

  “That’s evident. You don’t talk about them and there aren’t any pictures of them around your house.”

  His scalp prickled. “I don’t need pictures to remind me of their existence.”

  “Are they coming to the launch?”

  How did they end up discussing his family when he’d just noted his intent to learn about hers? “No. They don’t enjoy visiting me.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Is that what they said?”

  “No. They just don’t visit.”

  “Do you invite them?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why would I invite them to my home when it’s clear they dislike being here?”

  She dusted her hands together. “Ugh, I’ve stepped onto your word merry-­go-­round again.”

  “My what?”

  “Word merry-­go-­round. That’s when we talk around the same subject, but our understanding of the subject is different. My point was maybe your family doesn’t visit because you don’t invite them.”

  Word merry-­go-­round. That was an accurate turn of phrase. He found it amusing. No one had ever described it in that manner before, though he’d experienced this ordeal numerous times.

  “When I invited them to Computronix’s first product launch, they complained about my schedule, then left during the festivities. They never mentioned a follow-­up visit and I had no interest in putting any of us through that experience again.”

  “You said your father and sisters still live in Colorado. Is that where you’re from?”

  “Yes, about two hours west of Denver.”

  “Your father and sisters, but not your mother?” She paused. “Where is she?”

  He shifted away from her on the blanket. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen years old.”

  “What happened when you were fourteen?”

  His chest tightened and his skin alternated between feverish and chilled. And he was the one who was deficient in understanding social cues? Were his clipped responses not enough to telegraph his unease with this topic? “She left and never returned.”

  “Oh . . .” She jerked upward and pressed a hand to the front of her sweatshirt, covering the letters spread across her breasts. “My God, Adam. I’m sorry.”

  He avoided her stare. “My mother really wanted a son, and after two daughters she was ecstatic when I was born. It wasn’t long before she realized I wasn’t going to be the kind of son she’d envisioned.”

  This wasn’t why he’d brought her out here. He hadn’t planned to have this conversation now.

  “Are you kidding me? Look at what you’ve accomplished. Any mother would be proud to have you as a son.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed. “Not when I was a child. I was different.”

  “Different how? Because you were gifted?”

  If only.

  “Because I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.”

  She stiffened and her head jerked back. “Like autism?” she asked, dropping his hand.

  He stared at his abandoned hand and the trail mix sank heavily to the pit of his stomach. “It’s on the autism disorder spectrum, although the term was dropped for a broader one two years ago.”

  “When were you diagnosed?”

  This was harder than he’d imagined. He stared straight ahead. “When I was six years old. My genius had already begun to manifest itself and my mother was keen to have me tested. She got what she wanted, but not in the package she’d have preferred.”

  “That’s no excuse for her to abandon you.”

  “Imagine feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and distressed at the way your child’s issues and needs have taken over your life. Schedules, decisions, and daily routines all seem to revolve around a child whose mind moves at a rate you can’t fathom, who doesn’t share your interests—­or even pretends to—­and who has a preoccupation with perfection and finds it difficult to establish an emotional bond.”

  He’d memorized the introduction of the parenting website, having found it after doing a search on the topic of raising a child with Asperger’s.

  “Is that because of the Asperger’s or the genius?”

  “For me, they’re intertwined.”

  “That explains some of our miscommunication.”

  He nodded. “When I was younger, idioms were my undoing. Pulling my leg, butterflies in my stomach, shoes that cost an arm and a leg. It’s estimated that there are over twenty-­five thousand of them. It’ll never come naturally to me, as it does to many ­people, but most of the time, I’m fine. When I’m distracted or stressed, it becomes more difficult.”

  “And this is why you asked for my help with the presentation?”

  “Struggles with understanding social cues and uneasiness being the focus of attention in a crowd are not the traits inherent in a successful interactive presentation.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you,” she said, her voice soft.

  Heat swept across the back of his neck. “I don’t want your fucking pity.”

  “Hey!” She rose to her knees and scooted to face him. “Pity is the last thing I feel for you,” she said, her tone vehement.

  He noticed he’d curled his hands into fists. He forced himself to relax. “There’s always someone worse off. On the one hand, I have this condition that makes socializing challenging for me. On the other hand, I possess a drive, determination, and single-­minded focus that has made me more successful than most ­people in the world.” He offered her a small smile. “In the grand scheme of things, I’ve come out ahead.”

  She touched his leg. “And that part about it being difficult to establish an emotional bond. Is that still an issue for you?”

  His gaze bored into hers, nee
ding her to understand. “I can’t speak for all ­people on the spectrum, but I have no problem establishing a bond with anyone who captures my interest.” He sighed and looked away. “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you before we slept together? I wasn’t trying to hide it, but it’s personal information I only share with a few ­people.”

  When she didn’t respond right away, he hurried to clarify. “I swear I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I don’t respond to the social and vocal cues you instinctively notice when someone sets out to mislead you. It adds an extra layer of difficulty to conversations. I don’t lie and I can’t tolerate ­people in my life who do.”

  She sat hunched over with her eyes closed, rubbing the middle of her forehead. His heart slowed as he struggled to pull fresh air into his lungs. He’d been expecting this response, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-­pity. He had to think about his company.

  “Are you still willing to help me?”

  Her eyes popped open. “Of course. And now that I understand, I’ll be able to assist you more effectively.”

  “I never wanted to be treated differently,” he said.

  “You are different, but that’s part of your appeal and it makes you special. Anyone who doesn’t recognize that, including your mother, isn’t worthy of your care or consideration.”

  Her words fueled him, sending adrenaline coursing through his body. He reached out for one of her curls, hopeful when she didn’t pull away.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, scrutinizing her face, wishing that, just this once, he could automatically understand every tick, every nuance.

  “You suggested a hike,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

  “Not here with me. Here, in the mountains. When we first met you said you were spending a ­couple of months up here. This isn’t the natural destination for a person who doesn’t like the outdoors.”

  It was her turn to look off. “I needed some time away.”

  “From what?” Or whom?

  “I—­” She swallowed. “I’m close to a promotion but it requires me to do something I’m not sure about.” She bent her head. “I came up here to think about it.”

  He recalled their earlier conversation. A promotion would epitomize the success she craved and her hesitation spoke volumes.

  “Is it illegal?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re unsure. Is it unethical?”

  “Let’s not talk about it. What a horrible conversation to honor this wonderful view.” She shook her head. “You know, if we’d attended the same high school, I would’ve come to your wrestling matches.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-­huh. And when you pinned your opponent, I would’ve stood up and cheered.”

  He imagined looking up into the stands of his high school gymnasium and seeing Chelsea applauding his victory. “You would have been a costly distraction.”

  “I doubt it. You’re one of the most focused ­people I know.”

  He smiled. Then, in one smooth, controlled motion, he hooked his hand beneath her knees and pulled her forward until she was lying flat on her back and he was braced above her. She squealed and her eyes widened.

  He swept her hair off her forehead and pressed a brief kiss to her lips.

  “You’d be amazed to learn the effect you’ve had on me.”

  “I’m no wrestling expert,” she said, her voice breathless, “but I’m certain this isn’t part of a regulation wrestling match.”

  “They’d alter the rules if all opponents looked like you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  ADAM HAS ASPERGER’S.

  Chelsea closed the lid of her laptop and stared into the flames of the gas fireplace. It had been difficult to reconcile the man she was drawn to with the popular depictions of autism in movies and on TV, like Rain Man and The Big Bang Theory. But after her hike with Adam, she’d returned to the Anderson house and immediately began researching Asperger’s and autism spectrum disorders. From what she learned, Adam fell on the side of the spectrum where his problems had more to do with social interaction than they did with cognitive disabilities.

  She was humbled that Adam had chosen to confide in her, but what did she do with this new information? What did it mean for the presentation and what she was hired to do? More importantly, would it affect her growing feelings for Adam?

  She needed to talk to her best friend. She picked up her phone and texted India.

  Can you talk?

  Her phone rang almost immediately.

  “I’ve never had so much sweet tea in my life!” Indi said. “I swear they mainline it here.”

  “Welcome to the South.”

  “No kidding. So, how was your date with Adam Bennett?” She huffed out a laugh. “I can’t believe I just uttered that sentence.”

  Chelsea smiled in remembrance. “It was amazing. He rented out a science museum and we had dinner under the stars.”

  “Now, that’s something you don’t hear every day. Sounds romantic. It’s going well, then? You’ve reconciled him being a client and becoming involved with him?”

  “Oh Indi . . .” She hated that her voice cracked.

  “Chels, what is it? What’s going on?”

  She blinked rapidly, refusing to let any tears fall. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not my intention, but I really need to talk to you, and the information is sensitive, and I—­”

  “I got it. And I wouldn’t tell anyone if you told me not to.”

  Chelsea took a deep breath. “Adam has Asperger’s.”

  “Oh. Oooh.”

  “I just found out about his diagnosis. That’s the real reason why I’m working with him, why he needs my help.”

  “You just found out? Don’t ­people with Asperger’s exhibit obvious behaviors?”

  “It’s a spectrum. Everyone’s different, although there are similarities in symptoms that help with diagnosis. When we first met, I thought he was an eccentric genius and a stubborn prick.”

  “An alpha-­hole.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But that changed?”

  “Yes, and despite my better judgment, I agreed to go out with him. And now . . .”

  “Does finding out affect how you feel about him?”

  “No. Wait, that’s not true. It does. But not negatively. When I think of all he’s accomplished, how much was stacked against him, and how little support he had, I’m in awe. He’s the most incredible man I’ve ever known,” she said, her breath catching. She lowered her voice. “And he can make me come just by crooking his finger. Literally.”

  Indi sighed. “That makes me miss Jeremy.”

  “Ewww. I told you I got rid of that showerhead. When I get home, I’ll box him up and send him to you. Spark a reunion.”

  Indi’s laughter blared from the phone. “I’d appreciate that.” She cleared her throat. “So he’s smart, gorgeous, rich, and a great lover. I’m not seeing the problem.”

  Chelsea’s euphoria faded. “I’m lying to him. The way we met, why I’m here. It’s a lie.”

  “You’re one of the most honest ­people I know. Why would you do that?”

  “It’s a condition of the assignment. You know this promotion means everything to me.”

  “If it meant everything, you wouldn’t be so conflicted.”

  “You know what I went through growing up,” she said through clenched teeth. “How I was taken from my home and how my mother was harassed and bullied. I’m never going to be treated that way again. This promotion will give me a respectability that no one will ever be able to deny. I’ve worked toward this for years.”

  Her phone beeped. “Hold on. Shit,” she said when she saw Howard’s nam
e on the notification. She couldn’t wait until this assignment was over, if only to ensure she’d never have to answer to him again. “I’ve got to take this. It’s my boss.”

  “For the record, you’re enough, Chels. I’ve always thought so. You employ so much effort putting on a front, but you’ve never needed to prove anything to me. I do know what you went through. I was there. And I’m here. I’ll always be here, even when there are miles between us. You don’t need to lie or hide who you are to achieve respectability. I love you and I trust you’ll make the right decision.”

  And then she was gone.

  Dammit. She massaged her forehead. She didn’t have time for an emotional breakdown. She called Howard back.

  “Is everything on track for the launch?”

  No, I’ve just been sitting around with my thumbs up my ass. “Yes.”

  “Good. It’s generating a massive amount of buzz. Once Computronix acknowledges our assistance, we can look forward to a new revenue stream from the tech industry,” Howard said, his glee unmistakable.

  She regretted ever agreeing to this condition. Now that she knew about Adam’s diagnosis and his beliefs, should she take her chances and tell him the truth? The lie plagued her, an accusing sound track to every moment they shared. Maybe she could convince Howard that she’d come up with an alternative that would be beneficial for everyone.

  “I know you and Rebecca are excited about this account, but I think we erred with this strategy. If we’d approached him from the start and said Computronix hired us on his behalf—­”

  “Our client insisted on this course of action and he knows Bennett better than you do. It’s been working so far, right?”

  It was working for them. But she was getting royally screwed in the process. She’d crossed the line between personal and professional, all while committing the unpardonable sin of lying to Adam. All the justifications and exclamations of client confidentiality wouldn’t make her deception any more palatable.

  “Four more days. You’re in the home stretch. Don’t waver now. If you need motivation, picture your new corner office. And Chelsea? Keep me posted on his progress.”

  She threw the phone down and covered her face with her hands. She wanted that partnership, craved the validation it represented, but at what cost? Losing Adam? Losing herself?