Let it Be Me

by Jody Holford

  “Except about Charlie.”

  She smiled at him and finished typing. “He’s a good topic.”

  The flecks of gold outshone the dark green in his eyes when they went soft like that. “He is.”

  Once she’d gotten him set up with a username and password on the first site, she skimmed over the welcoming information. She’d compared sites based on their reviews, percentages of long-term matches, and target markets.

  “So. This site has a ‘This or That’ quiz. Do you want to read it or just tell me?”

  She looked at him when he didn’t answer and saw he was on his phone, reading something.

  “Adam.”

  He looked up and gestured for her to carry on. “Read it out loud. I just need to respond to this.”

  Sighing, Megan looked back at the screen. If he couldn’t even give his undivided attention to filling out a form, what would he be like on a date? Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The reviews of the site said they had a very high successful match rate. It was a backup option, she supposed. If the traditional, meet and fall madly in love method failed.

  “Day or night?” she began.

  “Huh?”

  Huffing out a breath, she glanced at him. Still on his phone. “You say which you prefer.”

  “Uh, okay. Day.”

  He started typing something on his phone, but Megan continued. He was used to multitasking. Perhaps she should put that as an attribute in his file.

  “Beach or city?”

  “City.”

  No surprise there. A beach might mean relaxing.

  “Talking or texting?”

  He looked up with a crooked grin. “Talking.”

  She shook her head but smiled. “Kiss good night or kiss good morning?”

  Both. Megan’s heart fluttered in her chest. Adam was staring at her when she turned her head.

  “Is that really a question?”

  “Why would I ask otherwise?”

  She bit her lip and saw that his gaze tracked the movement. Breath hitching in her throat, she looked back at the screen.

  “Good night.”

  Megan told herself she was imagining his voice had sounded a bit rough. It was a good answer. Chances were good, when someone kissed good night, they’d be there in the morning.

  Clearing her throat, she asked, “Five-star restaurant or burgers at home?”

  “Those are quite different,” he said, setting his phone down. Finally.

  “Just choose.”

  “Burgers at home.”

  She smiled at him. “Because of Charlie?”

  His grin was fleeting. “That and five-star restaurants are crowded, expensive, and serve small portions.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Holding hands or not?”

  Please be a hand holder.

  Oh my God. It doesn’t matter!

  “Holding hands.”

  Megan kept her gaze glued to the screen so he wouldn’t see her unwarranted relief at that bit of knowledge. Knowing assured her that there was a different side to him—one that wasn’t all about the bottom line and pros and cons lists. Underneath his brusque conversations and unconventional ideas about finding a wife, he was a man. One who liked to hold hands and kiss good night. Her stomach tightened. One with sexy abs and strong arms. She hadn’t known that before this week, and now that she did, the image kept popping into her brain like a flashing sign.

  “How many more? This seems like a waste of time,” he said, leaning in to look over her shoulder.

  And there it is. Immediate heat douser.

  “Four more. Spontaneous night out or planned evening?”

  She’d already clicked planned when he answered, making him arch one of his dark eyebrows.

  “Lucky guess,” she said. He was still leaning over her shoulder, and it was making it hard to concentrate.

  “Three more.”

  “Hiking or parasailing?”

  “Neither.”

  “Do I have to explain this to you again?”

  “Hiking.”

  “Toys or no toys?” She was not looking at him for this one.

  “Toys for what?” His phone buzzed, and he looked down at it again. She let the silence hang between them while he answered a text.

  “Sorry. What kind of toys?”

  Despite the heat trickling up her back and across her front, she looked at him and widened her eyes meaningfully, hoping he’d get it.

  Clueless, he asked, “For acting?”

  “Toys. Like, in the bedroom.” Could her face actually catch on fire?

  Adam’s scrunched brows suddenly bounced up, and his lips formed an O.

  “Well, it’s been a while, but I damn sure don’t need help.”

  Megan bit her lip to keep from laughing or swooning. Because, pissy, uptight attitude or not, she liked a man with confidence.

  “No toys it is. Romantic public proposal or romantic private proposal?”

  “God. How about neither? How about straightforward agreement to live together and not beat the shit out of each other emotionally until death do us part?”

  As though she’d lined up a row of dominoes, building toward something fun and good, his words knocked them over, clearing her brain, and her heart, of any enjoyment in this moment.

  “Private it is. You can do the rest yourself. Fill in the information about yourself; add whatever details you want. Maybe check out a couple of other profiles as examples. See this?” She pointed to the button that said save profile.

  Adam leaned closer, and she caught the scent of his aftershave. She inhaled deeper, pulling the smell into her lungs and trapping it. He turned his face, and she realized they were far too close. He seemed to realize at the same second and snapped back, sitting upright.

  “Yes.”

  She cleared her throat. Bouncing her knee up and down, suddenly restless, she nodded. “You want to save the profile, but don’t publish it. I’ll upload the photos in the morning.”

  “Okay. Did I upset you?”

  Focused on the way his T-shirt stretched across his chest, she hoped her voice didn’t betray her. “Nope. This has nothing to do with me.” Maybe I ought to write that down so I don’t forget.

  Their combined breathing sounded too loud in her ears. She wasn’t sure why her pulse was racing but most likely because she’d let herself get caught up in this. Which was stupid. She needed a date of her own. Not from a computer. And even if it were, it would be a man who immediately checked off the romantic private proposal. When Megan found her forever, she wanted it all.

  She stood up and stepped back from the computer, putting thoughts of forever out of her head. “They’ll ask for your credit card information and how long you want to join for. I’d go for the three-month package because it’s more cost efficient.”

  Adam stood but stayed where he was so there was enough distance between them that she could breathe properly. Not that breathing around him had ever been a problem before. And it’s not now. See? In. Out. In. Out. Maybe different word choices.

  “Thanks for getting started on this right away.”

  “No problem.”

  The silence was too loud, but Megan forced herself to stay a moment longer to prove that things weren’t different. He was just a guy she worked for, like he was the day before and the one before that. Nothing had changed. And yet, somehow, absolutely everything was going to. Even though she knew it—and wanted those changes—nerves settled inside of her; “what ifs” and “maybes” flitted around in her brain. What if she stayed? Maybe she didn’t have to go.

  “Good night, Megan.”

  He pulled her out of her thoughts and reminded her that the choices had already been made. And they were exactly what she wanted.

  Chapter Six

  Adam straightened his tie and squared his shoulders. A quick flashback to his high school days and being sent to the principal’s office for fighting gave him a jolt. Fuck. It felt no better then than it did right this
minute. And once again, it wasn’t his fault. He knocked once.

  “Come in.”

  Neal Morganstern sat behind his desk like he was holding court. For a man coming up on sixty, he wore his age well.

  “Shut the door and have a seat,” his boss said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs in front of the absurdly expensive and ornate Queen Anne desk that his fourth wife had chosen.

  “I spoke to Davison. He’s thrilled to be working with us,” Adam said as he unbuttoned his suit coat and sat. Start with the good.

  “Yes. Nice job on that. It’s a pity we can’t say the same about Creston Tires.”

  Adam refused to cringe. He sat straighter. He wasn’t seventeen and defending his drunken father’s name. He was a successful account manager. A father. And damn good at both jobs.

  “They’d made the decision before I arrived in Chicago, sir.”

  Neal sat forward, folding his hands on his desk. The thick dusting of facial hair on his chin was coming in gray. “Your job was to change their minds.”

  Easier said than done. “That was my intention, but Creston ended up going with the daughter’s fiancé. Regardless of what approach I took, he wasn’t going to be swayed.”

  “If you walk into a meeting certain you’re going to fail, you will. Rogers brought in the Fidelity Software account,” Neal said.

  “Taunted” was a better word. Like his boss was pitting two siblings against each other—only one would get ultimate approval. He knew Morganstern wasn’t rooting for him, but other partners were. The soda account was worth double what the software account was.

  “That’s excellent,” Adam said, leaning back in the chair and crossing his ankle over his knee. “It’s a good starter account.”

  Morganstern’s eyes widened, then he gave a gruff laugh. “Then you’re still vying for partner?”

  “You know I am, sir. And I can guarantee I want it more than Rogers.”

  Not only was Rogers an arrogant dickhead, he didn’t have as much on the line as Adam. The guy came from money and talking about it was one of his favorite pastimes. He didn’t have an ex-wife who horded her alimony checks in case the work dried up, and he didn’t worry every single night that he’d let his son down, that he wouldn’t be able to give him the security and happiness he deserved.

  “I guess we’ll see. It looks like you’ll have a chance to prove it. William Barton is going to be in New York for three days for his granddaughter’s graduation. Thursday to Saturday this week. He’s looking for a new firm for his restaurant franchise. You close that kind of client and I don’t see how the partners could choose Rogers over you.”

  Friday. Why was Friday stuck in his head? “I’ll have to give them reason not to.”

  Neal stood up, essentially dismissing Adam. “I want actions, not words, on this one.”

  Adam got up from the chair. “Yes, sir.”

  He walked out of his boss’s office and back to his own. Closing the door, he resisted the urge to swear or punch something. He was constantly having to prove himself, and while that’d been fine in the beginning, he found it tiresome. That’s your job. Deal with it. You want to advance or not?

  “Or not” wasn’t an option. He reminded himself it was all for Charlie. That thought motivated him for the rest of the day.

  …

  Adam tried to make it home no later than six even when it meant working for several hours from home. It was tough to balance the demanding hours with not wanting to be the absent father he’d had. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure how great he was doing on that score, but Charlie seemed happy, so he hung on to that. Because I have Megan. He thought of the night before…of Megan asking him intimate questions and how it had seemed almost fun. Something he had very little of in his life, outside of Charlie. When he came into the house, he was surprised by the quiet that greeted him.

  Something smelled delicious, but the only light on in the kitchen was the one over the stove. On the table sat a note from Megan and a folder.

  Charlie begged to go to Danny’s. His mom will drop C off at six thirty. Check out the folder. The future Mrs. Klein might be in there. At home if you need me, otherwise see you tomorrow.

  M

  Danny? Danny. Same grade, different class. On Charlie’s baseball team. Adam’s fingers tapped the beige folder. The future Mrs. Klein. Words he never thought he’d think or say again. Leaving the folder, he shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the chair, and went to the stove to see what smelled so good. In the oven, Megan had left a large homemade pepperoni pizza. His stomach growled.

  Megan was a godsend. He didn’t like to think about her leaving. It also didn’t escape his notice that she checked most of the boxes on his list. Just not the most important ones. A woman like Megan would suffocate in a marriage that didn’t revolve around love. Adam would never survive another one that did. Because love wasn’t something he could count on. It was an overindulgence of emotions that could change on a whim.

  He could tell Megan that—ask her to be the woman he was looking for—but the fact that he could fall for her scared him too much. Besides, she deserved a chance to find out what love did to a person’s soul. He didn’t relish the thought of her being hurt, but everyone had to learn for themselves—love didn’t secure forever. Realistic expectations and well-outlined plans were his only chance at a successful relationship.

  Using the oven mitts, he pulled out the pizza and set it on the stove. Ditching the mitts, he picked up a slice, his mouth watering at the strings of cheese, and took a bite of the still-warm pie. He sighed. Adam could cook—he’d been known to put a decent meal together—but everything tasted better when someone else made it. Megan was a freaking domestic goddess. It wasn’t just about how she knew their favorite meals or how she took the time to put smiley faces on Charlie’s sandwiches—it was the fact that she did it for them at all. It mattered to her. They mattered to her. An uncomfortable ache pressed against his ribs. How the hell was he going to replace her? Folder on the table. That’s how. He glanced at it but stayed where he was, scooping up another bite. Charlie would be home any minute. He would look at the folder later.

  Charlie came through the door ten minutes later as Adam was pouring milk for both of them.

  “Hey, Dad. Where’s Megan?”

  He’d already hung up his backpack and came in with his planner and a couple of papers. Putting them on the table, Charlie stopped in front of Adam for a hug.

  “She’s at home. She left a note saying you were on a playdate. She also left us dinner. Pizza. Lucky guys, right?”

  Charlie nodded, a strange look on his face. “For now. Till she leaves. And Dad, it’s not a playdate. I’m not four.”

  Adam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Charlie’s serious expression.

  “Right. My bad. Wash your hands and let’s eat. You have homework?”

  Charlie walked to the sink and stood on the stool Megan kept there for him. “It’s the last week of school. They can’t give us homework.”

  “Good point.” Adam opened Charlie’s planner and scanned it. He hadn’t broached the topic of switching schools with his son yet but would have to soon because September enrollment required an interview over the summer.

  There was a thin strip of paper stapled to Friday. Last day, class production at 11:00 a.m. All parents/caregivers welcome. Adam closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, Charlie was pulling out his chair and sitting down.

  “You think Megan will really come back and visit, Dad?”

  Adam blinked and looked at his son. With dark hair and eyes like his own, Charlie favored him. But he had his mother’s nose and, now and again, her smile. He set the planner down and went to grab the plates he’d dished up.

  “I do. She loves you too much not to. And besides, has she ever not done what she said she would?” Unlike your dad, who is about to let you down?

  “Guess not. I don’t want someone else, though. Who we gonna get?”
<
br />   Adam put the plates down and sat across from Charlie. “I’m working on it, bud. Listen, I have some bad news.”

  Charlie paused with his slice halfway to his mouth. His innocent gaze held Adam’s.

  “I have to go out of town for a couple of days.”

  His son shrugged and took his bite. Then he spoke around it. “You always gotta go out of town for a couple of days.”

  Adam sighed. Was he really gone so often? “Friday.”

  Charlie’s face fell, and so did Adam’s heart. Right into his stomach, like a jagged boulder.

  “Dad.”

  “I know, bud.”

  “You promised.”

  Fuck. The tone in his son’s voice was like a razor blade slipping along his heart. “I know. I’m really sorry, Charlie. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”

  Tears filled up the little brown eyes Adam adored. It was another shot to the gut. Charlie pushed back from the table.

  “You always have to.”

  “Sit down, bud. Eat your dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry. I ate at Danny’s. His dad never misses anything. Neither does his mom.”

  Charlie stomped out of the room. Normally, he’d call him back and correct his behavior, but since he was 100 percent in the wrong, Adam let him go.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. Then he scowled. “Danny’s dad never misses anything. Great job, Danny’s dad.”

  When his hand smacked down on the table, the glasses of milk shook, little drops splashing onto the table.

  He took another bite of the pizza, but he’d lost his own appetite. Charlie was young—he couldn’t possibly understand the importance of what Adam was doing to build a life for them. A life that would ensure they’d always have enough. One that gave Charlie the best opportunities for success so he wouldn’t have to white knuckle his way to the top of any firm or organization. Charlie wouldn’t have to worry about student loans or the cost of textbooks. He was a smart kid and could probably get scholarships, but if he didn’t, it wouldn’t mean not getting to go to the school of his choice. Because Adam would do anything—even disappoint his son—to make sure he could take care of the bigger picture for Charlie.

  Adam’s father hadn’t held a job for more than a week at a time. When it came to wanting more, be it education, neighborhoods, or even something other than thrift store clothing, his father hadn’t cared. His wants consisted of enough money to buy the next six pack and a son that didn’t get in his way.