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Food is the absolutelastthing I have time for. Not when I have a million tasks tugging me in a million different directions.
What should I do first? I need to prepare for my meeting with Roberts. And the PR team needs approval for the newest press release. And I need to take a better look at those stock prices. And… and…
The room spins slightly and I close my eyes, trying to get back into the game.
My body can’t fail me.
Not right now.
I have too much to do.
“Put your head between your legs and take deep breaths, darlin’,” a voice rumbles.
I glance up as Adam rushes into my office, carrying a lunch bag. Not the paper bag, like the kind that was sitting on my desk yesterday. An honest-to-goodness lunch bag with a long strap and a zip down the front.
I fixate on that bag as if it’s the solution to all the problems that are plaguing me.
The material is blue and puffy.
Blue is Adam’s favorite color.
I wonder what Rowan’s favorite color is? I have to ask him.
Adam sets the bag on the desk and kneels in front of me.
He really has to stop doing that.
Going down on one knee.
He did it last night when he took off my shoes and again today. Watching him kneel in front of me makes me feel like he’s about to propose or…
I know I’ve lost it now if I’m thinking about Adam and marriage in the same sentence.
“Darlin’,” Adam takes my hand and swirls his thumb over the back of my knuckles, “I need you to breathe. Okay?”
My eyes devour his face. Just like me, Adam looks like he didn’t shower. He’s wearing the same worn T-shirt that hugs his pecs. The same jeans with the holes in the knee.
Looking at this man, the last thing you’d think is that he owns a billion-dollar company.
I’ve never met someone who cared less about money than Adam.
Ironically, I’ve never met a man with as much money as Adam either.
Black dots start dancing in my vision.
I’m not passing out. I’m focusing on Adam.
I’m fine.
I’m great.
“Dammit, you’re scaring me, Nova.”
I suck in a deep breath. For someone who didn’t shower, he still smells good. Like metal, always that metal, and something else. Sandalwood. Was he doing woodwork? His hair is wet. It must be raining outside. There’s a drip of water running down his strong forehead, past his temple and along the curve of his unbelievably square jaw.
When it comes to the genetic lottery, I think Adam’s right there in the winner’s circle. It’s like he fell on top of a sculptor’s chisel when he was growing up.
His touch gets firmer. “Nova.”
