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She glanced at Adam as they rode in his limo on their way back into the city. Her thoughts drifted to what this moment would be like if she and Adam were a couple, if they’d just spent an impossibly romantic weekend at his mountain estate. Surely they’d spent hours making love, hardly ever getting out of bed, except perhaps to tiptoe downstairs for a bite to eat. They’d curled up in front of the fireplace, drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. Perfect wouldn’t begin to describe it, but perfect wasn’t reality.
Adam had been on the phone with his father since they landed, discussing LangTel business. She had her own phone call scheduled with Roger Langford tomorrow morning. Would he actually ask her questions about whether or not anything had happened between her and Adam? And what would she say if he did? She’d crossed the line, big-time.
The embarrassment of the scene on the couch Saturday night still ate at her. How could she have gotten so wrapped up in Adam that she hadn’t even cared that he’d unbuttoned her blouse? If anything, she’d welcomed it. How could one man have that much influence over her, mind and body? Not even her ex could make her cast aside restraint like that.
Adam said goodbye to his dad and began scrolling through the contacts on his phone. “I was thinking I should get the ball rolling with my new girlfriend. No time like the present.”
“Fake girlfriend.”
“I told you that I’m not good at faking things. I have to buy into it a little bit or it won’t work.”
She choked back a sigh of frustration. “Whatever you need to do.”
“Just remember,” he said, cocking an eyebrow, “it’s your fault if I fall in love.”
Melanie longed to slap him silly. Fall in love. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate way for him to get even with her? After all, she hadn’t merely left his apartment in the middle of the night. Now she was guilty of losing her moral compass and leaving him with what she’d witnessed as an extra-snug fit in his pants. “As long as you’re taking my directives, that’s all I care about.”
“Here she is.” He tapped his phone decisively. “Lovely Julia.”
Melanie’s stomach turned so sour it was as if she’d downed a gallon of lemon juice. Julia? Julia Keys? Was Adam really going to pick an ex-girlfriend and one of the most beautiful women in the history of mankind to be his new fake, but possibly real, girlfriend?
“Julia. It’s Adam. How are you, beautiful?”
Beautiful? Melanie sighed. She probably deserved the punishment of listening to this conversation. Desperate for a distraction, she yanked a magazine from her tote bag and began flipping through the pages, imagining they were Adam’s very slappable face.
“I hear you’re back in New York. I’m hoping we can get together. I have a proposition for you.” He leaned back, caressing the black leather seat with his hand.
Was that Julia’s effect on him? That merely talking to her made him want to rub things?
“I was hoping I could ask you in person,” he said in a voice entirely too sexy for Melanie’s liking. “Let’s just say that I might have a new role for you. It would involve us spending a lot of time together.” He smiled at whatever she said in response.
Melanie pursed her lips, reminding herself that he was doing exactly what she’d asked him to do. Exactly. So why was she so pissed off? Oh, right. Because she’d hoped Adam would pick someone pretty and proper and not much else. She certainly hadn’t bargained on him picking a woman who exemplified the feminine ideal, nor did she think he would pick someone he might actually fall in love with.
“Would dinner Tuesday night work?” he asked. “I’ll have my cook prepare a meal at my place, just so we can talk privately. If you’re up for my plan, we can go out for dinner later in the week if your schedule allows.” This time, Adam laughed—he practically guffawed—at whatever Julia had said.
Great. She’s beautiful, talented, wife material and apparently hilarious. Melanie glared out the window. They were only a block or so from her Gramercy apartment, thank goodness. The end, in sight. She couldn’t live through another minute of Adam’s phone call. She shoved the magazine in her bag and leaned forward to speak to the driver. “It’s right here, on the left.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The driver pulled up to the curb in front of her brownstone.
She turned to Adam as the driver opened her door.
Adam was nodding and grinning like a damned fool. He put his hand over the receiver on his phone. “Anything else?”
The light filtered through the open door, glinting off his sunglasses. She tried to remind herself that this was the real Adam Langford—the flirt in the expensive car, doing whatever the hell he wanted to. He wasn’t boyfriend material. He was a client, end of story.
