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He wasn’t nervous about seeing Julia. They’d had coffee and that had gone fine. The truth was that their breakup had been as amicable as could be. After three dates, Julia had grasped his hand in the back of the limo and said, “There’s nothing here, is there?”
Adam had been immensely relieved. They liked each other. They could make each other laugh. But there was zero chemistry. On paper, they should have made the perfect couple. In reality, it all fell flat.
His real worry was whether or not they could pull off the charade of a romantic relationship. Surely people would see them together and know that they weren’t really together.
He had to make it work, however much it contradicted the way he chose to live his life. It was in his own best interest to make the scandal fade away so his father could live his final days knowing for certain that the integrity of the Langford name was intact. It had to work to make Melanie happy, since so much of her job depended on it succeeding. In the end, if he was lucky, it would have one of two effects on her—it would either make her so jealous that she realized that she wanted him, too. Or it would help her see that he was a good man. This would be his audition, his opportunity to show Melanie what he was really made of. Hopefully that opportunity would help him ultimately make Melanie his.
The limo arrived at Julia’s new apartment, and after a long twenty minutes of idle chitchat during the ride, they arrived at Milano. As Melanie had promised, a handful of photographers were out front of the restaurant.
“Julia,” one of them shouted, “over here.”
Cameras flashed as Julia held on to the tips of Adam’s fingers. She knew how to work the situation, smiling enough to avoid an unflattering photo, but not enough to appear posed, walking just the right speed so they could get their shot.
One benefit of choosing Julia as his fake girlfriend was that she could take center stage. Even after the media inferno of Adam’s scandal, she was still a bigger name. Her face had been plastered across national tabloids for years. Adam managed to hit the grocery store newsstands across the country a few times a year, not that he wanted the attention at all, but Julia was a fixture.
They strolled into the restaurant, dark wood paneling and white tablecloths as far as the eye could see. The gentle clinking of silverware and crystal stemware rose above a soundtrack of smooth jazz. The maître d’ spotted them and whisked them to their corner table. Everyone in the restaurant gawked and whispered.
Julia consulted her menu. “So, sweetie.” She glanced at him sideways. “What are you thinking about for dinner?” A bright smile crossed her lips and she knocked her head to the side, allowing her wavy brown hair to fall over her shoulders.
Any other man would’ve been drooling at her feet. Adam felt nothing. “Sweetie?” he whispered. “I don’t think you called me that when we were dating.”
She traced her finger on the tablecloth in a circle. “If we’re playing a part, we have to do it right. We need pet names.”
Adam nodded. “Oh. Okay.” This would take some getting used to.
The waiter stopped by and took their drink orders—prosecco for Julia, bourbon, neat, for Adam.
He perused the menu again, not hungry for anything more than a good burger. “I guess I’ll get the Tuscan rib eye.”
Julia raised her eyebrows at him, imploring him to say what he’d forgotten to add.
“I guess I’ll get the Tuscan rib eye, honey.” He’d practically coughed out the word, a term of affection he’d never used for a woman. He wished he could’ve saved it for Melanie.
“Sounds great. I’ll have the shrimp Caesar salad.” Julia closed her menu and flattened her hand on the table. She stared at it, drummed her fingers then shot a look at Adam.
Oh. Right. He took her hand in his, but it felt wrong. This wasn’t where he belonged. This wasn’t the person he should be with. Of course, the person he wanted to be with, or at least have a chance with, had put him in this situation to start. So maybe it was best to just shut up, continue the charade and hope for the best. The LangTel gala was little more than three weeks away, and Melanie’s assignment would be ending. He could try then. Try and possibly get shut down, again, but try he could.
“We should get our stories straight,” Julia said once they’d ordered their entrees. “You know, how we got back together. People are going to ask questions. We need to have answers or it won’t be believable.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. He was creative when it came to software and web applications, not when it came to making up stories. “Why don’t you start?”
