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“So much of what? Work? The photos? Julia?” He picked up a pen and flipped it back and forth in his fingers.
“Let’s focus on the interview. You really don’t want to know everything going through my head right now.”
“Actually, I’d pay good money to know what’s going on in that head of yours. We can start with the comment about men being so typical. Is there some jerky guy in your past? I mean, I’d like to think this is all about me, but now I’m wondering if there’s something else going on.”
She wasn’t about to venture into the topic of her ex and her disastrous love life. “There’s nothing more going on than me trying to do my job and you putting your special Adam touch on everything. It’s like I spend hours setting a table for dinner and you walk by and turn the forks upside down. You thrive on making everything just slightly off-kilter, don’t you?”
“Off-kilter?” He cocked an eyebrow. “How about real? I don’t like things that are fake and contrived, that’s all. I was spending time with Julia, she bent over, her butt is nice to look at, end of story. You don’t have to read so much into it.”
Then why can’t I believe it’s as simple as that? Melanie looked up to see the moderator waving at them both furiously. She turned the speakers and microphone back on.
“Mr. Langford. Ms. Costello. We really need to start.”
“Yes, of course,” Melanie said. “I’m so sorry for the delay.”
Adam cleared his throat. “Yes, let’s get started.” He then began scrawling a note on a piece of paper. He slid it over to Melanie.
If you bent over in that skirt, I’d be happy to stare at your butt, too.
Nine
Adam let himself into his parents’ Park Avenue apartment, the place he’d lived as a boy. It was opulently decorated, a bit stuffy for his tastes, but it was still home, crystal chandeliers, button-tufted sofas and all.
“Adam, darling.” His mother swept into the foyer wearing her trademark look—black from head to toe with a vibrantly colored scarf around her neck. Adam couldn’t remember a time when she’d worn anything much different, even when he was a boy.
“Mom. You look great.” He kissed her on both cheeks, noticing that she’d lost more weight. The stress of caring for her ailing husband was taking its toll. “Is Anna here?”
“She’s in the powder room. Should be out any second. We’re having dinner in fifteen minutes. Margaret’s making your favorite, beef Wellington.”
“Sounds great. And Dad?” Adam and his mother strolled down the wide hall, shoes clacking on the black-and-white checkerboard marble floors.
“Watching television. He’s developed a fondness for college basketball. Funny, since he never watched it before.”
Adam had to smile, thinking about Melanie that night in the mountains. Even with the way it had ended, he would give anything to be back there with her right now—just the two of them, alone in that big house, the rest of the world a distant thought.
“Adam. My boy.” Roger struggled to get out of his chair, but Adam knew better than to stop him, or worse, offer to help. The man was as stubborn as they came.
Adam hugged his father, who felt frail in his arms but still mustered a strong clap on Adam’s back.
“Dad. It’s good to see you.” Every time he saw his dad, he had to wonder if this time would be the last. The thought was simply too sad to bear. He wanted to believe the doctors, and that Roger still had two or three months to go.
“And under such wonderful auspices, too. I couldn’t be any more pleased with the way this public relations campaign has gone. Best money I’ve spent in years.”
“Ms. Costello is very talented. No question about that.”
Anna filed into the room. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. Always polished and professional, she wore a charcoal-gray suit and cream-colored blouse, having just come from her job as COO for a company that manufactured women’s workout clothes.
Anna gave Adam an uneasy smile. Time with Dad was difficult for her. She was strong and independent, with a solid mind for business, but their father saw her in the context of their family—the only girl, the spitting image of her mother, a prized possession to be shielded from the harsh realities of board meetings and quarterly earnings reports. Roger Langford would never agree to let his little girl run LangTel, however desperate she was for the opportunity.
“Dad,” Anna murmured, embracing their father. “You look good. Rosy cheeks and everything.”
