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The look on his dad’s face was one of utter horror. “Don’t let your sister’s wishes cloud the issue. Of course you’re going to run LangTel. That has been the plan from the day you were born, and I’m not about to stray from that now. End of discussion.”
“Dad, I’m a grown man. I have my own company to run. You, more than anyone, must appreciate that I want to see my own vision come to life. I want to succeed with my own plans, not see out what you had hoped to do, but won’t have the chance to.” Dead silence rang through the room as Adam realized what he’d said. “Dad, no.” He sat forward, placed his hands flat on his father’s desk. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“You think I don’t wish we were having this discussion because I was getting ready to retire? Because I do, dammit.” He pounded his fist on the desk. “But I’ll be gone by then. LangTel is my life’s work and your mother’s financial security, and you’re the person I trust with it. So, like it or not, I need you to accept the fact that you were born to do this job. Period.”
Adam sank back in his chair. How could he argue with his dad when he was facing death? He couldn’t.
Ten
Most magazine editors were notorious for last-minute changes, and Fiona March, editor in chief of Metropolitan Style, was no exception. Adam’s cover feature in the weekly magazine was one of the first things Melanie had put in place for the campaign, and it was easily her biggest coup. So when Fiona called her the night before and requested—no, begged—that Julia be present for Adam’s interview and photo shoot, Melanie had no choice. Plus, Fiona had decided to conduct the interview herself, something she did only once or twice a year. Melanie had to make it happen.
Great. Can’t wait to hang out with Mr. and Ms. Beautiful.
Melanie blew out a breath, staring at the numbers above the elevator door. She considered pushing the alarm. The temptation was so great that her hand twitched. A screeching siren would at least delay her arrival at Adam’s penthouse apartment and create a diversion. If she was super lucky, maybe they’d send a hunky fireman to her rescue and she could have a fling with him and forget Adam. Firemen made good boyfriends. They didn’t complicate a woman’s life, and especially not her career.
Much to her dismay, she hadn’t had the nerve to press the red button, and the doors slid open when she reached Adam’s apartment. This was her first time here since their night together, and visions were already flashing through her mind. To make matters worse, her stroll down memory lane would be accompanied by her first meeting with Adam’s new “love interest,” Julia. Breathe. Breathe.
The last time she’d been in this room, she was half-undressed, Adam’s hands all over her while she frantically unbuttoned his shirt, nearly breaking the zipper on his pants, before embarrassingly stepping on his foot. He’d played it off so sexily, too, sweeping her into his arms and mumbling into her ear, “No more walking for you.” A minute later, her hair was splayed across his bed and he was blazing a trail of kisses down her stomach. Just thinking about it created waves of pleasant warmth, followed by emptiness. She’d needed him so badly that night. She’d needed him in the mountain house. What was it about him that elicited that response?
A Metropolitan Style photographer was busy capturing the open-plan living room—high ceilings, dark wood floors, cool gray walls, brown leather furniture just as Adam liked it. There were the more feminine touches now—a cashmere throw, decorative candles and objets d’art on the coffee table, all added by the home stager Melanie had hired and to which Adam had protested. The neon beer signs and moose head were indeed fiction.
As much as she wasn’t thrilled to meet Julia, she needed to be here to make sure this interview went perfectly. She needed to be here to give Adam the stink-eye if he started down the wrong path with his answers. She scanned the room, catching sight of Adam perched on a tall wooden stool in the corner, Jack at his side.
She hurried over, admiring him in the icy blue shirt she’d convinced him to wear. It wasn’t lavender, but at least he was taking direction. He was ridiculously handsome in the lighter color, even when the look on his face was one of distinct misery. “It’s okay to smile, you know,” she said.
The male makeup artist working on Adam cast Melanie a knowing grin. “I’ll be done with him in a minute. I don’t think he’s enjoying it.”
