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“I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms.”
“I’d prefer we just get to work. Then I can turn in early and we can get a fresh start in the morning.” She took a pair of binders from her bag. “Do you have an office where we can work?”
“I was thinking the kitchen. I’ll open a bottle of wine. We might as well enjoy ourselves.” He strode around the kitchen island and removed wineglasses from the cabinet below.
Melanie lugged her materials to the marble center island, taking a seat on one of the tall upholstered bar stools. “I shouldn’t, but thank you.” She flipped open the binders and slid one in front of the seat next to hers.
“You’re missing out. Chianti from a small winery in Tuscany. You can’t get this wine anywhere except maybe in the winemaker’s living room.” He cranked on the bottle opener.
Melanie closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Drinking wine with Adam had once led down a road she couldn’t revisit. “I’ll have a taste.” She stopped him at half a glass. “Thank you. That’s perfect.” The first sip took the edge off, spreading warmth throughout her body—an ill-advised reaction, given her drinking buddy.
Jack wandered by and stopped next to her, plopping his enormous head down on her lap.
No. No. You don’t like me. Melanie squirmed, hoping to discourage Jack. No such luck.
Adam set down his glass, his eyebrows drawing together. “I swear, Miss Costello. Something about you is so familiar.”
Two
“People say that I have a familiar face.” Melanie’s voice held a nervous squeak. She turned and practically buried her face in her project binder.
Adam considered himself an expert at deciphering the underlying message in a woman’s words, but he was especially fluent in coy deflection. I can’t believe she’s going to try to hide this. “Have you done any work for me?”
She shrugged and scanned her blessed notebook. “I would’ve remembered that.”
Time to turn up the heat. “Have we dated?”
She hesitated. “No. We haven’t dated.”
To be fair, she might have him on a technicality there. They hadn’t really been on a date. He scoured his brain for another leading question. “Do I detect an accent?” A slight twang had colored the word dated.
She screwed up her lips and sat straighter, still refusing to make eye contact, which was a real shame. Her crystalline blue eyes were lovely—plus, he’d be able to tell if she was being deceitful. “I grew up in Virginia.”
“I met a woman from Virginia at a party once. She was a real firecracker. Maybe a little bit crazy. If only I could remember what her name was.” He rubbed his chin, took another sip of wine, rounding to the other side of the kitchen island and taking the seat next to hers. Jack hadn’t moved, standing sentry at her hip. That’s right, buddy. You know her.
“I’m sure it’s difficult to keep track of all of the people you meet.” She pointed to a page titled “Schedule” in his notebook. “So, the interviews...”
He scanned the page, getting lost in a confusion of publication names and details. “No wonder my assistant was panicked this afternoon.” He flipped through the pages. “I generally work eighteen-hour days. When exactly am I supposed to find time for this?”
“Your assistant said she’ll rearrange your schedule. Most interviews and photo shoots will take place at your home or office. I’ll do everything I can to make sure your needs are met.”
Right now, his greatest need was to seek comfort in a second bourbon as soon as he’d dispatched the Chianti. Continuing this charade held zero appeal, and her refusal to own up to their past was frustrating as hell. He needed the question that had been hanging over his head for the past year to be answered. How could a woman share an extraordinary night of passion with him and then disappear? Even more important, why would she do that?
“For the moment, the biggest interview is with Metropolitan Style magazine,” she continued. “They’re doing a feature on you and your home, so that will entail a photo shoot. I’m bringing in a professional home stager to make sure that the decor is picture-perfect. Jack will need to see a groomer before then, but I’ll take care of that.”
Adam bristled at the idea of home stagers messing with his apartment, but no one decided what happened with his dog. “Jack hates groomers. You have to hire my guy, and he’s always booked weeks out.” Of course, his groomer would make himself available whenever Adam needed him, but it was the principle.
