cup. Gentlemanly behavior, all while showing off the sculpted contours of his shoulders and defined ripples of his back.
Her eyes drifted south, calling into question whether the front really was the best. The way he filled out the rear view of his basketball shorts made a compelling case for the back. Then she remembered what that view looked like without clothes. She was all kinds of conflicted over the best-side verdict.
“Cream? Sugar?” he asked, filling her mug.
“Both, please.” She shook her head in an attempt to think straight. “I’ll do it.”
“Help yourself.” He gestured to a small white pitcher and sugar bowl. “Sleep well?”
She spooned the sugar into the mug, gluing her focus to the steaming coffee. “I did, thank you. I’m ready to get started whenever you are. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
“Already got in my workout.”
“So I see.” She turned, but even a fraction of a second was too long to look at Adam right now. Her eyes darted all over the room, desperate for something undesirable to look at.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. It’s just...” Her voice trailed off, betraying her. “You can’t put on a shirt?”
“Why? Does it bother you? I can’t help the fact that I’m hot.” He grabbed her attention with his blazing smile, smoothing his hand over the flat plane of his stomach.
“Excuse me?”
“Hot, as in temperature hot.”
Damn him. “It’s a little difficult for us to keep things professional when you’re traipsing around the house half-dressed.”
“I assure you, I have never once traipsed.”
“Regardless, isn’t it polite to wear a shirt to breakfast?”
“It is. My mother always made me wear one when I was a kid. She also told me to floss every day and wear clean underwear. So I’ll be two-for-three today. Nobody’s perfect.”
He knows what he’s doing. He’s making me crazy because he can. “Look, we have a ton of work to do. I suggest you grab a shower so we can start.”
“It’ll go faster if I have someone to scrub my back.”
“Adam, please. The contract I signed? No fraternization or interpersonal relations? I take those things very seriously, and I know your dad does, too.”
“We both know the only way to enforce that is the honor system.” His eyebrows bounced.
“Yeah, well, you need to keep your honor system in your pants.”
“Hey, you’re the one suggesting showers. Not me.”
Melanie exhaled in exasperation. “Things will go smoother today if you cooperate. Why do you have to joke around about everything?”
“Because it’s Saturday and I work my ass off all week and I’d much rather read a book or catch a game on TV than practice answers to interview questions and talk about whether or not you think Oprah will like me.”
“First off, Oprah said no. Secondly, I know you hate this, but we have to put the scandal to an end.” Her phone buzzed. “Excuse me. I should check this.” She reached into her pocket. The push notification on her phone did not bring good news. “There’s something new in the papers this morning. A reporter got your ex-fiancée to comment on the scandal.” She shook her head, feeling a little sorry for Adam. “This is why you need to let me do my job. This can’t be what you want.”
Adam buried his face in his hand. Jack wandered over and nudged Adam’s hip. “Hey, buddy.” Adam’s voice was tinged in sadness, which seemed odd considering his fondness for his dog. He crouched down and looked Jack in the face, ruffling his ears. “No, that’s not what I want.”
* * *
Adam parked himself on the long leather bench in his walk-in closet and untied his sneakers, cradling his cell phone between his ear and shoulder. His mother answered after a few rings.
“Mom, hi. Is Dad around?”
“Well, hello to you, too. You don’t want to talk to me?”
“Of course I want to talk to you, but I was hoping to talk to Dad and see how he’s doing.” He peeled off his socks and tossed them across the room, connecting with the hamper.
“Your father’s fine. I’m screening his calls. Otherwise, he takes work calls all weekend and never gets any rest. He needs his rest.”
Dad. Once a workaholic, always a workaholic. “Has he been tired since he got home last night?”
“Yes. Fridays are the worst. I don’t know why he continues with this charade of going into LangTel every day.”
“I don’t know why he does it either.”
LangTel was the telecom corporation Adam’s father started from the ground up in the seventies. Adam had grown up heir apparent, but once he went to Harvard Business School, he realized that—just like his father and every Langford man before him—he would never be content taking over someone else’s empire. He wanted to build his own, which was precisely why he started his first company while he was still in school. It made him his first fortune before the age of twenty-four.
Even so, when his parents had asked him to help run LangTel from behind the scenes after his father first fell ill, he had done his familial duty. At the time, Roger Langford’s prognosis was uncertain and they didn’t want him to appear “weak” for fear of the company stock plummeting.
It was meant to be a dry run and Adam passed with flying colors, but it was the worst year of his life—preparing to launch his current company while running interference at LangTel. The timing couldn’t have been any worse—right on the heels of his fiancée ending their two-year relationship. LangTel had worn a hole in his psyche.
“At some point,” Adam continued, “we’re going to have to tell the world that his cancer is far worse than anyone realizes. I’m tired of the song and dance.”
“I agree, but your father doesn’t want to say a word until things have been cleared up for you with, you know, the newspapers.”
His mother couldn’t bring herself to utter the word scandal, and he was thankful for it. At least it had been only photographs that had been leaked and not something worse, like a sex tape. Adam glanced at his Tag Heuer watch, which sat atop the mahogany bureau in the center of the closet. It was nearly nine thirty and Melanie had been clear that she was ready to get to work. “Hey, Mom. Can I put you on speaker?”
“You know I hate that.”
“I’m sorry. I just have to get into the shower in a minute.” He pressed the speaker icon on his iPhone. He shucked his basketball shorts and boxer briefs and tossed them over his head, but missed the hamper this time. “I’ll talk to Dad about it when I’m back in the city. Maybe I can come by on Sunday
