forgotten her. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t forgotten him. Of course, there were probably lots of other women he hadn’t forgotten, too.
“You changed your hair,” he said.
Her pulse chose a tempo like free-form jazz—stopping and starting. He really did notice everything. “Yes, I cut it.”
“The color’s different. See, I still remember what it looked like splayed across the pillows of my bed.” He rose from his seat and stalked back around the kitchen island, refilling his wineglass. Plainly still angry, he didn’t offer her more. “Did you really not see a problem with taking this job even though we’d slept together? I’m assuming you didn’t reveal that little tidbit to my father. Because if you had, he never would’ve hired you.”
Adam was absolutely right. She’d stepped into a gray area a mile wide, but she needed the payday that came with this job. Her former business partner had crippled her company by leaving and sticking her with an astronomical office lease. The crushing part was that he’d also been her boyfriend—nearly her fiancé—and he’d left because he’d fallen in love with one of their clients.
“I would hope we could be discreet about this. I think it’s best if we just acknowledge that it was a one-time thing, keep it between us, and not allow it to affect our working relationship.” Mustering a rational string of words calmed her ragged nerves, but only a bit.
“One-time thing? Is that what that was? Because you don’t seem like a woman who runs around Manhattan picking up men she doesn’t know. Trust me, I meet those women all the time.”
Did it bother him that it had been a one-night stand? She wasn’t proud of the fact either, but she never imagined it would even faze Adam. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“What about the contract my father had you sign? The clause about no fraternization between you and the client?”
“Exactly why I thought it best to ignore our past. I need this job and you need to clean up your image. It’s a win-win.”
“So you need the job. This is about money.”
“Yes. I need it. Your father is a very powerful man, and having a recommendation from him could do big things for my company.” Why she’d put her entire hand out on the table for him to see was beyond her, but she wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything.
“What if I told you that I don’t want to do this?”
She swallowed, hard. Adam was doing nothing more than setting up roadblocks, and they were becoming formidable. If he wanted to, he could end her job right then and there, send her packing. All she could do now was make her case. “Look, I understand that you’re mad. The scandal is horrible and I didn’t make things any better by hoping that you wouldn’t recognize me. That was stupid on my part, and I’m sorry. But if you’re looking for a reason to go through with this, you don’t need to look any further than your dad. He’s not just worried about his company and your family’s reputation. He’s worried about what this will do to your career. He doesn’t want your talents to be overshadowed by tabloid stories.”
Dead quiet settled on the room. Adam seemed deep in reflection. “I appreciate the apology.”
“Thank you for accepting it.” Had she finally laid this to rest? She took a deep breath and hoped so.
“And yes, it was incredibly stupid on your part. I’d go so far as to call it harebrained.”
There went the instant of newfound calm, just as Melanie’s stomach growled so loudly that Adam’s eyes grew as large as dinner plates.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled, horrified, wrapping one arm around her midsection to muffle the sound.
“Coming up with bad ideas must’ve made you very hungry.”
“Very funny. I’m fine.” She shifted in her seat, mad at herself for not owning up to the fact that she would’ve killed for a day-old doughnut. Her stomach chimed in, as well.
“I can’t listen to that anymore,” he declared. “It’s unsettling.” He marched to the fridge and opened it, pulling out a covered glass bowl. “My cook made marinara before I sent her home. It’ll take a few minutes to make pasta.”
“Let me help.” Desperate for the distraction of a new topic, she shot out of her bar stool and walked to the other side of the island. Jack followed in her wake.
“Help with what? Boiling water?” He cast her an incredulous smirk. “Sit.”
“Are you talking to me or Jack?”
He cracked half a smile and she felt a little as if she might crack. In half. “You. Jack can do whatever he wants.”
“Of course.” She filed back to her seat and watched as he filled a tall pot with water and placed it on the six-burner cooktop. “Careful or I might have to book you an appearance on the Food Network.”
“You should see me make breakfast.” He sprinkled salt into the water then placed a saucepan on the stove and lit the flame beneath it. “I could’ve made you my world-famous scrambled eggs if you hadn’t done your Cinderella routine that night and taken off.”
The man had no fear of uncomfortable subjects. What was she supposed to say to that?
“Care to comment, Cinderella?”
“I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat and picked at her fingernail. “I couldn’t stay.”
Adam spooned the sauce into the pan, shaking his head. “That’s a horrible excuse.”
Excuse or not, there was no way she could’ve stayed. She couldn’t bear the rejection of Adam running her off the next morning. She couldn’t bear to hear that he’d call her when she knew that he wouldn’t. She’d already suffered one soul-crushing brush-off that month, from the guy she’d thought she would marry. The pain of a second would’ve prompted the question of whether she might make a good nun. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
Wisps of steam rose from the pot, and the aroma of tomato sauce filled the air. Adam dropped in a package of fresh pasta and gave it a stir. “All I’m wondering is why you wouldn’t stick around when you have that kind of chemistry with someone. At least say goodbye or leave a note. I didn’t even know your last name.”
When he had the nerve to say it out loud—to be so rational about it—it sounded as if she’d done the most insane thing ever. Wait. Chemistry? She’d assumed that what she’d felt was mostly one-sided, a lethal combination of champagne and Mr. Smooth. Regret and embarrassment weighed on her equally. What if she’d stuck around? Would he have said what he was saying now? “Hopefully you can find a way to forgive me.”
He narrowed his gaze, eyes locking on hers. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me the real reason.”
Oh, no, that’s not going to happen.
The timer buzzed. Adam gripped the pot handles with a kitchen towel and emptied the contents into the prep sink. Steam rushed up around his face and he blew a strand of hair from his forehead. He slung the towel over his shoulder, capable as could be, adding the noodles to the sauté pan and giving the
