Love On My Mind

by Tracey Livesay

  “You invaded my space. I’m clueless about your plans.”

  Mike shook his head. “Not now. I meant, after the presentation.” When Adam opened his mouth to respond, Mike interrupted. “Theoretically, not practically. The future. Your next step.”

  Oh. That clarification altered his reply. “I have several ideas about our next project. Once the launch has passed, I’ll come into the office.”

  “You’re moving back to the city?”

  Adam’s scalp prickled and the muscles in his shoulders tensed. When he’d mentioned going into the office, he’d meant for meetings with Mike and their senior level staff. Two days, a week at the most. This mountain had become his sanctuary from censure and judgment.

  He’d never considered moving back to Palo Alto.

  He rolled his shoulders, attempting to loosen up. “No.”

  Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dude, it was okay when you retreated up here to put your considerable focus into the device. But once it drops, we’re going to need you back at the office.”

  “We’ve made this arrangement work for the past eighteen months. Why couldn’t that continue?”

  Mike and Jonathan exchanged a long look.

  “What?” Adam asked, through clenched teeth. “Even I can tell you have something you want to say to me. What is it you say, Jonathan? ‘Speak your piece’?”

  Jonathan set his knife down. “Even after everything that happened, you can’t hide away from—­”

  “I’m not hiding,” he said, instinctively reacting to that word.

  “The HPC is almost done.” Mike took over the argument. “After the launch you’re going to be even more famous than you are now. Your presence will satisfy stockholders. You are Computronix. Confidence in you is confidence in the company.”

  Mike made a valid point and yet Adam still believed the problem could be solved without his permanent relocation.

  “Fine. I’ll increase the frequency and duration of my visits to the campus.”

  “Is this about Birgitta?”

  “Mike . . .” Jonathan’s tone contained a clear warning.

  Adam’s face heated. “No.”

  And it wasn’t, not in the way Mike meant. Adam’s anger wasn’t misplaced grief about their breakup. It stemmed from his failure to prevent his experience with her from affecting his work and his company.

  “I’m just saying, you’re better off without her.”

  “Speaking of women we’re involved with,” Jonathan loudly declared, “Mike’s been spending a lot of time with Skylar Thompson.”

  Mike blew out a noisy breath and shook his head.

  Adam turned to Jonathan. “Who?”

  “Skylar Thompson. Daughter of Franklin Thompson, the media mogul.” Jonathan’s knife rhythmically struck his cutting board. “How’d you hook up with her?”

  “We met at a charity fundraiser.”

  “Saw pictures of you both at the opening of the San Francisco Ballet. You looked like the classic golden ­couple. Is it getting serious?”

  Mike shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve surpassed every goal I set in my ten-­year plan. The company is doing well, I’m financially able to provide for someone else—­”

  “That’s an understatement,” Jonathan muttered.

  Mike glared at him but continued. “It may be time to think about settling down and starting a family. By the time my dad was my age, he and Mom were already married and pregnant with me.”

  That reasoning sounded faulty to Adam. “You honestly believe that you’re bound to the same choices your father made?”

  Jonathan nodded. “You do have a tendency to treat your father’s life and words as gospel.”

  Adam settled onto a bar stool, his leg bouncing slightly, interested to see if Mike enjoyed having his wounds dissected and discussed.

  Mike blinked. “There’s nothing wrong with following in my father’s footsteps. He’s a great man.”

  “What worked for your father may not work for you. Men become great when they forge their own path,” Adam argued.

  Mike pointed a finger at him, his nostrils flaring. “Fuck you. I could’ve gone to work for my father, but I started Computronix with you.” His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket, stalking over to the windows and grumbling, “Gonna talk to me about forging my own path.”

  Jonathan raised both brows and extended his fist for a bump. “That was Machiavellian.”

  Adam shook his head. “My behavior wasn’t dishonest. Nothing I said was a lie. If he wants to examine me, he should be prepared for it to be reciprocated.”

  “He’s worried about you.”

  “I don’t require his concern. Not in that way. I’m not the kid he rescued back at Stanford.”

  “Of course not,” Jonathan said, his face devoid of emotion. “You’re one of ­People’s Sexiest Men Alive.”

  The laugh started low in Adam’s belly. He laughed so hard his cheeks hurt. He pressed a fist to his lips and attempted to catch his breath. “Will you ever let that go?”

  “Not as long as there’s air in my lungs.”

  “If I get you running a ­couple of these mountain trails, we can take care of that.” Adam shifted on the stool and let his arm fall behind its back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I believe Mike already explained that,” Jonathan said, chopping tomatoes with a surgical precision Adam couldn’t help but admire.

  “Not here in my house. Here in California?” Adam reached in and deftly grabbed one of the chopped tomato pieces, popping it into his mouth. “You said you were researching opening a new restaurant in DC. I thought you were heading out there.”

  Jonathan was originally from a Virginia suburb just outside of the nation’s capital and he’d always wanted to open a restaurant in the District.

  “I am. But I don’t need to be there until next month. I’ll leave after your launch.”

  “That’s not why you’re staying, is it?”

  Jonathan stopped chopping, but he didn’t meet Adam’s gaze. “My brother is moving back to DC.”

  As long as he’d known Jonathan, his friend didn’t get along with his brother. Which was strange. He couldn’t imagine anyone not getting along with the outgoing and talented chef.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen Timothy?”

  “Oh, we’ve seen each other. We play nice for my parents when necessary, but . . .” He shrugged. “My mother said he’s met someone and they’re going to settle down near the family.”

  Opening a restaurant in DC should be exciting for Jonathan, but he didn’t look or sound enthusiastic. Adam wanted to know more, but struggled to determine what he should ask. After years of friendship, he knew Jonathan. His personality was even-­tempered, as opposed to Mike’s more reserved nature. If Jonathan wanted to share more with him, he would. Wouldn’t he? Or was this a situation where Adam needed to show he cared by inquiring further?

  It was enough to induce a stress headache. If it were any other ­people, he wouldn’t bother to make the effort.

  “What’s this?”

  The question interrupted him before he’d made a decision on how to proceed with Jonathan. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied Mike sitting in his chair, facing the powered-­up computer screen. His breath caught in the back of his throat and he hurried over.

  “You know I hate when ­people meddle with my things.”

  “I haven’t touched anything.”

  “The monitor is on.”

  “Okay, I touched the track pad. I wanted to see what you were working on.”

  “I’m tweaking code for the HPC.” Adam scowled, remembering . . . “But I may not finish if Anya continues to bother me with pointless tasks.”

  “Give the kid a break.”

  “Kid is an accurate descriptor. I c
hecked her personnel file. She’s only twenty-­four. Why is she working on the most important launch of our company? In the history of personal computing?”

  “Never an issue with self-­confidence, eh, Adam?” Jonathan called out.

  Adam narrowed his eyes. “When it comes to my work, no. I don’t have that same confidence in our neophyte promotional liaison.”

  “Anya’s great at her job. She has an uncanny knowledge of digital marketing, of using new and cutting edge social media to promote the HPC. She knows what she’s doing. She finds innovative ways to do what needs to be done.”

  “If you don’t rein her in, she’s going to find herself unemployed.”

  “She’s just doing her job,” Mike said, leaning back in the chair.

  “Her job is beginning to infringe on mine.”

  “Speaking of jobs, hiring and firing staff fall under mine.”

  “Which is why I’m giving you the courtesy of a warning,” Adam said, rubbing at the stiffness in his jaw.

  Mike reached out and picked up a pen, spinning it between his fingers. “Why are you fighting us on this? Anya was raving about your responses to the CGR interview, calling them informative, concise, and entertaining. She said if it weren’t for the content of your answers, she’d never believe they came from you.”

  “My abilities were never in question, only my desire.” For some reason, his words evoked an image of Chelsea. His pulse picked up the pace and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “She wants you to do more.”

  Heat rushed through him on a downward trajectory. He wanted to do more, too. He’d start with that mouth.

  “She thinks you can handle it and I tend to agree.”

  His dick stiffened and he wondered how much she could hand—­ Wait, what?

  His eyes popped open and he frowned. “What are we discussing?”

  Mike’s head flinched back. “Anya and more media interviews. What else would we be talking about?”

  After only one day, Chelsea was invading his thoughts like an insidious computer virus, and that was disturbing. It was a well-­documented field of study that the mind was capable of multitasking. Unfortunately, that was the rare function his brain had difficulty accomplishing. He tended to put the considerable power of his mental resources toward a sole focus. Right now, that focus needed to be his work and not the enticing stranger who’d swept in with the storm. Getting her out of his house and physically away had been in his best interest. And with her physical distance, it was only logical that her mental hold on him would diminish. As for more interviews . . .

  “I can continue prepping for the launch or I can spend my time answering questions about my favorite comic book. I can’t do both.”

  “Why not? As you’re fond of telling me, you’re the genius.”

  Adam scowled and gritted his teeth at his friend’s easy smile.

  Mike’s grin faded. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “You’d rather stay behind the scenes and let the HPC speak for itself. But in this new environment, the creator is as much a part of the story as the device. We need you.”

  So? That didn’t automatically mean he should do the interviews. What if he said the wrong thing?

  “We’ve been friends since we were eighteen years old,” Adam said. “You know I have no problem cataloguing my strengths and weaknesses. Being charming and engaging with the press falls into the latter category.”

  “Those skills can be learned.”

  He elevated a brow. “In three weeks?”

  “Yes. You just have to—­”

  “Change.” The word of the day. “I can’t. I am who I am.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say. I know opening up to ­people is difficult for you. But in the same way you came up with your politeness protocol, you can come up with a way to deal with the promotions and publicity aspects of the presentation.”

  As if that resource had been created in a moment of whimsy. It had taken years of rejections, jeers, and ridicule before he’d determined which responses were appropriate and which would get him labeled as weird. Even if he had the time to do the same for publicity—­which he didn’t—­he didn’t have the access to the press that would be required.

  “Dinner is served,” Jonathan announced.

  The three men settled onto the bar stools and Adam noted they’d unconsciously situated themselves the way they had in college, him in the middle, Mike on his right, Jonathan on his left.

  He inhaled, the aroma rising from the meal in front of him. “Do you stand by your guarantee?”

  Jonathan leaned his head back and smiled. “I do.”

  Adam took a tentative sip of the soup and sighed in pleasure as the flavors burst on his palate. The various herbs and spices blended harmoniously and the creamy texture coated his tongue.

  “This is really good,” Mike said, his spoon quickly descending back into his bowl.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Adam bit into his sandwich. “Can you add this to my food delivery rotation?”

  Jonathan dropped his spoon and sat back. “I’m actually steps ahead of the genius!” He bumped Adam’s arm. “Soup is already in the freezer, and since I was coming up, I bought several more meals for you. Oh, before I forget . . .”

  Jonathan stood on the rungs of the stool, reached into the box still on the counter and pulled out a glass bottle filled with dark amber liquid.

  Adam’s eyes widened. He grabbed the small elegant bottle from Jonathan’s hands. “Is this Jefferson’s Presidential Select Seventeen?”

  Jonathan nodded. “I managed to get my hand on a case.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Mike grinned and held out his glass.

  “Unless you’d rather have . . .” Jonathan reached into the box again and pulled out another bottle.

  The sight of the distinctive white label with its red-­and-­gold ribbon and wax-­sealed letter B caused Adam’s stomach to roil and triggered his gag reflex.

  Mike pressed the back of his hand to his lips. “Are you trying to make us sick?”

  “Good.” Jonathan dropped the offending drink back inside the box. “Just holding the bottle brings back bad memories.”

  Adam laughed. “Remember when we went to the movies to see Borat, and you drank half the bottle and passed out in the theater? We had to carry you all the way back to the dorm.”

  Mike chimed in. “And when we got there, a naked girl was lying on your bed.”

  Jonathan winced. “I don’t even remember her name.”

  Adam and Mike shared a glance. “Heather Wallace-­Webb,” they both said.

  “You remember that?”

  “I have excellent recall. I’m going to remember the name of the fourth girl I saw naked in person. Especially a girl who’d pierced her clitoris.”

  “Dude!” Jonathan punched his shoulder.

  “That’s what it’s called.”

  They finished dinner and settled in the great room, laughing and sipping bourbon for the rest of the night. Adam felt himself relax in a way he hadn’t since his failed engagement. He’d missed this, spending time with his friends, ­people who loved and accepted him.

  A little after 10 p.m., Jonathan stood and stretched. “We gotta get on the road.”

  “I have plenty of room if either of you need to stay,” Adam said.

  “I appreciate it, but I want to check on the restaurant.” Jonathan headed into the kitchen.

  “And I can drive,” Mike said, standing and brushing invisible lint from the front of his pants. “I switched to water earlier.”

  After collecting his supplies, Jonathan placed the box on the arm of the sofa, shook Adam’s hand and pulled him in for a brief hug. “It was good to see you, man. Let’s not wait another year before we do this again.”

&nb
sp; “How about three weeks?” Adam asked. “I’ll need a drink after the presentation.”

  “No doubt.”

  They bumped fists and Jonathan headed down the stairs.

  “We’re good?”

  Adam hated when Mike slipped into colloquial language. It made deciphering his meaning more time-­consuming. It took a moment, but when he understood Mike’s question he nodded and answered, “We’re good.”

  “After the mini game console, you said you’d do anything to put Computronix back on top.”

  Adam’s vision clouded as he recalled the disaster of the console’s launch. Though the HPC was eons ahead in terms of tech and readiness, he couldn’t deny the stench from that failure lingered.

  “I meant it.”

  “Then we’re going to need your best for the HPC launch. It’s an extraordinary device and I want to give it every chance to succeed. Whatever you called upon to answer the CGR questions, put it on speed dial for the presentation.”

  Adam sighed. He hadn’t consulted a higher power to answer those questions. His turnaround had been due entirely to Chelsea. It was only after he’d accepted her help that Anya had been happy with his responses.

  After saying goodbye to his friends, he headed back up to his workstation. There were numerous reasons why no further contact with Chelsea was best for his work, but there was one reason for association that trumped them all: he needed her help to make his launch of the HPC a success.

  And should her nearness begin to tempt him, he’d remind himself of his genius. That he only needed to learn a lesson once before he imprinted, then implemented it into his life. His mother and Birgitta had taught him that allowing a woman too close was a mistake. Once there, they’d see he was different and then they’d leave. They always did. He couldn’t afford to let that happen this time. Not when the success of the HPC was riding on maintaining a strong professional relationship with Chelsea.

  Personally, he’d keep his distance.

  Even if it killed him.

  Chapter Seven

  WHAT WAS SHE supposed to do now?

  Chelsea strode over to the window in the Andersons’ great room. While not as big as Adam’s, it still offered a charming view of the mountainside. A view she’d have to appreciate another day.