Love On My Mind

by Tracey Livesay

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. What in the hell was he doing? This was his first interview since they’d begun working together and he didn’t think she should be notified, let alone involved? Quivering images of the ­People press conference scrolled through her mind as if the memories themselves understood what was at stake. She prayed the conversation would continue smoothly. That he’d consider his answers before he gave them. And when the interview concluded she was going to wring his neck.

  “The future of Computronix? How much time do you have?” Adam laughed. “The world is changing quicker than previous generations are prepared to tolerate. Millennials are the largest generation in the country, representing a third of the population. They’ve matured during technology’s massive growth and they want it seamlessly integrated into their lives. Meeting that aim is my singular focus in the next three to five years.”

  Chelsea’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t have written a more comprehensive answer. What was more astonishing was Adam delivered it with ease and charm and without any prompt from her.

  “We’re creating a first-­class experience for our users,” he said. “We want them to associate essential innovation with Computronix.”

  He was gesturing widely, alternating between clutching the ball in his hands and playing a solo game of toss-­up. He was in his element and his enjoyment of the subject matter was apparent. This was the Adam who needed to show up for the product launch. He was charismatic, relaxed, and, important for him, responsive.

  She now had evidence that Adam Bennett could give a successful presentation. She needed to re-­create this experience at the launch and lengthen it threefold.

  “We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us,” Host B said. “We’re stoked for the presentation. We have one more question.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you concerned that the debacle of your last launch will contaminate this one?”

  The muscles in Adam’s back tensed. He caught the ball and set it firmly on his desk.

  “No,” he said, tersely. Gone was the agreeableness of moments ago. His posture was as stiff and inflexible as a newly Botoxed brow.

  Shit.

  Host A chimed in. “A few years ago, any device released by Computronix was an automatic buy. After the last one, insiders are skeptical. How do you plan to handle their loss of faith?”

  Adam clenched his fingers into fists and dropped his head, exhaling sharply from his nose. Chelsea winced. This wasn’t good. She wanted to step in, but that would make things worse. A good publicist stayed behind the scenes and never made herself a part of the story. Interrupting the interview shifted the story from the device to the developer. But what if he uttered an inflammatory comment? She rolled her eyes heavenward. None of this would be happening if he’d told her about the interview in the first place.

  “Adam? Are you still with us? What’s your response to our follow-­up?”

  “If podcasts were regulated by the FCC, my response would engender a large fine.”

  “You know we’re fans,” Host B said, “but it’s the natural question to ask.”

  “And I have a natural response when I’m being attacked.”

  He clicked off his phone and tossed it aside.

  “Fuck!” He shoved his hands into his hair and clutched tufts between his fingers.

  That was the worst thing he could have done. “Call them back.”

  He whirled around. “Chelsea—­”

  “We’ll tell them you were accidentally disconnected.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  “Who cares?” This wasn’t the time for his Honest Abe routine. She charged across the room until they stood toe to toe. “Why were you doing an interview? Especially an interview I knew nothing about?”

  “It was an industry tech podcast that Anya scheduled for me three weeks ago.”

  “So you had plenty of notice.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should’ve told me about this. I’m supposed to help you prepare.”

  He cupped her cheek, then trailed his hands down her arms to grip her elbows, pulling her close to his hard body. Her breath caught in her throat at the blaze of emotion she saw burning in his hooded gaze.

  “You looked so peaceful sleeping,” he whispered. “So beautiful in my bed. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She shook her head, as if the action would clear away the sensual cobwebs his presence was weaving. She pushed out of his embrace. “You should’ve awakened me.”

  What had she been thinking? One act on the personal side of their relationship may have undone them professionally. How many times had she handled a version of this story? She’d allowed incredible sex, dreamy eyes, and washboard abs to momentarily obscure the vision of her partnership. She was here for one reason only: to help Adam prepare for his presentation. How could she have forgotten that? She bowed her head and shook it slightly so that her curls swung forward to curtain her face. Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she imagined the burn of shame singed her fingertips. She didn’t deserve the partnership.

  He reached for her again, but she took a step back and his arms dropped to his sides. “I’ve recorded podcasts with them before and found them reasonable and fair. They’re interested in my work, not boxers versus briefs or Team Edward versus Team Jacob, though I still don’t understand that cultural reference.” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at her from beneath his thick lashes. “I was certain I could handle it alone.”

  “Now we know better.”

  “I don’t understand your response.”

  “I’m upset,” she said, stating the obvious. “You were doing so well. Why didn’t you use those deep breathing exercises I taught you?”

  “I terminated the call. I didn’t curse or break into a tirade.”

  Her back teeth became intimately acquainted as she ground them together. “You hung up on this interview, you walked out of your last one. Your media abandonment is now a trend. I swear, Adam, you’re doing their work for them. The copy about you is practically writing itself.”

  She ignored the twinge of guilt that reminded her she owned stock in this colossal screw-­up.

  “This isn’t significant enough to warrant your reaction.”

  “You don’t know that. This isn’t your field of expertise. It’s mine,” she said, hitting her chest with her hand. “And you’re supposed to be smart enough to realize that fucking me wouldn’t change that.”

  The vein in his forehead throbbed. “It appears I made a rare error in judgment.”

  “You lost your composure. You can’t do that at the product launch. These guys were supporters of yours. At the launch you’ll have allies in the audience, but there’ll also be skeptics and ­people who want to tear you down. You’ve got to be able to respond better than you just did, or what the hell have we been doing? Wasting our time?”

  “Nothing about the past two weeks has been a waste of time. I’ve met you and that makes this entire experience worthwhile.”

  She softened. Damn him and his way with words.

  No.

  She straightened and steeled herself against his earnest charisma, using the warm indignation of her anger as a shield. “What happened? Why did that last question rattle you?”

  “I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Why not? You aren’t the first company to roll out a product that underperformed. Surely you knew that might be an issue?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “It wasn’t the product’s performance, although that was a problem. It was the timing of the release.”

  He sat in his desk chair and held out his hand to her. She hesitated, knowing they needed to have this conversation and not wanting to confuse her role again. This was Chelsea, the PR professional, trying to determine what had gone wrong during the interview. Not Chelsea, the wo
man, wanting to comfort the man with whom she was sleeping. But the downward tilt of his brows and the tension brackets around his mouth burrowed through her intent. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her down onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his head against her back. His words vibrated through her as he talked.

  “Several years ago I conceived an idea for a mini video game console that would end hardware loyalty and allow you to play whatever game you desired, no matter the system for which it had been designed. Gaming was an arena I was interested in, but one we hadn’t explored.”

  There was information on that device in the research Mike had given her. If she recalled correctly, Computronix released it over a year ago.

  “Then I met Birgitta at a party Jonathan dragged me to in San Francisco.”

  Chelsea’s chest tightened. This would’ve been less painful before she’d slept with him.

  Adam and Birgitta had been a media sensation. His dark, vivid good looks and her pale, angelic beauty made them a photographer’s dream. Their courtship and breakup had landed them on the covers of countless entertainment magazines. Chelsea wished she’d paid more attention, but she’d been in the midst of handling a public relations nightmare involving an athlete and allegations of performance-­enhancing drug use.

  “She was beautiful, amusing, and we began dating. What I liked most about her was her independence. In case you didn’t notice”—­Adam brushed her curls over one shoulder and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck—­“I can get engrossed in my work. But she had her own life. Between fashion shows and international photo shoots, Birgitta was away most of the time we dated. I found that schedule acceptable. Preferable, even.”

  Of course. Adam could focus on his work and still reap the benefits of a “relationship.”

  “Computronix had just released our newest mobile phone to great acclaim and economic success. I was subjected to a lot of press attention. Birgitta loved it. I did not.” He sighed and tightened his arms around her waist. “I don’t enjoy large crowds of ­people or being the center of attention. Birgitta thought that would change, that I would become accustomed to it and grow to glorify it as she did. When I assured her I wouldn’t, and explained why, she told me she understood. It was a lie. Later she disclosed that she found my . . . quirks tiresome. She wanted to be with someone with less defects.”

  Chelsea narrowed her eyes. Just because he admitted he’d never be the life of the party? She pictured the lanky model-­turned-­professional-­snowboarder currently sharing Birgitta’s spotlight. A huge step down, in her opinion. She stroked Adam’s arm where it rested on her hip.

  “It was a relief,” he continued. “The game console was turning out to be more difficult than I’d originally anticipated, but I relished the challenge. Birgitta was forgotten until I was besieged by requests for interviews. Reporters staked out the Computronix campus, harassing our employees, hunting for quotes. They wanted to know how the genius could be duped by the blonde bombshell.

  “She was involved with someone else and they’d discovered she’d been screwing him the entire time she’d been with me. They’d been photographed together all around the world. They had evidence that she’d been with him in Europe the day before she flew back to the States to attend a gala with me. She’d been lying to me the entire time. Using me to take her career to the next level. Mike said the story would fade away, but it didn’t. For weeks, new stories would emerge where the press depicted me as a moron.”

  The story would’ve died down and some new tidbit would’ve taken its place. It was the nature of gotcha journalism. Birgitta had probably been feeding information to the media, hoping to keep herself in the headlines.

  “Afterward, I made it my mission to prove them wrong. I had to show I wasn’t an idiot and that her lies and behavior hadn’t affected me. But it had. I wasn’t heartbroken. I barely knew her and that was the appeal of the relationship. But I needed a win. I had to salvage my reputation. I released the mini game console.

  “It was the worst decision I ever made. It sold well initially, but it wasn’t properly tested. It was years from being perfected. There were bugs and glitches and issues with the hardware loyalty aspect. It was a failure of considerable proportions.”

  Oh, Adam . . .

  “I didn’t salvage my reputation. I destroyed it. Before I let the media take anything else from me, I left Palo Alto and retreated here. I needed to focus on the basics, and that decision led to discovering the HPC.”

  He shifted her on his lap so that she could see his face. His jaw was set, his gaze direct. “That’s what I reacted to when he asked me that final question. My last launch was a disaster. This one has to be a success. But you’re right. I should’ve told you about the interview. I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly, his sought-­after apology sat heavy upon her shoulders. How could she require his atonement when their entire association was based on a lie? She shook her head and tried to swallow past the sudden thickness in her throat. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “This isn’t how I imagined our day beginning,” he said, the tone of his voice changing. “I’d planned to wake you with a cup of coffee and sweet kisses here”—­he kissed her right shoulder—­“here”—­he kissed her forehead—­“here”—­she shivered when he kissed the spot beneath her left ear—­“and, finally, here.”

  His last kiss quickly turned passionate as his tongue danced with hers and his fingers clutched her hips. She leaned into him, trembling from the passion that blossomed in her body. Her breath quickened, her body loosened, and her muscles lost their tension as she opened for him.

  How would his comfy chair creation hold up to an energetic session of sex?

  Unfortunately, she’d never know the answer to the question. He broke the kiss and leaned back, smoothing a curl from her temple. He smiled his killer HPC smile, then slapped her lightly on the bottom. “I can still provide the coffee.”

  She exhaled and attempted to regain her composure. “I thought you didn’t own a coffeemaker?”

  “I don’t.”

  Good Lord. He made conversations more laborious than her weekly curl detangling routine. “Then how will you make coffee?”

  He frowned. “Easily. I’ll heat the water in a pot, measure the grounds, and pour the water into the grounds. Then I’ll strain the coffee into the—­”

  She kissed him, her smiling lips halting his flow of words. She pulled back and cupped his cheeks. “I take my coffee with cream and sugar.”

  As she watched him walk away, her own sexy barista, the smile fell from her face. Last night had been a personal revelation and a professional mistake. Adam was putting his career and his life in her hands. Hands that were full juggling opposing needs and wants. His launch. Her promotion. Her and Mike’s secret. Her firm’s entree into the tech world. The lines between her roles were becoming blurred, leaving her to wonder who she owed what. Her promotion was still her primary concern, but she suddenly wondered if it was worth the path she was taking. One wrong move, one false step, it could all come crashing down and she might lose everything in the end.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ADAM LOWERED THE backpack from his shoulder and selected a patch of grass where they could admire the panoramic scene of the mountains and the city below. He unfolded a large blanket and anchored it with rocks he found nearby.

  “Who is insane enough to hike up the side of a mountain? When I catch up to you, Adam Bennett . . .” Chelsea’s words were audible, though she’d yet to crest the hill.

  He smiled. He’d needed a way to apologize for his decision to do the podcast interview without her, especially after he’d finally convinced her a sexual relationship wouldn’t interfere with their business one.

  He pulled four bottles of water and containers of trail mix and dried fruit from his pack. She’d believed he didn’t have faith in her
skills and nothing could be further from the truth. He had no doubt that if he’d told Chelsea about the interview, she would’ve foreseen that question and helped him prepare a suitable response.

  But lately, he’d been feeling like a project. All of Chelsea’s lessons required fixing some part of him, and while those things were necessary to ensure a successful launch, it’s not the dynamic he wanted between them. He wanted her to see him as someone whole, regular, normal. After they’d slept together, he knew he’d achieved his goal. Unfortunately, his mistake with the podcast had set him back.

  He heard her footsteps a second before she came into view. As always, he marveled at her beauty. Perspiration glistened on her skin and she rested her hands on her knees while she caught her breath.

  “Son of a bitch.” She straightened and whipped off the scarf she’d used to secure her curls. “That was not c—­ What’s this?”

  “A snack. It was a long hike.” He considered the offerings of their rudimentary picnic. “There’s trail mix and fruit, if you suffer from nut allergies.”

  “Ooh, I love trail mix.” She dropped her smaller pack next to the blanket, then settled down and grabbed a handful of food. “You are full of surprises, Mr. Bennett.”

  He’d never thought of himself as surprising. In fact, he abhorred surprises, finding them inefficient and detrimental to order. But if Chelsea liked that about him, he’d have to consider cultivating that aspect of his personality.

  “If I was guaranteed this view at the end of a trek, I’d actually consider hiking.”

  He stretched out beside her, extending his legs and leaning back on his hands. “It’s one of my favorites. When I’m not working, I spend a lot of time outdoors.”

  “I’ve never been an outdoor person. Which is odd, considering I grew up in a town on Lake Michigan. ­People did a lot of boating and camping, but I never did.”