Love On My Mind

by Tracey Livesay

  He settled for a simple “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll figure it out.” Dad hesitated and his eyes watered. “This is the longest conversation we’ve had in years. Whatever happens between the two of you, she’ll always have my gratitude for that.”

  It was half-­past eleven when Adam landed back in San Francisco. He’d succumbed to a moment of impulsivity when he’d headed to Colorado over six hours ago, but it turned out to be a judicious use of his time. It had allowed him to begin mending the relationship with his father, after years lost due to incorrect assumptions about their feelings. He was determined to visit again soon, and spend time with his entire family.

  But first, he had a presentation to deliver.

  He turned his phone back on, startled to see missed calls from Mike and Jonathan, as well as numerous ones from a number he didn’t recognize, tagged Los Angeles, CA.

  Chelsea?

  No, it wasn’t her. Her number and picture were programmed into his phone. What if it was about her? Before he could access his voice mail and listen to the messages left, his phone rang and the caller ID displayed that same Los Angeles number.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Bennett, this is Howard Richter from Beecher & Stowe.”

  Beecher & Stowe. That was the fucking company Mike had mentioned, the PR firm where Chelsea worked.

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “I apologize for disturbing you at this hour the night before your presentation, but I needed to speak with you.”

  “I don’t know Chelsea’s whereabouts. Try her cell phone.”

  “Chelsea Grant is no longer an employee of our company, so she isn’t our concern. You are. Mr. Black hired us on behalf of your company and our job was to prepare you for the launch.”

  He’d ceased paying attention after the man’s first sentence. Chelsea no longer worked for them? “What do you mean she isn’t an employee?”

  “Ms. Grant handed in her notice. We’re mortified that she left you without guidance for your presentation, but we’ve already assigned someone from our office here in LA to—­”

  Chelsea resigned? Why would she do that? Her job and the partnership meant everything to her.

  The partnership means nothing to me if I lose you because of it.

  It was all within her grasp and she’d relinquished it. Because of him. She’d told him he meant more to her than the partnership, but they both knew more than words were needed to decipher a person’s true intentions. Chelsea had buttressed her words with the one action guaranteed to prove she’d meant what she’d said.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was an ass. Had he lost her for good? Or was her resignation a way of communicating that he still had a chance? He chose to believe the latter option. He sure as hell didn’t deserve her, but she loved him and he needed that hopefulness if he had any chance of winning her back.

  He interrupted the man who was still talking. “I don’t want a new PR rep. I want Chelsea. If you want to keep Computronix as a client, you’ll make sure she’s at the presentation tomorrow.”

  He disconnected the call and hurried to his waiting car, his brain formulating a plan. Being a genius had its advantages. He couldn’t afford to lose more valuable time.

  Chapter Twenty-­One

  CHELSEA STOOD IN the back of the large room and catalogued the assembled audience. Reporters from tech blogs, computer journals, and twenty-­four-­hour news outlets rubbed shoulders with reporters covering pop culture, entertainment news, and financial trends. Howard had been right. This launch was big news and everyone was excited to see what Computronix was promoting.

  “It’s about to start,” she told Indi, clutching her cell phone to her ear. She cleared her throat, trying again, without success, to dislodge the boulder that sat squarely mid-­trachea. Her eyes were gritty after a sleepless night and hours of crying, and it had taken a deft and skillful hand with her makeup to mask the effects of yesterday’s breakup with Adam. She was grateful her outside appeared poised and confident, even though her inside was an unruly, chaotic mess.

  “Why are you attending the presentation? You can leave right now. Come visit me in Nashville,” Indi said.

  “Howard asked me to stay,” Chelsea said.

  Indi scoffed. “I’m calling bullshit.”

  It wasn’t bullshit . . . not exactly. Late last night she’d received a surprising phone call from her former supervisor asking her to stay for the presentation. Despite her resignation, Beecher & Stowe still had a stake in the outcome. They hoped if things went well, and with the offending party gone, Computronix would continue to use their ser­vices. She’d told him she’d be here, but not on their behalf.

  “You’re staying for him, aren’t you?”

  There was no place she’d rather be.

  She needed to see the presentation. She hoped Adam hadn’t let what happened between them derail his progress. What she hadn’t admitted to Indi was that she was determined to convince him to give her another chance. She had no reason to believe he would, but she had to try.

  He’d been so cold in the elevator, his expression closed, his stance rigid, his arms crossed across his chest, keeping her at a distance. He’d erected a brick wall between them and with each plea she uttered he’d mortared another stone into place. She should’ve followed her instincts and told him the truth from the beginning.

  Was she so desperate to be accepted that she was willing to give up her integrity? Even if she’d gotten away with it, her soul would’ve been forever stained. She used to pride herself on being honest with her clients, but she’d never be able to make that claim again. And why? For more money and a corner office? For the outer trappings of success that would say she’d arrived? That she was worthy?

  Was she really any different from the woman who’d given birth to her? Her mother had lost herself in a succession of men. Had she defined herself by them? Had being with them made her feel better about herself? Was she—­Chelsea—­suffering from the same affliction? Had she looked to a job and a partnership to validate who she was? Had she actually ended up like her mother, just in a different tax bracket?

  Why hadn’t she realized—­before it was too late—­it didn’t matter what she had, in the end it was about who she was? Hadn’t she seen that lesson replayed over and over with her clients? She dealt with some of the best in the entertainment field. ­People who were lauded, worshipped, and had loads of money. Yet they were some of the unhappiest ­people she knew. She refused to follow that path, to spend the rest of her life embracing power and pulchritude at the expense of her principles.

  “I love him,” she said, simply.

  “Then do what you have to. If you need anything, you call me. And the invitation to visit is open.”

  The telltale stinging pressure began and through sheer force of will, Chelsea held the tears at bay. No more tears. If she lost any more moisture, she’d begin to prune.

  “Thanks, Indi,” she said and disconnected the call.

  She inhaled deeply, expelling all of her fears and doubts. Clutching her bag close, she moved down the aisle, searching for an available seat in the back. The lights in the room were up and the stage was lit, though empty. She wondered where Adam was and what he was doing. Was he nervous or calm? Was he using any of the relaxation breathing she’d taught him? Was he even here? She spied an available seat on the inner aisle and headed toward it when someone called her name.

  She turned. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone here to know her. She dealt with the press often and there was certain to be entertainment reporters present that she dealt with during her time at Beecher & Stowe. But when she discovered the source of the call, surprise froze her to the spot.

  “I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Adam’s friend, Jonathan Moran, stood before her, a sad smile marring his handsome
face. She recalled the chef saying he planned to attend the launch.

  “Bad news travels fast,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood. She wasn’t sure what the man knew or heard and she wasn’t keen on rehashing everything in such a public place.

  “The Friends of Adam Bennett club is pretty small, so . . .” He shrugged, his brown eyes kind. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  “No, but I will be.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. It means you haven’t given up on him. What happened took him by surprise, but the man is a genius. It won’t take him long to realize how happy you make him. Come on, I grabbed us a ­couple of seats up front.”

  Her mouth was as arid as the Sahara. She swallowed and let her gaze dart around the room. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I planned to sit back here—­”

  “Nonsense.” He took her elbow and guided her down to two prime seats on the front row. They’d just settled in when the lights dimmed and an excited murmur surfed the crowd. A swarm of butterflies nose-­dived in her stomach and she placed her hand there, wrangling them.

  You can do it, Adam.

  A spotlight illuminated the far side of the stage and Mike stood at the podium in a dark, slim-­cut suit, his fair hair gleaming. Disappointment tore through her with swift surgical precision. She lowered her head and pressed her lips tight to prevent crying out. Adam wasn’t here. He hadn’t been able to get past what she’d done.

  This doesn’t mean anything, Chelsea. You always knew they were both doing the presentation.

  Mike flashed a charming smile and rested an arm on the dais. “Apple did it in 1984. They invented the Macintosh and changed the computer industry.”

  Behind him, a picture of the aforementioned computer appeared on one of the large screens.

  “In 1985, Nintendo introduced the Nintendo Entertainment System and revitalized the home video gaming market. Apple did it again in 2001 when they created the iPod, transforming the music industry, and again in 2007 with the introduction of the iPhone. Amazon did it with the creation of the Kindle, as they shifted the publishing industry. Computronix is proud to join this distinguished list of pioneers.”

  A spotlight on the side of the stage closest to her highlighted Adam standing there.

  Those butterflies soared in flights of fancy. She leaned forward, a smile blooming on her face. He wore dark jeans, a navy V-­neck sweater over a crisp white-­collared shirt and a pair of his favorite sneakers. Stubble covered his strong jawline, giving him the look of a brawny intellectual. Not GQ, not geek chic. But all Adam. And he was gorgeous. She clasped her hands together and pressed her knuckles to her lips.

  No one would necessarily say he was comfortable, but he was calm. He inhaled and she saw his lips moving. He was counting and doing the deep breathing exercises she’d taught him. He exhaled and began.

  “What if you could check your email, update your status, conduct your business, all without being tied to bulky hardware? What if you could seamlessly incorporate your conventional and technical worlds? What if the only element you needed to access your computer was air?

  “For the past two and a half years I’ve dreamt about this day and it’s finally here. My name is Adam Bennett and I give you the Holographic Personal Computer, or the HPC.”

  The stage went black. Whispers and nervous titters tore through the audience like a dry brush fire. On the stage, a holographic image appeared in front of Adam. The audience gasped. Chelsea experienced the same thrill of awe and amazement as she had the first time Adam had demonstrated it for her, in his house on the mountain.

  “Today, we change the way you’ll interact with personal computing.”

  Thirty minutes later he completed his portion of the presentation. The auditorium erupted in sound as ­people leapt to their feet and began clapping. The applause was loud and lengthy. Adam smiled his “sell-­a-­million-­HPCs” smile and raised his fist in the air.

  Mike rejoined him on stage. “Thank you. We’ll take questions now.”

  A dizzying cacophony of sound accompanied the numerous hands flying upward. Mike handled the questions about availability and price points, but Adam fielded the ones about the technology.

  Would other Computronix devices have a holographic interface?

  Was the processing efficient?

  How long was the battery life?

  Would speech recognition come standard?

  He stayed calm and appeared relaxed, answering the questions clearly with no lapses of condescension, employing all the lessons they’d worked on. Tears stung her eyes. She was so proud of him. He’d done a great job. This was going to be a success.

  “Our viewers want to know if the Sexiest Man Alive is wearing boxers or briefs?”

  Chelsea stiffened at the question from an entertainment news channel’s fashion police.

  Adam smiled. “I’m no longer the sexiest man alive. I believe that title was passed to another genetically blessed individual. However, I can report that I’m going commando.”

  Laughter followed his response. This was better than Chelsea had ever imagined. She should’ve known to never underestimate him. He’d proven more than once that he could do anything he put his mind to.

  Except forgive you.

  Adam stepped to the front of the stage. “I’m going to beg your indulgence for a moment. There’s someone here who asked me some questions yesterday and I didn’t answer them to the best of my ability. I’m ready now.” He shielded his eyes and peered into the audience. “Is Chelsea Grant from Mountaintop Today here?”

  Blood rushed from her face to her heart, then turned around and made the return trip just as fast, leaving her light-­headed. Had she heard him correctly?

  Beside her, Jonathan stood and she stared up at him, dumbfounded. His dark hair fell charmingly over his forehead and a large smile brightened his face. He held out his hand and she took it, rising to her feet.

  “Showtime,” he said, and walked her over to the right side of the stage, away from Adam.

  A random thought popped into her head. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but at least she looked her best. The coral dress with its asymmetrical hem emphasized her long legs and the color popped against her skin.

  Mike met her at the stage and took her hand from Jonathan. He helped her up the stairs. “If you make him happy, then I’m happy,” he whispered in her ear.

  Then her brain went blank, as she stood alone on the stage, with Adam.

  After several moments of silence, his eyes widened comically and he looked at the audience in apprehension. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  She leaned toward him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Ask me a question.”

  “Here? In front of all of these ­people?”

  He smiled. “Aren’t we both tired of worrying what other ­people think of us?”

  It suddenly struck her that she was part of a press conference. Where she’d used to love watching as a spectator sport, she had now become the participant. It wasn’t as enjoyable.

  “Um, what will be a successful market share—­”

  He shook his head. “Not that type of question.”

  She could hear the audience murmuring, but they couldn’t be more confused than she was. What did he expect her to do? Think, Chelsea. Mountaintop Today, questions from yesterday . . .

  There was only one thing she cared about and it wasn’t the HPC or Computronix’s profit share. But could she do this? Here, in front of all of these ­people? She’d often made her clients issue apologies or address their behavior in a public arena, for money, to save their career, or rehab their reputation. Wasn’t her future happiness and the love in her heart more important than those superficial goals?

  She tried to call on her years of professional poise, but it refused to answer. This was
too personal. She had too much at stake. She licked her lips. Her heart was beating so loud she was certain everyone in the room could hear it.

  “Your last launch didn’t go well, but today’s was a success. You were granted a second chance. Do you grant them in your personal life, or is it always one strike and you’re done?”

  The room fell quiet, waiting for his response.

  “It used to be. Recently I was told ­people aren’t computers. They make mistakes.”

  “So you’d consider forgiving that person?”

  “Under the right circumstances.”

  “And what are those circumstances?”

  He moved closer to her and cupped her cheek. “Our circumstances.”

  She exhaled shakily as lightness engulfed her being. It wasn’t over.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said, surprising her.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know who Gottfried Leibniz was?”

  It was like a cosmic needle scratch on a blissful moment. “No.”

  “He was a German mathematician and philosopher. His best-­known contribution to metaphysics is his theory of the monad,” Adam continued, despite her puzzled expression. “He posited that monads are the ultimate elements of the universe and that all substances, no matter how big or small, are made up of an infinite number of monads.”

  “Uh, Adam? I think you’re getting a tad bit off track.”

  He laughed, his beautiful blue eyes warm, clear, and shining, and she was willing to listen to a thousand lectures if it meant he would continue looking at her that way. He cradled her face between his palms, his thumbs skimming over her skin. Like an affectionate suntan, his regard warmed her, marked her as his.