Love On My Mind (16 page)

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

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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.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “One, you needed money. And two, you needed someone invested enough to take you and share the experience. I had neither.”

He blinked. They’d spent so much time focusing on the presentation and his needs that it occurred to him he didn’t know much about her background. He intended to remedy that immediately. However, before he could question her further, she changed the subject.

“No offense, but don’t most computer geeks spend an inordinate amount of time avoiding the outdoors? It’s how they acquire their pasty pallor.”

“Saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t mean offense won’t be taken, and it doesn’t excuse your fault in causing it,” he said. She slapped his thigh and he laughed, picking up several pieces of trail mix and popping them into his mouth. “I’ve always been active.”

He didn’t mention that playing sports was his way to atone for the son he could never be. But nothing he’d done had alleviated the biting disappointment always present on his mother’s face.

“Always? Are you trying to tell me you were the star quarterback of your high school football team?”

“Not at all. I didn’t enjoy team sports. I ran cross-country and wrestled.”

“As I said, full of surprises.” She bumped his forearm with her shoulder. “But isn’t wrestling a team sport? Don’t they call it a wrestling
team
?”

“There is a team of wrestlers, but when you’re on the mat, facing off against an opponent, it’s just the two of you. Unlike in football, where the mistakes of your teammates can affect your chances of winning, in wrestling my success or failure depended entirely on my own efforts. It’s a physical version of chess, where my goal was to outmaneuver my opponent and gain control.”

Considering the lack of it in his life at that time, seeking control was something he’d desperately needed.

“I bet your family came to all of your events. A genius and an athlete? They must’ve been proud of you.”

Were they? “My life isn’t governed by thoughts of my family’s feelings about my achievements.”

“That’s evident. You don’t talk about them and there aren’t any pictures of them around your house.”

His scalp prickled. “I don’t need pictures to remind me of their existence.”

“Are they coming to the launch?”

How did they end up discussing his family when he’d just noted his intent to learn about hers? “No. They don’t enjoy visiting me.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Is that what they said?”

“No. They just don’t visit.”

“Do you invite them?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why would I invite them to my home when it’s clear they dislike being here?”

She dusted her hands together. “Ugh, I’ve stepped onto your word merry-go-round again.”

“My what?”

“Word merry-go-round. That’s when we talk around the same subject, but our understanding of the subject is different. My point was maybe your family doesn’t visit because you don’t invite them.”

Word merry-go-round. That was an accurate turn of phrase. He found it amusing. No one had ever described it in that manner before, though he’d experienced this ordeal numerous times.

“When I invited them to Computronix’s first product launch, they complained about my schedule, then left during the festivities. They never mentioned a follow-up visit and I had no interest in putting any of us through that experience again.”

“You said your father and sisters still live in Colorado. Is that where you’re from?”

“Yes, about two hours west of Denver.”

“Your father and sisters, but not your mother?” She paused. “Where is she?”

He shifted away from her on the blanket. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen years old.”

“What happened when you were fourteen?”

His chest tightened and his skin alternated between feverish and chilled. And
he
was the one who was deficient in understanding social cues? Were his clipped responses not enough to telegraph his unease with this topic? “She left and never returned.”

“Oh . . .” She jerked upward and pressed a hand to the front of her sweatshirt, covering the letters spread across her breasts. “My God, Adam. I’m sorry.”

He avoided her stare. “My mother really wanted a son, and after two daughters she was ecstatic when I was born. It wasn’t long before she realized I wasn’t going to be the kind of son she’d envisioned.”

This wasn’t why he’d brought her out here. He hadn’t planned to have this conversation now.

“Are you kidding me? Look at what you’ve accomplished. Any mother would be proud to have you as a son.”

He entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed. “Not when I was a child. I was different.”

“Different how? Because you were gifted?”

If only.

“Because I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.”

She stiffened and her head jerked back. “Like autism?” she asked, dropping his hand.

He stared at his abandoned hand and the trail mix sank heavily to the pit of his stomach. “It’s on the autism disorder spectrum, although the term was dropped for a broader one two years ago.”

“When were you diagnosed?”

This was harder than he’d imagined. He stared straight ahead. “When I was six years old. My genius had already begun to manifest itself and my mother was keen to have me tested. She got what she wanted, but not in the package she’d have preferred.”

“That’s no excuse for her to abandon you.”

“Imagine feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and distressed at the way your child’s issues and needs have taken over your life. Schedules, decisions, and daily routines all seem to revolve around a child whose mind moves at a rate you can’t fathom, who doesn’t share your interests—or even pretends to—and who has a preoccupation with perfection and finds it difficult to establish an emotional bond.”

He’d memorized the introduction of the parenting website, having found it after doing a search on the topic of raising a child with Asperger’s.

“Is that because of the Asperger’s or the genius?”

“For me, they’re intertwined.”

“That explains some of our miscommunication.”

He nodded. “When I was younger, idioms were my undoing. Pulling my leg, butterflies in my stomach, shoes that cost an arm and a leg. It’s estimated that there are over twenty-five thousand of them. It’ll never come naturally to me, as it does to many people, but most of the time, I’m fine. When I’m distracted or stressed, it becomes more difficult.”

“And this is why you asked for my help with the presentation?”

“Struggles with understanding social cues and uneasiness being the focus of attention in a crowd are not the traits inherent in a successful interactive presentation.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you,” she said, her voice soft.

Heat swept across the back of his neck. “I don’t want your fucking pity.”

“Hey!” She rose to her knees and scooted to face him. “Pity is the last thing I feel for you,” she said, her tone vehement.

He noticed he’d curled his hands into fists. He forced himself to relax. “There’s always someone worse off. On the one hand, I have this condition that makes socializing challenging for me. On the other hand, I possess a drive, determination, and single-minded focus that has made me more successful than most people in the world.” He offered her a small smile. “In the grand scheme of things, I’ve come out ahead.”

She touched his leg. “And that part about it being difficult to establish an emotional bond. Is that still an issue for you?”

His gaze bored into hers, needing her to understand. “I can’t speak for all people on the spectrum, but I have no problem establishing a bond with anyone who captures my interest.” He sighed and looked away. “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you before we slept together? I wasn’t trying to hide it, but it’s personal information I only share with a few people.”

When she didn’t respond right away, he hurried to clarify. “I swear I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I don’t respond to the social and vocal cues you instinctively notice when someone sets out to mislead you. It adds an extra layer of difficulty to conversations. I don’t lie and I can’t tolerate people in my life who do.”

She sat hunched over with her eyes closed, rubbing the middle of her forehead. His heart slowed as he struggled to pull fresh air into his lungs. He’d been expecting this response, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. He had to think about his company.

“Are you still willing to help me?”

Her eyes popped open. “Of course. And now that I understand, I’ll be able to assist you more effectively.”

“I never wanted to be treated differently,” he said.

“You
are
different, but that’s part of your appeal and it makes you special. Anyone who doesn’t recognize that, including your mother, isn’t worthy of your care or consideration.”

Her words fueled him, sending adrenaline coursing through his body. He reached out for one of her curls, hopeful when she didn’t pull away.

“Why are you here?” he asked, scrutinizing her face, wishing that, just this once, he could automatically understand every tick, every nuance.

“You suggested a hike,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Not here with me. Here, in the mountains. When we first met you said you were spending a couple of months up here. This isn’t the natural destination for a person who doesn’t like the outdoors.”

It was her turn to look off. “I needed some time away.”

“From what?” Or whom?

“I—” She swallowed. “I’m close to a promotion but it requires me to do something I’m not sure about.” She bent her head. “I came up here to think about it.”

He recalled their earlier conversation. A promotion would epitomize the success she craved and her hesitation spoke volumes.

“Is it illegal?”

“No.”

“But you’re unsure. Is it unethical?”

“Let’s not talk about it. What a horrible conversation to honor this wonderful view.” She shook her head. “You know, if we’d attended the same high school, I would’ve come to your wrestling matches.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. And when you pinned your opponent, I would’ve stood up and cheered.”

He imagined looking up into the stands of his high school gymnasium and seeing Chelsea applauding his victory. “You would have been a costly distraction.”

“I doubt it. You’re one of the most focused people I know.”

He smiled. Then, in one smooth, controlled motion, he hooked his hand beneath her knees and pulled her forward until she was lying flat on her back and he was braced above her. She squealed and her eyes widened.

He swept her hair off her forehead and pressed a brief kiss to her lips.

“You’d be amazed to learn the effect you’ve had on me.”

“I’m no wrestling expert,” she said, her voice breathless, “but I’m certain this isn’t part of a regulation wrestling match.”

“They’d alter the rules if all opponents looked like you.”