I clicked on it and noted the return address. Not the address I had sent it to, which was a generic Google mail account.
[email protected].
I opened it up and it was very short.
Hi Mia,
I’d like to talk with you again. As soon as possible.
Adam
I sent off my reply immediately.
Mr. Drake—
My decision is made.
Mia Strong
Next I did the windows—actually a bit astonished at my burst of desire to clean. I hadn’t cleaned like this in months. I hated to clean, but I’d found that, since sending that first e-mail, sitting around and doing nothing, or even just writing blog posts, was driving me crazy.
After finishing the windows, I pulled on my shorts and running shoes, tucked my long hair up into a ponytail and decided to burn off my excess energy with a 5k run.
I was almost out the door when someone knocked. I pulled it open and started in shock.
Filling up my doorway with all of his masculine beauty was Adam Drake. In the very solid flesh. He wore jeans, a casual short-sleeved black button-down shirt and designer aviator sunglasses. He was leaning against the doorframe on one hand and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his firm bicep. He looked even more delicious than he had the day I’d met him at the hotel.
“Um,” was all I said. How the hell did he know where I lived? Something tickled at the back of my memory—a hurriedly scrawled address on the back of the nondisclosure agreement that I’d signed. My heart started its furious staccato. I could feel it in my throat, my wrists.
I couldn’t see his eyes, but he smiled—a genuine smile this time, not that sarcastic bullshit. “Hi. May I come in?”
I hesitated. My apartment was clean but very humble. This guy probably had a mansion on the harbor somewhere—I was guessing Balboa Island. Worth at least five or six million, probably more. He probably had his own boat in a slip and he lived just down the street from the legendary home of the late John Wayne. His master bathroom was likely bigger than my entire studio.
“It’s okay, Mia. I just want to talk.”
This was a far cry from the caveman I’d met the previous week. I held his gaze through the shades and then he reached up and pulled them off, folding them and putting them in his shirt pocket. The gold watch on his strong wrist flashed in the sunlight. I blinked and, not believing what I was doing, I stepped back and let him in, folding my arms over my chest.
“You caught me at a bad time,” I murmured.
“Yeah, I can see you are about to go running.”
I frowned. How had he known that? Sure I was dressed in exercise clothes but how did he know I wasn’t headed for the gym instead? Then I remembered that I’d mentioned that I was a runner on my blog. Maybe he’d read it there?
He entered slowly, moving as if he was afraid he might frighten me away. He glanced around the room, his face expressionless, but I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed when his gaze settled on my old rattletrap computer. At least I’d been able to swap out that old blocky CRT monitor for a newer flat screen when Heath had upgraded his system and given me his hand-me-down. But it was still a source of shame, especially for a techie gaming addict like me.
My fingers dug into my arms where I held them across my chest. I shifted uneasily. “What are you doing here, Mr. Drake?”
His gaze met mine, that studious look in his eyes again. “I’d like to know why you’ve changed your mind.”
My lips thinned. I squared my shoulders, preparing for his hard sell. “I don’t believe I’m required to supply that answer, but out of the goodness of my heart I will say that Heath is the one who chose you, not me. I’m changing Heath’s decision, not mine. I’m still going through with this. Just with a different person.”
His expression remained completely neutral but there was a speculative look in his eyes. “Because of our conversation last Thursday?”
I blinked. “No. I wasn’t terribly impressed by that conversation, but that’s not the reason.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t I deserve to know why, then?”
I shifted my weight from one leg to the other and looked down. “Because of who you are.”
He nodded as if expecting that answer. “Yes, I wondered when that would come up. I was surprised there was no discussion of it at the meeting and didn’t surmise that Bowman hadn’t told you until after it was over. It wasn’t by my choice that you didn’t know.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Heath Bowman is my closest friend. I don’t believe he meant any harm. He just thinks of this gaming thing as something that you and I have in common. But it’s a conflict of interest.”