At Any Price(91)

Fuck. As if.

“It all looks froufrou.” I said by way of excuse.

He looked up. Maybe he felt insulted. He was an owner here, after all. “You can order whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be on the menu. You want a steak or something? That’s probably what I’m going to order. I’m famished.”

I shrugged. “Sure.” But the thought of a heavy steak in my stomach right now made it twist with disgust.

He went back to typing. “I’ll send the order in right now through the web page.”

I hesitated, hit with a wave of irritation. “Are you working?”

He didn’t look up. “Yup. Just thought I’d peek in at what’s going on with the progress our European launch.”

I frowned. Work hadn’t been on the schedule for this evening. Yet he’d logged in the first chance he could get after we’d—after…

What was this heavy feeling in my chest? I shot a glare at him. He was pulling away from me, and he was using work to do it. Just like he had with everyone else in his life—his friends, his beloved family members. Why did I think I would be immune from this treatment?

His behavior stung. He went back to typing, clicking away on his keys, never pulling his head away from his work, giving his complete attention to it. I wasn’t the type of person who needed someone’s undivided attention all the time. In fact, since I’d never desired a relationship, I was pretty low-maintenance when it came to that.

But given what had just happened between us for the first time, and my first time ever, I would have thought he’d be more attentive. Or at least, that’s what I would have liked. Instead, I got a wall of silence. He was a tortoise retreating into the hard, impenetrable protection that was work.

The worst came minutes later, however, when dinner arrived. The majordomo laid it out at our table just at the edge of the patio overlooking the bay. Adam ignored both of us as he continued to work. I busied myself by trying to get my e-mail to finally download on my phone. Nothing from Heath at all.

When the majordomo left, I sat down at the table and looked at Adam. “Your food’s getting cold.”

He typed for just a minute more and then approached the table. “I’m starving,” he muttered. Then he picked up the plate and his utensils and took them back to his desk, leaving me there to eat alone.

My jaw dropped but he didn’t notice because he cut a piece of steak, popped it into his mouth and returned to his work. From my angle, all I could see on his screen was a bunch of incomprehensible symbols and commands. He was working on some kind of program.

My gut burned. I tried to examine the reasons behind my anger. I felt brushed aside, used. He’d gotten what he’d wanted and moved on. I was a nonperson now. Couldn’t I at least be a friend? Why shower all this attention on me and then the minute we were intimate, ignore me? It made me wonder if that’s what it had been like with my mom and the Biological Sperm Donor. He’d used her, too. And then he’d set her aside like she’d never existed when he had no further use for her.

With a jolt of fury, I stood up from my nearly untouched plate, unwilling to mull any of this over in silence and watch his weird way of brooding. I went to the bathroom and grabbed my swimsuit.

When I came back, he glanced up from the screen questioningly but said nothing. I pretended not to notice.

I waded into the pool, which really was too short for laps, but I couldn’t think of any other way to work out this restless energy short of leaving the room. If I did that I’d be sending him a signal. That I resented or regretted what had happened between us. And I didn’t. But I did resent his current behavior. If he wanted to ignore me, fine. I could do the exact same thing.

I pondered all of this, as I continued my short lapping—four strokes, turn, catch breath, four strokes turn. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was starting to make me dizzy and I had no idea how long I’d been at it when I felt a strong hand wrap around my upper arm, pulling me to a halt. I came up sputtering. He was standing beside me in the pool.

“What the hell?” I said.

“I kept calling you and you wouldn’t stop. How long do you plan to keep at this?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. How long to you plan to blow me off?”

He shot me a sharp look. “I’m blowing you off? Why do you think that?”

I wiped the water out of my face. “Maybe because you wired in the first chance you could get and you’re eating dinner over your keyboard. You might do that all the time when you’re alone, but in company, it’s pretty bad manners. And because you’re not talking and I have no idea what is going through your head.”