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“I thought we should talk.”
“Talk.” He crossed his arms, looking down at her, brows furrowing slightly.
“Yes.” She took a sip of coffee, which he would have bet hisbottom dollar was Kafka because she always laced her afternoon java with vodka.
“After seven years, you show up and want to talk. What about?” Oh, he had a good idea. But he wanted to hear it from her.
“Us.”
His eyebrows almost hit his hairline.
She noticed.
“Oh, come on, Adam.” Now, she was doing her best to sound affable.“Sit with me. We do have so much to discuss.”
There had never really been an“us.” Being with Eve had made that crystal clear to him. He had nothing to discuss with Ingrid except for his need for her to sign the goddamned papers. Had he known she would show up, he would have had Ian send them so he could have them at the ready in his flight bag.
“All right!” Myers appeared with a tray.“I have your old fashioned for you, Mr. Larssen. With Old Fitzgerald, right?”
He smiled at the man.“You remembered.”
And he had forgotten entirely about Myers. Adam willed himself to relax, realizing he had no choice but to take the seat since he had ordered the cocktail. Come to think of it, he really could use the drink.
Ingrid looked on as the server artfully set a chunk of wood alight, then moved it with silver tongs and placed the lowball, mouth down, over the ember, letting the smoke curl from it to coat the glass.
“How is the coffee, Miss? Did I get the vodka right?” The clear ice cube clinked as Myers placed it.
Yeah, thought so. Adam watched Ingrid sip her spiked coffee, willing to bet her sudden reappearance had everything to do with the summons and complaint published just last week in theNevada Legal News.
Myers finished the old fashioned with a sliver of orange peel and a maraschino cherry, and Adam’s thoughts immediately went to Eve. He accepted the cut crystal glass and sipped, giving the server a nod of approval.“Thank you, Myers. Yours are always the best.”
That earned him a triumphant grin.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Myers cast a curiousglance at Ingrid before turning to go, and Adam knew the tongues of the entire staff would soon be wagging.
He fixed his gaze on Ingrid, who was now looking at him with a cool, calculating expression. She clearly wanted something. Of that, he was certain.“Seven years is a long time, Ingrid.”
She nodded. “I’ve spent them in therapy.”
“Really.” It wasn’t a question. Adam couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but he bit back the snark about what type of therapy she’d undergone.
“I was diagnosed with histrionic personality disorder and OCD.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on his.“I’m doing really well, Adam.”
So, she had absolved herself of all wrongdoing and shifted the blame entirely to him. He had accepted a portion of it, which was why he’d continued supporting her financially. But he was damned if he would let her put it all on him.
Adam withdrew his hand from under hers.“You needed someone with a fancy degree to hold your hand and tell you that you shouldn’t fuck multiple men and women while your husband is out working? You don’t need seven years of therapy to reach that conclusion.”
Her eyes narrowed before she shifted her gaze to the table.“My therapist said to wait until I’m ready, and now, I am.”
“Ready for what?” Good thing he had a drink. He took a big swallow.
“I want to fix us.”
It was a miracle he didn’t choke as the alcohol went down.“Fix us?”
“Yes.”
“What is there to fix?” He searched her carefully guarded features.“Regardless of the cause, your actions resulted in a massive breach of trust. There’s no way to rebuild that. I’m not the same man I was seven years ago.”