Melanie grabbed deodorant from the dressing table and thrust it at him. “This reminds me that we need to decide what you’re wearing to the gala. We need something that will look perfect in pictures and on television. We can do it when we go over your speech.”
“Uh, okay. Sure.”
“Mr. Langford?” The stage manager leaned into the room, clipboard in hand. “Five minutes until you’re on.” She then seemed to realize the problem. “You have thirty seconds to get that shirt on or I’m going to go into cardiac arrest. Makeup is on their way for touch-ups.”
Melanie shook out the shirt and held it for him. “I’ll button the front. You do the cuffs.”
The makeup woman whizzed into the room. She tucked two tissues into his shirt collar and dabbed at his face with a large cosmetic sponge. “You’re sweating,” she remarked, pursing her lips. “You need to stop doing that.”
“He’ll be fine.” Melanie cocked her head to the side, finishing the buttons. “He’s so damn handsome, the camera will love him no matter how sweaty he is.”
He knew she was just trying to distract him, but his heart felt lighter to hear her say something like that. He couldn’t help it.
The makeup woman whisked away the tissues around his collar. “That’s as good as it’s going to get.”
Melanie straightened his shirt, brushing his shoulder. “You say you’re nervous, but you’re really not. I’ve had clients who were far more on edge than you. You make it look like a piece of cake.”
“If I’m not nervous, it’s because of you.”
The look she gave him—sweet and kind, edged with skepticism—was enough to make him forget all time and place. “You’re going to be great. I know you. You’ll knock ’em dead.”
When was the last time someone had said something like that to him? “You’re amazing. I don’t think anyone else would be this patient with me.”
“I have complete confidence in you. I never doubt your ability to do anything.”
He leaned forward, grasped her elbows and kissed her on the temple. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She nearly leaned into the kiss, placing the tips of her fingers on his chest. She peered up into his face then shied away with a blush that would’ve made a rose envious.
The stage manager poked her head into the dressing room. “Mr. Langford. You’re on.” She led them down the short hall to the stage entrance.
He took a deep breath. If he didn’t stop thinking about Melanie, he’d have more than a sex scandal to explain on national TV. He conjured one of his most unpleasant memories in hopes of stemming the tide of blood flow between his legs. “I haven’t been this nervous since I ran for class president in sixth grade.”
“Oh, please. I’m guessing you were formidable even at eleven years old.”
“Are you kidding? It was a disaster.” He looked back over his shoulder before he stepped between the gap in the velvet stage drapes. “I lost by a landslide.”
* * *
Melanie had prepared herself for the worst. What a waste of time.
The instant Adam was out under the studio lights, he turned on his irresistible charm and the entire world fell under his spell, or at least everyone watching in that studio. Melanie knew very well what it was like to get swept up in Adam. The audience never stood a chance.
The host, Billy Danville, didn’t hesitate to poke fun, starting the interview by donning a tiara that spelled out “Princess” in glittery rhinestones above his head. “So, Adam. I understand there’s been a scandal.”
Three weeks ago, Adam wouldn’t have been able to take the joke. He would’ve rolled his eyes in disgust and admonished everyone in that room for caring about the personal life of someone they didn’t know.
Not today. Adam didn’t flinch. He sat back in his chair, a wry smile on his face. “Has there been a scandal? I’ve been so wrapped up in college basketball that I hadn’t noticed.”
The audience laughed. The host laughed. Melanie chuckled a bit as well, but mostly she was in awe of Adam.
“But, seriously,” Billy said, thankfully ditching the tiara, “it looks like you’ve put the scandal behind you. We’ve all had a chance over the last few weeks to get to know you from the various interviews you’ve done, which is great. We know now that you’re not just a ridiculously handsome tech whiz, but that you also have a fondness for staring at your girlfriend’s rear end.”
“The great American pastime,” Adam countered.