Chapter 16

Evie

I'm sure Adam is conning me. I mean, that is his M.O., after all. But the look on his face says otherwise. I do my best to keep my jaw from dropping. The house is something out of Architectural Digest. Even Caroline would stay here, happily. Not to mention the rest of the Fab Fifty club. Sam would move in and never leave.

No way a man of Adam's age, vocation, and chilled-out temperament can afford the house I'm gawking at. It's massive. A combination of glass and earth-toned stone, the ranch-style home blends seamlessly with the surroundings. At least what I can discern from the ambient light coming from inside the house. I can't wait to see it in the morning.

Wordlessly, I follow Adam inside, unsure where to look first. A spectacular two-sided glass-encased fireplace serves as a divider between the living and dining rooms, a fire roaring in the hearth. Maybe someone else is here.

Adam made it clear he has no significant other. That's why he needs me to be his fake fiancée. Maybe it's someone not significant? The thought makes me uncomfortable. But obviously, someone has kindled the fire.

Reading my mind, Adam says, "The sensors at the front gate get the house ready for me."

I'm inexplicably relieved. "They do, do they?"

Each wall, not made of glass, is adorned with a brilliant display of art. Modern pieces with bold colors hang beside western-themed oils and black-and-white photographs, depicting spectacular mountain ranges. It appears to be Adam's private gallery.

"Is that an Ansel Adams?" I ask, approaching the photograph, in awe.

"Good eye," Adam says, coming up beside me, looking on like a proud parent, clearly pleased with my reaction. "I moved out here a year ago. Fixed up the house the way I like it."

Aretha Franklin begins crooning, the sound so clear I could swear the Queen Of Soul still lives and is singing in the next room over.

"Sensors?" I ask.

He nods.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you are trying to seduce me."

Adam's eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Oh, oh, sorry."

I laugh at his reaction. "I mean, seriously. A fire, the music . . ."

Adam seems frozen to the spot. A deer in the headlights. "I didn't mean?—"

Maybe he really is a geek in a hot bod.

I wander into the kitchen. It's smaller than expected but magnificent. I step back out again into the living room. "You designed all this?" I gesture to the brown leather sofas and modern lighting fixtures.

"My vision, but with a designer's touch. I'm more a computer guy than an interior designer."

I stop to admire a set of small horse sculptures on a dark wood table beside one of the sofas. They're expertly carved, each equine muscle defined perfectly. "Very tastefully done. Do you ride?" I ask.

"When I have the time."

"It looks like you have all the time in the world. Don't you spend your days climbing mountains?"

I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Seeing Adam's frown, I say, "I'm sorry, I really don't know you at all, do I?"

I sit on the sofa. Or more like melt into it. It's as buttery soft as it looks. "Which makes my being here somewhat . . ." Questionable? Inappropriate? "Impulsive."

Adam sits across from me. "You know more about me than most, at this point."

A curious statement.

Once again, his telepathy kicks in. "Maybe I'm to blame for not telling people that I'm loaded but I've learned it's better this way."

I can imagine that's true. Money turns people into strange beings. "Can I ask how you came into all this?" I gesture around. "Was it an inheritance?"

"God, no. My parents do fine but this was thanks to a combination of computer programming know-how and a whole lot of luck. I created an app that tracks traffic patterns. A European company bought it. Right time, right place, let's just say."

"I'm impressed," I say because I am.

Adam shrugs.

"So that's how you're able to spend your days exploring Yosemite."

Adam stands, as if he's been hit with a second wind. "That's not all I do. I'm a man of many faces." He makes a silly face, making me laugh.

"Are you now?"

On the table beside me is a framed picture I hadn't noticed before. An olive-skinned couple in their sixties, a striking red-head, and Adam. All are mid-jump on a beach. "I take it this is your family." I point to the red-haired beauty. "Stephanie?"

"That's right. Last summer in Crete. Steph looks harmless in the picture, but don't be fooled."

"Greece. Nice."

"My mom was born in Athens and my dad is a second-gen Greek-American. I spent much of my childhood trying to convince Steph she was adopted. Red-hair is a genetic anomaly."

Having two kids of my own, the taunting doesn't surprise me. "Can I assume she gave back as much as she got?"

"Still does."

Adam approaches the wet bar tucked away in the corner of the room. "At the risk of being perceived as a come-on, I'm going to have a drink. Kentucky's best bourbon. Join me?"

I watch him fill a tumbler with golden liquid. He's a rare combination of Clark Kent and Cary Grant. Bookish and debonair.

"No thanks. But I am a bit hungry."

"Right, we didn't actually eat anything, did we?"

I shake my head, realizing that despite the relaxed environment, the heavy fatigue I felt earlier is lifting. It's him.

Immediately I push away the ridiculous notion. Adam is way too young for me to consider in any romantic sort of way.

Not that I am considering it. I am not on the market. I'm only here to rest and work out how to help him . . . fool his family.

Aware how strange that is, I follow Adam into the kitchen, wondering if the evening will turn any more bizarre.