Page 68 of About that Fling
“Now it’s your turn,” Adam said, skipping the part where John needed to repeat everything back to make sure he got it. It was clear from his expression that he did. “Tell me how you feel and what you need. Use the sheet, it’ll help.”
John nodded and looked down at the page. When he looked up, his scowl was gone. “I feel exhausted. I work long days, and I come home and just want to relax, but instead I feel like—” He stopped there, grimacing at his slip. Adam could have kissed him, but instead he let him keep going. John trailed a finger over the page, looking for the right words on the list. “I feel discouraged. I want to do a good job, and I just need acceptance and trust and maybe a little space.”
The room fell silent. Adam let the silence hang like that for a few beats. The first voice to break it was one he knew well.
“Wow.”
He looked over at Mia. Her mouth was open, and her pen was dangling from the tips of her fingers. Adam turned back to John and nodded.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
The CEO beamed. “Thank you.”
“It’s powerful stuff, isn’t it? When you share feelings instead of judgments, it compels people to relate to you.”
“And hearing what someone needs instead of a list of complaints—it’s kind of empowering?”
Adam looked at the nursing manager who’d spoken and gave her a quick nod. “Exactly. And empowered is a much better way to feel than attacked and helpless. Not a bad shift, with just a few changes in wording, wouldn’t you say?”
Several heads nodded. A few people looked uncertain, but nearly everyone in the room was looking at the list with renewed interest.
“Okay then,” Adam said, standing up and beginning a stroll around the room. “I’d like you all to pair up with someone else in the room and practice running through scenarios until you feel comfortable with this format. For now, stick with personal examples—no talk of company business until we’re all sure we’ve got the hang of the tool. Any questions?”
“Yes.” Adam turned to see Nancy Jensen smiling. “Will you come home with me?” she asked. “I’d love to have you teach my husband and me to relate to each other like this.”
Adam laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “I can certainly recommend a number of excellent resources for Compassionate Communication training. There are plenty of NVC specialists in Portland.”
“Are you single?” Adam looked to the corner of the room where Susan Schrader was smiling at her own joke. “It’s hard for me to imagine someone with communication skills like this wouldn’t be snapped up pretty quickly.”
It took every ounce of strength he had not to look to the other corner of the room. “You’d be surprised.”
Later that week, Adam stood the produce aisle staring at a limp-looking cauliflower. His hotel suite had a kitchenette, which should be all the motivation he needed to whip up home-cooked meals each evening when he finished his workday at Belmont.
But between working late and feeling out of sorts living in a hotel, he hadn’t managed to assemble anything more complicated than a veggie omelet one morning last week.
He had the skills to do it. The cooking class he’d taken last spring had seen to that, and he’d gotten pretty good at making impressive meals from scratch since he and Mia had split up. What was his problem now?
“Salmon chowder,” he decided, setting the cauliflower down and snatching a few large carrots. He turned around to add potatoes and onions to his basket, trying to remember the rest of the recipe he’d learned in his last cooking class.
That’s when he spotted her. An elderly woman teetering on the second row of shelving, scaling the display like a monkey as she stretched up to reach something on a high shelf.
“Ma’am, stop!” Adam called, dropping his basket and hurrying over. “Let me help you, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
The woman turned and blinked at him. There was something familiar about her startlingly blue eyes, but Adam pushed the thought aside as she started to wobble. He got there just in time as the woman toppled backward, falling into his arms. She felt surprisingly light, and he half expected her to smack him with her purse and accuse him of molesting her as he set her back on solid ground.
“My, my,” she said, fluffing her hair. “I haven’t had a man sweep me off my feet like that for some time. You’re a regular romance novel hero, aren’t you?”
Adam stepped back, a little surprised by her sass. “Nope, just a man who doesn’t want to see a lady get hurt. Climbing on store shelves is a pretty much a recipe for a lawsuit.”
“Do you work for the store?”
“No, but I practiced law for a number of years. You fall and break your neck here, that could turn into an ugly legal situation for everyone involved.”
The woman’s face lit up, and she gazed at him with renewed interest. “A lawyer? That’s wonderful!”
Adam laughed. “I don’t hear that very often. Usually people make jokes about how many lawyers it takes to screw in a lightbulb.”
“Oh, but I’ve been needing some qualified legal counsel. The lawyer I met with a few weeks ago turns out to know almost nothing about literary contracts, and I’ve got a situation I could use help with. I don’t suppose you’re for hire?”
