Fortune's Proposal Page 3

  He grimaced. “True enough. But my point is that plenty of people have married for reasons that had nothing to do with love.”

  “Well, pardon me, but I never figured that I would be one of them!”

  “I never figured I’d be forced to barter for the company that I’ve earned the right to run with a marriage license, either. S…tuff happens.”

  How well she knew that.

  She had only to think about her mother if she wanted proof.

  He flipped off his hat and tossed it unerringly onto the iron-armed coat stand that he’d once told her had been a gift from his mother and watched her. “I don’t expect you to get nothing out of this, either,” he said seriously.

  Which made her all the more nervous.

  She had defenses against Drew the Schmoozer and Drew the Charmer. She could trade insincere banter with him until the cows came home.

  But when he dropped the tactics? When he was just Drew Fortune, straight talking and perfectly sincere?

  That’s when she knew she was wading in waters much too deep for her peace of mind.

  “I told you. There’s nothing I want,” she insisted.

  He stood again and closed the distance between them. It took all of her willpower not to nervously back away. And when he reached out an arm toward her, she positively froze.

  But all he did was reach into her pocket and withdraw her cell phone that had been buzzing almost constantly since she’d stuck it there. He held it up so that she could see the display.

  Gigi, it read.

  “Not even to send your mother on a vacation of her own?”

  She grabbed the phone, and this time, she did power it off. Her mother could call the office line all she wanted. At the moment, Deanna considered that a lesser problem than Drew. “It would take more than a vacation to solve the matter of Gigi.”

  “What would it take?”

  She huffed and threw out her hands. “About fifty grand.” Which might as well be fifty million because it was just as unattainable. And the admission was just proof that his so-called proposal had sent her sense of discretion right into orbit and no matter what it looked like to him, she took a step backward. Then another. “So, I still need an answer about your article,” she reminded, feeling almost desperate to get them back on track. Work track.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “If it’s ready to send, then send it,” he said after a moment.

  Surprise had her feeling uneasy.

  She nodded anyway, taking him at face value and returned to her desk. Within minutes she’d sent the article off into the magical cosmos of electronic mail as well as to the newspaper editor who was printing it.

  Her work done, she shut down the computer, pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet and locked up her desk.

  Drew hadn’t come out of his office. She could see him sitting in his chair again, but he’d swiveled it around so that he was facing the windows.

  She told herself that she didn’t want to be a part of his charade, but she also couldn’t just walk out of the office as if nothing at all had happened. He’d been a good and fair—if sometimes challenging—boss to her. To everyone who worked in the San Diego office, for that matter.

  Which was exactly the reason why they’d all been willing to give up even a portion of their holiday evening when he’d asked.

  She sighed and dropped her purse next to the baseball bat on the chair he’d beat before going back into his office. She could see him reflected in the dark windows. “What are you going to do?”

  He looked at the window as if it were a mirror, meeting her gaze there. “What are you going to do?” He turned in his chair until he was facing her again, and he set his own cell phone down on the center of his leather desk blotter. “Your mother lost her job again.”

  She looked from his phone to his face. Horror warred with anger. “What’d you do? Call her?”

  “I called Joe Winston. Remember, he’s the HR head over at Blake & Philips?”

  Her mouth went dry. Blake & Philips was the law firm her mother had worked for…until a few months ago when she’d been fired. And the only reason that Drew knew that Gigi had worked there was because he was the one who’d told Deanna a year ago that his college buddy, Joe, was looking for legal secretaries and he knew that her mother—between jobs, again—had been worried about losing her house if she didn’t find work soon.

  More like Deanna was worried about her mother losing her house, because she’d been the one trying to pay Gigi’s mortgage as well as her own rent.

  “That was none of your business,” she said stiffly.

  “We’re supposed to be golfing next week,” he went on. “He thinks I called to tell him our tee time.”

  Embarrassment burned inside her. “And you just happened to mention my mother’s name?”

  “I didn’t bring her up at all.”

  “Right. How else would you know?”

  His gaze was steady. “You’ve worked for me for a while, Dee. Just because you don’t go around airing your personal business as much as most of the people do around here, doesn’t mean I haven’t picked up some things. And your mother goes through jobs like I go through—”

  “—women?” she inserted caustically.

  “I was going to say shirts.” He sat back in his chair, his hand slowly turning his cell phone end over end. “Joe didn’t have to mention your mother. All I had to do was make an educated guess and watch your face.”

  Which she could feel burning now. “Fine. Yes, my mother lost her job. Again. Story of our lives.” But only part of the story. “She’ll find another one.” She always did.

  Another job. Another unattainable man to make a play for that always ended in a dramatic parting of employment when it didn’t work out. Another reason to go off the financial deep end and expect Deanna to “save” her.

  “Your article is sent.” She pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch. “And you’re supposed to be at the airport soon. Try not to grimace all through your father’s wedding tomorrow.” She turned on her heel. “It’ll ruin the family pictures.”

  “I’ll give you the fifty grand.” His low voice followed her.

  Her feet dragged in the carpet, coming to a stop. She didn’t look at him. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  He was silent, but her nape prickled and she knew he’d left his desk and was walking up behind her. “You wouldn’t have if you weren’t upset about it.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. On one hand, it was unnerving to think that he knew her that well. On the other hand, was she really surprised? There was a reason why they worked well together and she was realistic enough to know that that wasn’t only because of her understanding of him. “I don’t want your money.”

  “But do you need it?” He touched her arm, moving around until he was in front of her. “Hey.” He nudged her chin until she couldn’t avoid looking at him. His faint smile was crooked. And sympathetic. “I don’t want to get married. But I need to.”

  She could feel a burning deep behind her eyes and because she couldn’t will it away, hoped to heaven that it would just stay where it was because she’d be darned if she’d cry in front of her boss. “Even if I…agreed…the money would just be a quick-fix for Gigi’s problem.”

  “Which is what?”

  She looked up at him and found her gaze trapped in his. “She has a shopping addiction.”

  His brows twitched together. “What?”

  At least he hadn’t laughed.

  She sighed and moved the bat and her purse from the chair, sinking down onto it.

  “A shopping addiction. And not the kind of thing people are often teasing women about, either. She doesn’t just like to go out shopping for shoes or…whatever.” She waved her hand. “When Gigi’s…between jobs—” which in Gigi-speak really meant between the men with whom she inevitably got unwisely involved “—she gets depressed. And when she gets depressed, she shops. Onli
ne or on the home shopping networks. It doesn’t matter which and it doesn’t matter what. She orders stuff that she neither needs nor can afford. And it doesn’t matter what I say or what I do, she won’t stop and she won’t get help.”

  She pressed her palms together, staring at her bare fingers. “She’s behind on her mortgage again, she’s managed to open new credit cards that I didn’t even know she had and she figures that I ought to be able to solve it all for her.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because I’ve been paying things off for her since I got my first job when I was fifteen.” The year her father had left. The year that Gigi started blaming Deanna for her very existence. “As long as I continue bailing her out, she’s never going to get the help she needs.” Deanna had finally faced that truth because she had sought the counseling that her mother refused to believe she needed.

  “At least you realize that.”

  “Realizing it and being able to stick to it are two different things.” She swallowed the knot in her throat. “It’s not easy to say no to your own mother.”

  “It’s not all that easy to say no to your father, either.” He crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “We can help each other here, you know.”

  His hands were warm and steady and nearly dwarfed hers. “It’s not a, uh, a good idea. Getting involved at the workplace never is.” She felt that threatening burn get even hotter. “That’s what my mother does, and it never leads to anything but disaster.” Certainly not the fairytale wedding Gigi kept hoping for.

  “People have been marrying the boss for centuries. There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with that.”

  “Right. When the two people are actually in love.” She realized her fingers had slid through his until they were twined together. She pulled her hands free and wrapped them over the arms of the chair. “And, like I said, throwing money on the situation doesn’t solve the ultimate problem.”

  “Then we’ll get your mother into counseling. For as long as it takes. Even after our arrangement is ended.”

  She pressed her fingers harder into the upholstery to keep them from trembling. “She’ll refuse. She always does.”

  “We’ll make sure she doesn’t. We’ll find a way.”

  “We?”

  He covered her hands with his. “Yeah, we.”

  Her heart was climbing in her chest. She felt light-headed. She hadn’t had any support where her mother was concerned since her father walked out the door and never came back.

  It had been just her.

  Drew was watching her with that steady gaze and his voice, so quietly assured, was ringing in her head.

  We.

  The lure of that word alone seemed impossible to resist. “Okay,” she whispered and felt a shudder work down her spine.

  His gaze sharpened. “You’ll marry me?”

  She swallowed hard and had to clear her throat. “Yes.”

  His smile was sudden and nearly blinding. “I’ve always said you are the perfect assistant!” He straightened and leaned over her, pressing a fast kiss to her forehead before turning away. “This is going to work out perfectly,” he was saying as he strode back into his office. “You’ll come with me to Red Rock. We’ll announce it there.”

  Deanna could hear his raised voice. Could understand his words even.

  But she couldn’t do much of anything but stare at her tidy desk across from her and feel the imprint of his lips as if they were still grazing her skin.

  “Dee, how fast can you pack?”

  She scrubbed her hands down her cheeks, attempting to drag her utterly rattled self back together. “C-couldn’t you just tell your dad about us? I’d feel like I’m intruding if I go with you to Texas.”

  He reappeared in his doorway. The ball cap was back on his head—backward—and the dimple was back in his cheek.

  He was also holding up a bottle of champagne that had been delivered that afternoon from one of his clients.

  “I’m pretty sure my fiancée would be welcome at a family event,” he said drily. “More than that, she’ll be expected.” He waved the end of the bottle in front of her. “Call the pilot again. Tell him we’ll be an hour later than I planned.”

  Deanna felt a ridiculous surge of laughter. Or maybe it was simply that she was on the verge of hysteria.

  Had she really agreed to marry him?

  “I already built in an hour cushion when I rescheduled your flight the last time I talked to him,” she admitted.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like you were handling me.” Then he grinned again. “Well done.”

  She managed a weak smile.

  “Come on. We’ll pop open this baby and celebrate. Get a few glasses, would you?” He went back into his office. “And you should let your girlfriends know you won’t be making it to the spa after all.”

  She very nearly slapped her hand against her forehead. She’d completely forgotten about her friends. She pulled out her cell phone and turned it on again. Ignoring the little indicator that told her she had messages waiting, she quickly called Susan, the one who’d arranged the weekend, and left her own message when her friend didn’t answer.

  And then, holding the phone, she debated whether to call Gigi. Her mother already expected her to be gone for the long weekend. That hadn’t changed, even if Deanna’s destination had.

  And what would she tell her mother when she did call?

  That she was marrying the boss?

  Gigi would probably think she’d died and gone to heaven. If she couldn’t achieve that status, then at least her daughter had.

  Deanna heard the distinctive sound of the champagne cork popping, and ignoring the sense of guilt she felt, she turned off her cell phone again. The only harmful thing that Gigi would do over the weekend would be to order more needless items. Items that Deanna would ensure were returned, along with all the other things she’d expected to have to deal with.

  No, she’d call her mother after the holiday when she was back in town.

  Maybe by then, Deanna would have figured out a way to couch her news so that Gigi wouldn’t start flying over the moon.

  She hurried into the small employee break room, pulled out two plastic cups from the cupboard and returned to Drew’s office.

  He was pulling off his linen, button-down shirt.

  She nearly dropped the cups. “What are you doing?”

  The shirt came off his shoulders and he balled it up, pitching it aside. The white T-shirt he was wearing beneath it clung to every centimeter of his wide chest.

  “Champagne bubbled over.” He picked up the bottle and she could see a ring of shimmering liquid on his desk where the bottle had been sitting. “Here.” He grabbed her hand with one of the cups in it and filled it more than halfway.

  “That’s too much.” She had to force herself not to stare at his chest. It wasn’t as if she had never seen it before, and even completely, gloriously bare. When he was playing beach volleyball at their branch picnic every year, for one. But she’d never been his convenient fiancée and been faced with him less than fully dressed…

  She could feel hysteria rising and ruthlessly tramped it down.

  “Live a little.” He was grinning as he took the second cup from her. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

  She was glad to surrender the cup, because that meant that she could wrap both hands around her own, and maybe stop shaking like she was some schoolgirl faced with her first crush.

  He filled his own cup, then held it out. “Here’s to marriage.”

  Her stomach dipped and swayed, but she managed to give him a stern glare. “You shouldn’t joke about it.”

  “Who’s joking?” He nudged the side of his cup against hers in the toast. “At least we both know exactly what we’ll be getting out of the deal. No illusions. No surprises.”

  “Right.” She dipped her nose toward the cup. The first taste of champagne was as bitter as the nerves tightening her stomach. She swallowed it any
way.

  “A ring,” he said suddenly.

  She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “We need an engagement ring.” He snatched his phone off his desk again and scrolled through the phone numbers stored in it.

  “You’re not going to find a jeweler open on New Year’s Eve,” she warned. “Not even Zondervan’s.”

  He grinned as he punched a number and held the phone to his ear. “As much business as I’ve given Bob Zondervan over the years? Want to bet?”

  “Um…no, thanks,” she managed with at least a little wisdom considering the number of orders she’d made on his behalf.

  “Smart girl.”

  Feeling strangely weak, she sat down and shook her head.

  Her mother had always told Deanna that a smart girl could catch herself the boss. Deanna had always said that would never, ever be her way.

  And yet…here she was.

  Her mother’s daughter after all.

  Chapter Three

  “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at ’em.” Drew nudged Deanna’s shoulder.

  But she just sighed and shifted, and instead of her sleeping head resting against the backseat of the limousine that had been waiting for them when they’d landed in San Antonio, it slid sideways until it was resting on his shoulder.

  Her hair smelled like green apples.

  He closed his eyes for a minute, reminding himself that this was Deanna. His young assistant who was, once again, smoothing out the kinks in his life.

  Yeah, okay, so she was going to get something out of it. Namely, getting some help with her crazy mother.

  But as far as Drew was concerned, that was a drop in the bucket compared to what he was going to get out of it.

  The right to head up Fortune Forecasting once and for all.

  “Deanna.” He started to reach for her hand where it was resting on her lap, but hesitated.

  The diamond solitaire that he’d chosen from the two-dozen rings that Bob had brought by the office less than an hour after Drew had called him was on her ring finger. Even in the dim light in the back of the limo, the ring gleamed.

  How many times had he said that a wedding ring was just a noose in disguise?