Shopping for a CEO's Fiancee (28 page)

“No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

An image of the velvet jeweler’s box being eaten by a beaver at the bottom of Walden Pond clutters my mind.

“I meant to. Long story.”

“The
Pride and Prejudice
stunt?”

“Right.”

“Did you say earlier that you
lost
the ring in Walden Pond?” Her eyes crinkle in amusement. 

I nod.

“At least she didn’t swallow it.” Shannon’s hand goes to her throat, fingers fluttering at the hollow.

I laugh.

“That’s cute—the
Pride and Prejudice
thing—but did she want that?”

“Did she want
what
?”

“All that? The pageantry, the silliness, the finery?”

“She wanted to be courted.” My voice lifts on the last word, like a sarcasm breeze blew it into the clouds. 

“Did you ask her what she meant by that? What she was really asking for?”

My shoulders drop and I look up at a lone cloud in the sky, a white puff against the bright blue.

“No.”

“Why don’t you find out what she really wants?”

“And then what?”

“Then give it to her.”

I sigh. “When did being an adult become so complex?”

Just as Shannon laughs, Jeffrey and Tyler come running down the path, Jeffrey’s shirt pulled out and turned into a holding case for a pile of ice cream bars.

“What’s this?” Shannon demands. “Where did you get all this?”

“Andrew gave me a twenty,” Jeffrey explains. “So?” He shrugs, as if he’s not responsible for the sudden appearance of three bomb pops, two SpongeBob Squarepants ice cream bars, and three Reese’s Cup ice cream bars.

“So you bring back change!” she sputters.

Jeffrey gives me an even stare that reminds me of Declan as a kid. “Andrew didn’t
say
to bring back the change. You and Mom and Aunt Amy and Grandpa and Grandma always say it.”

“JEFFREY!” Shannon explodes, taking in a deep breath, clearly ready to unleash a parental lecture.

“It’s fine.”

I subvert her.

Jeffrey looks at me like I am a god. Declan told me that little boys are easy—just joke about poop with them. I’ve got him one-upped. 

Buying them lots of ice cream is even better.

“What?” Shannon gasps, all that energy in her lungs ready to do indignant damage.

“It’s fine. He’s right, even if he’s being cunning and using semantics to test out the world.”

Jeffrey’s eyes narrow. I narrow mine right back as we stare at each other.

That’s right, kid. I’ve got your number.

And in ten years, come work for me.

“But—”

Jeffrey reveals his wares to me, like a dog rolling over and showing his belly in submission. “Pick your poison, Andrew.” He glances at Shannon, turns back to me, and says in a very pronounced, stilted voice, “Thank you very much for the treat.”

“Thank you!” Tyler says to himself, staring at the googly eyes of his Spongebob popsicle.

Then he eats them, cackling.

“How are we going to eat eight ice creams!” Shannon bursts out.

“Two each,” Tyler says.

“Good math.” I ruffle his hair and give them each a look I can’t quite describe, just as a bee makes a lazy path toward Tyler’s ice cream. It’s not a wasp, but still... 

Shannon starts herding her nephews off the path and back to the relative safety of the asphalted parking lot. There’s no panic in her movements. Just a calm, centered aversion to risk. She moves quietly, but with purpose. 

I grab an ice cream bar from Jeffrey and rip it open, sinking my teeth through the hard chocolate outer shell, tasting peanut butter and ice as we walk away from the bee.

And walk toward my future.

Chapter Twenty

I didn’t have to ask Amanda what she wanted. I just knew. It’s been a month since the Walden Pond fiasco, and we’ve both been busy. I was gone for nine days, then she was gone for four, and in between has been glorious. 

Divine.

And I want so much more.

Arranging dinner tonight, here at Consuela’s, is perfect. The exclusive rooftop-garden restaurant owned by my dad’s celebrity-chef friend was the site of my first date with Amanda. This place holds meaning for us. Aside from being beautiful and intimate, the expansive view of the ocean gives it a carefree feeling of potential, as if the world were limitless. 

I now know that love certainly is.

First, we’ll have dinner by candlelight. Then, a special dessert (not tiramisu) and go straight to the proposal. Finally, Dad and Pam and all our family and friends will show up for a big surprise party.

See? Perfect.

And I didn’t delegate one bit of it to Gina.

It’s seven p.m. and I’ve cleared the entire restaurant, paid for the night, and Consuela’s brought me a fine bottle of red wine, which is airing nicely as I wait for Amanda.

The ring is in my front pants pocket, safe and deep in modern, bespoke trousers. Fool me once, shame on Walden Pond.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

Ten minutes pass and my mind races through all the ways I’ll ask her. Imagining her face lighting up the minute the words are out of my mouth has become an endless movie reel in my mind, the flickering images like watching your life pass before your eyes.

Except instead of preceding death, it precedes pure joy.

A lifetime of it.

Now Amanda is twenty minutes late and the server pours my glass of wine. Might as well have a drink to loosen up. I’m sure she’s late, caught up with some last-minute task at work.

Nothing to worry about.

By seven thirty I break down and text her.

Five minutes of staring at the screen does not magically result in a reply.

“Andrew?” It’s Consuela, looking at me with an expression only older European women can manage, a mix between
So delighted to spend time with you
and
I am so sorry your cat got run over
.

“She’s running a bit late. Just texted her,” I say with confidence.

Feigned confidence.

Consuela bends and pours me another glass, smiling. “You have the ring?”

I pat my pocket for the umpteenth time. “Yes.”

“I knew when you brought her here for that first date, you know. That you would marry her.”

“You did?”

“Any woman you brought here who also likes cilantro had to be a good match.”

I groan.

“And I could tell by the way you looked at her.”

I’m halfway through this second glass of wine and I halt, our eyes locked. I set the glass down. “You could.”

“I could. And I was so relieved!” Her voice picks up volume and she sits in Amanda’s chair, pouring a mouthful of wine for herself, swallowing it. Animated eyes look back at me. “My God, child, you of all people need a wife!”

“Excuse me?”

“Andrew, you are the kind of man who cannot be alone.”

I frown. “What?”

“Most men are children, content to play with toy after toy, never happy with one that they can use their imagination to turn into a million different playthings.”

“But I’m not that guy.”

“No. You need one toy to open you to the richness of your inner world.”

“One toy.”

“One woman.”

“Amanda.”

“Yes?” The word comes from behind me, low and pleasant, curious and amused.

I jump in my seat, the hand holding the wine glass almost tipping, as Consuela looks up and gives Amanda a grin, standing with her arms open, welcoming my future wife with the kind of gentle openness and sophisticated grace that my mother would have extended to Amanda.

My shirt collar suddenly got tight.

“And now we can start dinner!” Consuela says, giving me a pointed look. “Something other than grapes.” She pours the rest of the bottle of wine into my glass and a fresh one for Amanda, and quietly leaves.

I stand and wrap my arms around Amanda, pulling her in to my chest, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. She’s wearing a tight cream-colored dress and a lilac jacket, pearls and high heels, and she’s sweet and soft and warm and
everything
.

“I like this welcome,” she says to my chest. “I thought you’d be angry I’m so late. I had a work meeting with one of those people who wouldn’t stop asking questions that were just about them, and that the other forty of us on the call didn’t need to hear, and—”

I cut her off with a kiss. We kiss until she’s moaning in my arms, pressing against me to the point where I have to pivot so she can’t feel the very hard thing in my pants.

No. Not that.

The ring.

“I
really
like this welcome!’ she gasps, looking up at me with smiling eyes. “And this is nostalgic. Our first real date.”

“But not our first real kiss.”

“No,” she says, looking out at the cityscape. “That came more than two years ago.”

“Too much time wasted.”

A server delivers a breadbasket and oil, explaining the lavender and sage infusion origins as if I care. A strange chatter fills my mind, as if I’m simultaneously listening to an announcer do a play-by-play of every second of my life while living it.

I’m not nervous.

This isn’t anxiety.

I’m just hyperaware. It’s a skill.

“How was your day? Did the meeting with the Sultan go well?”

I crack a smile and watch her eat the bread. She has this cute way, breaking off tiny pieces, dabbing them in the oil until the piece is completely soaked, then sprinkling salt on it before eating.

I just drink my wine and polish off the bottle.

“Hey there, cowboy. Slow down.”

“Why? Gerald’s driving.”

“I haven’t seen you for nearly a week. I want you functional tonight.”

“Define functional.”

Her leer is all the answer I need.

“The Sultan? I know you were hoping for a win on that.”

“Actually, I have to thank Jessica for her help on that.”

Amanda drops the piece of bread between her fingers. It plops in the oil with a tiny drop of backsplash that lands in the web of her hand.

“Jessica?”

“Funny story. Her Twitter feed—the one I killed—may have helped me close a nine-figure deal.”

Amanda resumes her oil-soaked-bread lovefest. “Explain.”

Every move she makes is enchanting. Every word that comes out of her is intriguing. Has she always been so alluring, or are my senses heightened by the presence of the ring in my pocket? I felt like this at Walden Pond for a split second, but it was tempered by the silly pageantry of the
Pride and Prejudice
scene.

This is pure. Unalloyed.

“Andrew?” She nudges me. “Eat some bread. You look like you’re already a little drunk.”

Drunk on you.

Without thought, I imitate her, pulling a tiny piece of bread from my larger chunk and dipping it in the oil. I never do this. She laughs.

The laughter carries on the wind, over the water, and around the earth in full circumference to find its way back to me.

Maybe I am a little drunk.

“The Sultan saw Jessica making nasty tweets about my Pride and Prejudice stunt. She got pictures from God knows who. Turns out, he has a wing of his palace in Dubai that is an exact replica of Pemberley. He called for a video chat and because I am practically an Austen scholar—”

Amanda snorts.

“—we had an extensive conversation, then an intense negotiation, and now Anterdec is the official developer for their new resorts.”

“How wonderful!” she claps. “But how did you shut down Jessica? You were the one who killed her Twitter stream? Was this your wedding present to Shannon and Declan?”

“No, but that would have been a great idea.” I chuckle as the server brings another bottle of wine and pours. This time, I sip. “No, I had Anterdec’s local media buyer contact every single outlet where we advertise and gently inform them Anterdec’s ad money would go elsewhere if they didn’t stop retweeting her.”

“But that wouldn’t shut down her account.”

“And I called my former husband, Josh—”

She starts choking on her bread.

“—who is an accomplished hacker. Gave him a video. He uploaded a link on her Twitter account. She killed her own account all by herself.”

“What was the video?”

“Can we talk about something else?” The server brings two ramekins filled with some kind of dip and a pile of fist-sized shrimp. The video is a secret I’d like to hang onto for a little longer. No need to air out
everything
in my past just yet. “I’d like a dinner out that doesn’t involve Jessica.”

“Or videos of transvestites who look like her, kissing you.”

“Or images in my mind of you
actually
kissing her,” I add in an acid tone.

She giggles and digs in. I eat, but my stomach is battery acid poured on top of a hundred pounds of feathers.

A sudden breeze lifts Amanda’s hair from behind just as she’s raising her glass to drink, the ethereal glow of the string of lights behind her adding to the mystique. She’s a wild spirit, a witchy woman in that second, and my heart beats for her, like a planet revolving around a heavenly body only because it knows no other option.

“Nine figures, huh?” She smiles, then sighs. “I guess I’ll need to figure out the time difference between here and Dubai. You’ll be there for the next two years.”

“No. Declan will...oh.” She’s right. Declan’s got his own company and this will fall on the new VP of Marketing in the long run, but for now, it’s me.

“Let’s not talk about work,” she says. “Even if I do work for you now.”

“Let’s mix business with pleasure.”

“If it involves going to Dubai and dressing like Elizabeth Bennet, no way.”

“How about going to my bedroom and dressing up as Miss Bennet?”

“Pervert.”

I laugh as my heart slams against my breastbone like a calypso drum.

Consuela herself delivers the main course.

“Lobster and steak?”Amanda asks, delighted.

“Simple yet elegant,” Consuela explains. “And no cilantro.” She tosses me a mock-angry look and leaves without fanfare.

We eat.

Rather, Amanda eats. I push food around on my plate and feel like time collapsed into three molecules on a steeplechase in my brain.