A Pretend Proposal: The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On. Элли Блейк
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Again, she smiled.
“Then an endowment makes sense.”
The more she said, the more impressed he was with her resolve. He couldn’t think of another woman in his acquaintance who would have started up a nonprofit right out of college and, a decade later, be pounding the pavement to ensure it remained viable.
Of course, the women he dated tended to be far more egocentric than philanthropic. A good number of them didn’t hold a regular job thanks to access to a trust fund or their daddy’s continuing indulgence. Physically, they were Elizabeth Morris’s polar opposite as well. None had been under five-eight. Indeed, a couple had stood eye-level with him in their bare feet. He favored model types, tall and leggy. Arm candy was what Nana Jo called them. It was an apt description. Every last one of them had been flawlessly beautiful and ultrafashionable. None would be caught dead in Elizabeth Morris’s self-described power suit or her nondescript pumps. Which made her somehow all the more perfect.
What if …?
No matter how many times he tried to quell that inappropriate question, it just kept begging to be answered.
She cleared her throat, and he realized he’d been staring. So much for his renowned manners. This made twice in their very short acquaintance that he’d been not only impolite, but also openly rude. Before he could apologize, however, she was rising to her feet.
“I can see that I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll just leave you with some additional information about our organization as well as our fundraising campaign. My contact information is in the packet should you have any questions.”
There was no hint of a smile on her face as she pulled a folder from her satchel and laid it on his desk. She didn’t look angry, but rather disheartened and maybe even a little bit weary. Who could blame her? Thomas imagined she’d probably run into a lot of closed doors and closed wallets during her quest.
“Please. Have a seat. I’ll take a look right now,” he said, forestalling her departure.
Inside the folder, he wasn’t surprised to find several pages of carefully ordered facts about Literacy Liaisons’s mission, each one bulleted for easy reading. He’d already determined that she was meticulous and organized. He glanced through the numbers regarding the endowment fund. She was nearly two-thirds of the way to her goal.
Prefacing this, he said, “I see you’ve been very busy.”
“I’ve been at it for nearly nine months. Unfortunately, it’s been slow going lately.” She shrugged then and said, “The economy.”
Ah, yes. Two words that said it all these days. The economy had wreaked havoc on Waverly Enterprises’s bottom line, too, causing Thomas and his department managers to scour the company’s budget for savings. The office Christmas party had been scaled back to a luncheon, wages had been frozen and some low-level positions were going unfilled.
Still, he’d tried not to cut back too much on charitable contributions—not because his accountants were quick to remind him that such donations were a tax deduction, but because he genuinely believed in being socially responsible.
Teaching people to read was not just commendable, it was essential. As a businessman, he understood that perfectly. Hers was just the sort of endeavor he preferred to support, especially if the bulk of his donation would go to actual programs rather than overhead, which the paperwork in front of him assured that it would.
The subtle scent of apple blossoms floated his way, and that crazy idea he’d been entertaining since she’d first walked through his door became all the more pronounced.
What if …?
The question no longer seemed so outlandish. Nor did asking it seem totally self-serving. After all, a sizable donation would put her endowment campaign over the top and ensure the future viability of Literacy Liaisons. They could help each other out.
Besides, Elizabeth Morris seemed to be a practical woman, the sort who would see his proposal for what it was: a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Quid pro quo.
“So, do you have any questions?” she asked politely. Her smile was back in place and just this side of hopeful.
Did he ever, and it was a doozy, but the one Thomas went with was: “Does anyone ever call you Beth?”
ELIZABETH felt her mouth fall open. Of all the questions she’d anticipated Thomas Waverly asking, that one wasn’t among them. Inquiries about her business or her background? Certainly. Her nickname? Not so much. But since it would be rude to question his questioning—almost as rude as calling on him at his office without an actual appointment—she did her best to wipe away her surprise and answered him honestly.
“No one’s ever called me Beth.”
Lizzie sometimes, since that had been her actual name. She’d changed it legally once she reached adulthood. She liked the formality of Elizabeth, the utter timelessness of it, not to mention the respect that it seemed to engender. Queens and Hollywood legends were named Elizabeth. Lizzie? Put the word tin before it and it referred to a jalopy.
He inhaled deeply, as if preparing to make an earthshaking announcement. But all he said was, “You look like a Beth.”
“Perhaps you have me confused with someone else,” she suggested, unsure what else to say.
The conversation had taken an odd and definitely awkward turn, and, even though she hardly could claim to be an expert on men, the speculation brewing in this particular man’s gaze was unnerving. Okay, it also was a bit flattering. Men as gorgeous and accomplished as Thomas Waverly rarely gave Elizabeth the time of day—whether or not she’d made an appointment. They certainly didn’t look at her like he was looking at her—as if he were interested in something more personal than making a charitable donation.
“Perhaps,” he said with a nod before glancing away.
It sounded as if he muttered the word crazy half under his breath. If so, the description fit the situation, she decided. More likely, though, she was just imagining things or blowing them out of proportion. It was best to leave before she said something foolish, especially since he seemed interested in her cause.
Elizabeth started to rise. “I’d better be going. Thank you again for your time.” She nibbled her bottom lip before adding, “I hope we will be able to count Waverly Enterprises among our contributors.”
He pulled her business card from the folder she’d given him and held it up. “I’ll be in touch with you. I promise.”
“Terrific.” She should have been relieved, happy. Why, Elizabeth wondered, did she feel apprehensive? No, what she was feeling wasn’t apprehension, but anticipation, an almost foreign sensation where a man was concerned. But then, Thomas Waverly wasn’t a man; he was a potential donor with pockets deep enough to push her cause much closer to its goal.
Just as she made that determination, he rose from his seat—a little more than six feet worth of perfectly formed and proportioned male. The custom cut of his suit showcased a pair of broad shoulders and a body made up of lean muscle rather than the kind of soft bulk found on a lot of the desk-bound CEOs she’d called on. Not a man? Those words, unuttered though they’d been, taunted her. Oh, he was a man, all right. And every last inch of him was steeped in testosterone.
The satchel slipped from Elizabeth’s hand and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. Her fingers had gone as slack as her mouth. She snapped her lips closed as he came around his desk. He was bending to retrieve her case even before she managed to move. And here she’d been hoping to make her exit before she could make herself look foolish.
“This thing is pretty heavy.” His smile, thank goodness, wasn’t awash in amusement.
“Thank