A Pretend Proposal. Jackie Braun
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Thomas glanced at his watch, even though it wasn’t necessary. “Actually, you’re early.”
“But not as early as you are.”
He shrugged and sat down. “It’s a habit of mine.”
A bad one according to the last four women he’d dated, those grand entrances and all. They didn’t appreciate answering the doorbell before they were ready to wow him with what waited on the other side.
“A good one,” Elizabeth said, as if reading his mind. “There’s nothing worse than keeping people waiting, at least in my book.”
Thomas agreed wholeheartedly, but that didn’t change his plan to keep her waiting, at least until the entrée course, before he started his pitch. By that point, he was hoping she wouldn’t stand up and walk out on him, though he wasn’t ruling out the possibility.
He bided his time, relying on small talk as their drinks arrived. She went with a glass of plain water garnished with a wedge of lemon. Although he wanted to brace himself with a scotch, neat, he settled for red wine, which he intended to sip slowly. He needed to keep a clear head—especially since the woman seated opposite him was having a definite, if odd, effect on his equilibrium. Nerves, he told himself. After all, he had a lot riding on the outcome of the evening. But then, so did she.
By the time the waiter brought their salads and a basket of warm rolls, they had thoroughly dissected the extended weather forecast for the upcoming holiday weekend. It was amazing how much people could talk without really saying anything. Recalling the passion and conviction with which Elizabeth had described her agency’s mission to him earlier, he had a feeling she would be an engaging conversationalist if they ever strayed from the standard polite topics. Because he wanted to, he didn’t. Stay with the script. This wasn’t a date.
Finally, their dinners arrived and the moment of truth was at hand. She’d just taken the first bite of her grilled salmon when he put down his fork and cleared his throat. She glanced over in question. Now or never, he decided.
“I mentioned on the phone that I had an unusual proposal for you.”
She nodded, swallowed. “Unorthodox is how I believe you phrased it.”
“Yes. It is. Very.” He swallowed as well, even though he had not yet touched his steak or the sautéed baby portabella mushrooms in wine sauce that smothered it. “I want to assure you, this isn’t something I make a habit of.”
Thomas had hoped to sound reassuring, but her expression made it clear he was doing a lousy job of it. She appeared a little alarmed, and no wonder given the way he was acting. Better just to get right to it, he decided, except that he didn’t. Rather, he went on in uncharacteristic bumbling fashion.
“It’s just that I find myself in a tight spot. I told someone—someone very dear to me—that I am … that is, that I have been seeing …” He laughed uncomfortably. “This is awkward.”
Across from him, Elizabeth smiled encouragingly, though he thought he saw her glance toward the exit.
“The long and the short of it is I need … I need a …” His gaze focused in on her mouth and he swore his own started to water. “I need a woman.”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he’d singled her out or concerned for her safety given his intense stare. One thing she knew for certain, she was curious. Why on earth did he need a woman? Surely female companionship was not in short supply for a man as successful and handsome as he was. There had to be a rational explanation for what he’d just said.
So, in her most polished business tone, she inquired politely, “Exactly what do you need a woman for, Mr. Waverly?”
“To act as my fiancée.”
He was exhaling in a gust, even as Elizabeth’s breathing stopped. She hadn’t seen this coming.
“Are you asking …? You want me to …? You want to get married?” Her voice rose on the last word. Some of the restaurant’s other patrons glanced their way.
“No. Actually, I just need someone to pose as my fiancée for a while.” He smiled weakly. “So, um, under the circumstances, I think you should call me Thomas.”
She rubbed her right temple in lieu of a response. She’d fallen into an alternative universe. That was the only explanation that made sense. She was wearing Mel’s dress and had somehow become, well, Mel. Except that in the big mirror on the wall behind Thomas, she could see her reflection. The dress was Mel’s, but Elizabeth was definitely the woman wearing it. And looking gobsmacked. She snapped her mouth closed.
“I know. Crazy, right?” Thomas said on an uncomfortable laugh.
“Certifiable,” she agreed.
Both of them were, because, Elizabeth now knew for sure that she was feeling flattered. Thomas Waverly, successful businessman and five-alarm hottie, wanted her to act as his fiancée? But …
“Why?” she managed to ask at last.
His expression sobered. “Before we get to that, I want to make it clear that I’m not expecting you to do me a favor. I was thinking more like, we could, uh, do each other a favor. You help me out by posing as my intended, and I personally match the donation I’ve already decided to make to Literacy Liaisons on Waverly Enterprises’s behalf. Between those two contributions, your endowment will be realized.”
Because her mouth threatened to fall open again, she took a sip of her water. This was more than she’d hoped for. It was everything she wanted, being handed to her on a silver platter. A silver platter held by one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. She checked the mirror a second time, giving that alternative universe theory another go. The same baffled- looking blonde as before gaped back at her. Again, Elizabeth asked, “Why?”
“Right.” He reached for his wine and took a sip. Setting the glass back on the table, he said, “Here’s the thing. I told my grandmother that I was involved in a serious relationship with a woman.”
“Serious as in headed toward the altar.”
“Right. The problem is I’m not, but she’s expecting to meet, um, my significant other …” He coughed. Choked? Before spitting out, “This weekend.”
The long holiday weekend was mere days away, and Elizabeth already had made plans to spend part of it with her parents at their annual soy burger-and-tofu barbecue, but that wasn’t what bothered her. Flattery only went so far. As did business dealings.
Her tone took on an edge that she rarely used and had never allowed to seep into her professional life when she said, “You lied to your grandmother?”
Hot or not, the man dropped several points in her estimation. Make that numerous points, and still counting. She didn’t care how handsome he was or how successful. Nor did it matter how desperate she was for his dual donation—and, God, she was desperate for that donation. But a man who would lie to a frail, helpless little old lady—and that was the image that came to Elizabeth’s mind—was a jerk. End of story. She retrieved the napkin from her lap and set it on the table, fully intending to leave.
Thomas rose part way from his chair as she stood. “Please. Stay and hear me out.”
“You lied to your grandmother,” she repeated flatly.
“Yes. I did. It sounds horrible, I know.” He dropped back into his seat.
“That’s one word for it,” Elizabeth replied crisply, unwilling to let him off the hook, no matter how appealing he looked wriggling from it. Still, he did look remorseful. Slowly, she returned to her seat and spread the napkin back over her lap. What would it hurt to hear him out?
“Let me give you a little background before you form a solid opinion of the situation.” Thomas held out his hands in appeal. “She claimed to be dying and, well, seeing me happily settled is a priority for her.