The Millionaire's Proposition. Natalie Patrick

these days.”

      “Oh! You...” Words simply would not do. This situation called for action—drastic, immediate action. She thrust her deformed umbrella forward between the closing doors. Unfortunately, someone inside the elevator saw it coming and batted away the protruding umbrella tip. The momentum carried it in a slow upward swing until it popped open of its own accord in all its ragged glory. As the door slid shut between herself, her charm and her living vision of masculinity and sophistication, she could only stand there looking for all the world like a pathetic Mary Poppins just flown in through a mild hurricane.

      

      “Have you ever thought of...getting married?”

      Clark Winstead glanced up from the silver bauble in his hand to his longtime confidant and generously overpaid tax accountant. Even knowing his always high-strung, slightly neurotic old pal would not appreciate the wry humor, he had to deadpan, “Why, Baxter, are you proposing?”

      “Ha-ha.” Baxter Davis shoved open the door marked The Winstead Corporation, International Headquarters and held it open for Clark. “But seriously, have you?”

      “You know my stand on marriage.” Just saying the word made Clark tense. Knowing even his close friend could not appreciate the depth of his feeling on the subject, the weight of the pain his own parents’ miserable marriage had laid on his shoulders, he simply shrugged and gave a flippant reply. “It’s against my principles.”

      “Oh, yeah, yeah. You’re the product of divorced parents, the statistics don’t bear out the risk factor, yadda, yadda, yadda. Big yawn.” The door fell shut behind them. “But what about other advantages?”

      Clark glanced around the bustling outer offices of his headquarters, his mind moving on to other things. “In this day and age, a man can avail himself of those advantages without the decided disadvantages of a marriage going sour.”

      “I was thinking about children.”

      The rounded toe of the small-scale baby bootie dug into the pad of Clark’s thumb. He’d love to have a child, a son to carry on the Winstead name or a daughter to hold his heart in her delicate hands. “Actually, Baxter, I’d like to have an heir, or even two, but the price of getting them—marriage—is simply not one I’m willing to pay.”

      “As a wise old sage once said to me, ‘In this day and age, a man can avail himself of those advantages without the decided disadvantages of a marriage going sour.’”

      “I’m not the sort to adopt and raise a child on my own, Baxter.” They moved swiftly through the maze of desks and computers and such. Clark could not ignore but neither did he acknowledge the quiet fervor that accompanied his arrival. “I’m too busy to do the job right, and why do anything, raise children above all, if you can’t give it your best?”

      “You could hire someone.”

      “To have my children?” The idea struck a spark in his muddled thoughts. He hired people for everything else that mattered to him—to run his businesses, tend to his homes. He even had a personal trainer to see that he kept his body in top shape, though he rarely needed the external motivation for that He hired the best and let them share in the reward as well as the responsibility. Could he simply take that concept one step further?

      “I meant hire someone to raise the child.”

      That, too. If he found the right woman to bear his child, wouldn’t it only follow that she would be the right one to raise it? Clear away the deadwood, get rid of everything that doesn’t contribute to growth—that was his business philosophy. Why not apply it to this more personal but every bit as significant decision? And it would be neat, too, cutting out the messiness and pain of divorce and simply skipping ahead to the inevitable last step of any marital relationship—joint custody. If he could find the right woman, it might work.

      “Well, you’ve certainly given me something to think about, Baxter.” He paused outside the inner office occupied by his private secretary.

      “Honestly, Clark. you’d consider lit?”

      “Having a child?”

      “No, marriage.”

      “Marriage?” Clark gave a contemptuous snort. “Why should I?”

      “For love, for companionship, and barring that, for tax purposes.” Baxter fixed his beady gaze on his friend as if watching a bug under a microscope. “Marriage and children both provide tax benefits, you know.”

      Clark slid the trinket he’d been toying with into his pocket and brushed past his friend. “Haven’t you heard, Mr. Davis, CPA and so forth? The rich don’t pay taxes.”

      “Oh. I know all about the rich, my friend. I’ve learned from watching you up close and I can tell you this—it’s been one fascinating study.”

      “Has it now?” Clark chuckled to himself.

      Entertaining as he found his friend’s long-winded observations about the misery of money and its effects on those who gamer too much of the stuff, he didn’t have time for it right now. Already this morning an unfortunate run-in had provided him with unfinished business and Clark hated unfinished business.

      He held up his hand to silence Baxter’s forthcoming diatribe, then hit his secretary’s gleaming cherry desk with both palms flat, his arms braced. He narrowed his eyes to command her immediate focus.

      “Miss Harriman, call the coffee shop downstairs right away and ask them if anyone there saw a young lady—” he straightened, making use of all his faculties to get an unerring description “—about this tall.” He slashed his hand at his own chin level. “With a great mop of curly hair sort of stuck up on one side of her head.”

      Baxter scowled.

      “A pair of lopsided glasses, carrying a badly bent umbrella and wearing a...what’s it called?” He pointed to his wrist, then the answer hit him and he snapped his fingers. “Wearing a silver charm bracelet”

      Miss Harriman, trained to act fast and not ask questions, already had the receiver in one hand and was tugging a pencil from behind her ear with the other.

      “Find out if they know anything at all about her. Does she come here often? Work in this building? If nothing else, find out if anyone saw which way she went.”

      “Yes, sir,” Miss Harriman said, and began jabbing numbers on the phone with the pencil eraser.

      “Oh, and if the coffee shop doesn’t have any answers, try the newsstand in the lobby.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And if that doesn’t pan out, you might go down and see what you can learn from Henry, the fellow who gives the shoe shines.”

      “I will, sir. Whatever you say.”

      “Find her and there’s a big bonus in it for you, Miss Harriman.” He wrapped his knuckles on her desk and pivoted to head into his own expansive office.

      “It always comes down to money with you, doesn’t it?” Baxter practically nipped at his heels through the door, their footsteps dramatically hushed by the plush carpet as they entered the private sanctum of Clark’s immense business domain.

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Baxter,” Clark said, rolling the miniature baby bootie in his pocket between his thumb and forefinger.

      “You’ve seen some woman, undoubtedly the object of your next conquest—”

      “Conquest?” Clark smirked to himself at the outdated and ridiculous term. “You make it sound like I plan to climb on top of her, plant my flag and claim her as my personal territory.”

      “Well, you do, don’t you? All possible sexual metaphors aside—”

      “Yes, that’s how I prefer my sexual metaphors, actually. On the side.” Clark plunked down on his chair, the leather sighing as he settled