A Pretend Proposal: The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On. Элли Блейк

I need his donation.”

      “I understand that, but I don’t think that’s the real answer.”

      Elizabeth sighed. “You know me too well.”

      “And don’t forget it. So, answer the question.” She crossed her arms in challenge.

      “Come on. Look at me, Mel.”

      “I am looking. I see a beautiful woman, not to mention one who is exceedingly smart and interesting.”

      Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Well, I am wearing your clothes.”

      “I’m not just talking about what you’ve got on or the way your hair is styled, though that little finger-fluffing trick is flattering and a little extra gloss does wonders for what is already a great set of lips. But clothes, a different hairdo and a little more makeup don’t make you smart and interesting. That’s all you, honey.” She waited a beat before adding, “That dress does make you sexy, though.”

      Mel’s perfectly arched brows bobbed twice for emphasis.

      Her friend’s words should have done wonders for Elizabeth’s ego, but Elizabeth had never had much confidence in her looks. She chalked that up to the fact that from an early age her post-hippie parents had discouraged any sort of “enhancement” or improvement to one’s appearance. Both her folks sported long hair. Her mother wore hers in an unflattering ponytail. Her father’s was twisted into dreadlocks that streamed halfway to his waist. Skeet Morris didn’t believe in shaving. Neither did Elizabeth’s mother, Delphine. Anywhere. To this day her parents were mortified that Elizabeth wore her hair short and styled, dressed in conservative garb and had plucked the unibrow she’d sported throughout high school into two distinct arches.

      “You’re my friend,” she reminded Mel.

      “That doesn’t mean I can’t be objective. Your problem, Elizabeth, is that you’ve spent your entire life blending into the background, so it makes you uncomfortable when you stand out.”

      “That’s not true.” Not completely anyway. She was perfectly happy to stand out when it came to her job.

      Mel crossed her arms over her chest again. “It’s a fact.”

      “Okay, we’re getting off track here. I’m not after the man. I’m after his money.” When her friend’s lips twitched, she added, “You know what I mean. This is about a donation to Literacy Liaisons, one that very well could be large enough that you and I can sit back and relax for a while … figuratively speaking.”

      But Mel wasn’t buying it. “I’ve never understood the big deal with mixing business with pleasure. As long as both parties go into it with their eyes wide open, why not? You’re both adults.”

      Nerves fluttered in Elizabeth’s belly. “Maybe I should send you to meet with him. You’re a lot better at this sort of thing than I am.”

      Mel manufactured an insulted expression and said, “Excuse me?”

      “You know what I mean. Men swarm to you. Thomas Waverly would be putty in your hands. In fact, maybe I should have been sending you to call on potential donors all along. We’d already have our endowment.”

      “Oh, no. No thanks.” Mel was shaking her head. “I’m good at flirting, honey, not finalizing deals. Besides, I prefer to remain behind the scenes.”

      “So you always say.” Elizabeth reached for a tissue and blotted off a little of the coral-colored gloss. “I just don’t want to give Mr. Waverly the impression that I would be willing to sleep with him in order to ensure that he cuts the agency a sizable check.”

      Mel winked. “Does that mean you’d be willing to sleep with him for reasons more primal?”

      “God, Mel!” Elizabeth’s nerves kicked up again.

      “Just askin’.” Grinning, her friend pointed to her wristwatch. “You’d better get going, Cinderella. Your ball is about to begin.”

CHAPTER THREE

      THOMAS did a double take when Elizabeth walked through the door of Antonio’s. He’d arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, assuming that he would have plenty of time to gather his thoughts and plot out his pitch. All of the women he knew were notorious for being late, in part because they preferred to make grand entrances. He should have known Elizabeth would be different. That was, after all, part of her appeal for the role he was about to ask her to play.

      Even arriving early, she managed to make an entrance. No mouths dropped opened in awe, and conversations continued as before. But something inside of Thomas shifted before going oddly still. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

      Who knew cute also could be so sexy?

      Since their meeting a few hours earlier, she’d changed her clothes. No real surprise, since he had as well, trading in his business attire for a more casual pair of pants and a button-down shirt. He’d left off his tie, too, but he found himself tugging at his collar anyway.

      Her transformation was far more dramatic. He wouldn’t have expected the woman he’d met in the severely cut suit and serviceable pumps to own such a fashionable outfit and shoes. The lines of the dress and the heels gave her the illusion of greater height. As small as she was, she had a pair of killer legs.

      Because he felt himself beginning to ogle them, he returned his gaze to her face. That wasn’t the safer bet, he realized immediately. She’d done something different with her hair. It was no longer quite so straight and tidy. Tousled was the word that came to mind. He wondered if it would feel as soft as it appeared. As for that mobile mouth of hers, it was now twice as inviting thanks to a slick coat of tinted gloss. How would it taste?

      Uh-oh.

      He scrambled to put the brakes on the hormones that threatened to rev into hyperdrive. Given what he was about to propose, quite literally, he couldn’t afford to let anything more than business transpire between them. He couldn’t have her thinking he wanted more than what he was offering: a mutually beneficial business arrangement.

      He stood when she reached the table. It was second nature, thanks to his grandmother, as was pulling out Elizabeth’s chair. In fact, Thomas beat the maitre d’ to it. The man smiled uncomfortably before withdrawing.

      “Sorry I’m late,” she said, as she settled in her seat.

      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