Fortune's Proposal. Allison Leigh

      “Right. When the two people are actually in love.” She realized her fingers had slid through his until they were twined together. She pulled her hands free and wrapped them over the arms of the chair. “And, like I said, throwing money on the situation doesn’t solve the ultimate problem.”

      “Then we’ll get your mother into counseling. For as long as it takes. Even after our arrangement is ended.”

      She pressed her fingers harder into the upholstery to keep them from trembling. “She’ll refuse. She always does.”

      “We’ll make sure she doesn’t. We’ll find a way.”

      “We?”

      He covered her hands with his. “Yeah, we.”

      Her heart was climbing in her chest. She felt lightheaded. She hadn’t had any support where her mother was concerned since her father walked out the door and never came back.

      It had been just her.

      Drew was watching her with that steady gaze and his voice, so quietly assured, was ringing in her head.

       We.

      The lure of that word alone seemed impossible to resist. “Okay,” she whispered and felt a shudder work down her spine.

      His gaze sharpened. “You’ll marry me?”

      She swallowed hard and had to clear her throat. “Yes.”

      His smile was sudden and nearly blinding. “I’ve always said you are the perfect assistant!” He straightened and leaned over her, pressing a fast kiss to her forehead before turning away. “This is going to work out perfectly,” he was saying as he strode back into his office. “You’ll come with me to Red Rock. We’ll announce it there.”

      Deanna could hear his raised voice. Could understand his words even.

      But she couldn’t do much of anything but stare at her tidy desk across from her and feel the imprint of his lips as if they were still grazing her skin.

      “Dee, how fast can you pack?”

      She scrubbed her hands down her cheeks, attempting to drag her utterly rattled self back together. “C-couldn’t you just tell your dad about us? I’d feel like I’m intruding if I go with you to Texas.”

      He reappeared in his doorway. The ball cap was back on his head—backward—and the dimple was back in his cheek.

      He was also holding up a bottle of champagne that had been delivered that afternoon from one of his clients.

      “I’m pretty sure my fiancée would be welcome at a family event,” he said drily. “More than that, she’ll be expected.” He waved the end of the bottle in front of her. “Call the pilot again. Tell him we’ll be an hour later than I planned.”

      Deanna felt a ridiculous surge of laughter. Or maybe it was simply that she was on the verge of hysteria.

      Had she really agreed to marry him?

      “I already built in an hour cushion when I rescheduled your flight the last time I talked to him,” she admitted.

      His eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like you were handling me.” Then he grinned again. “Well done.”

      She managed a weak smile.

      “Come on. We’ll pop open this baby and celebrate. Get a few glasses, would you?” He went back into his office. “And you should let your girlfriends know you won’t be making it to the spa after all.”

      She very nearly slapped her hand against her forehead. She’d completely forgotten about her friends. She pulled out her cell phone and turned it on again. Ignoring the little indicator that told her she had messages waiting, she quickly called Susan, the one who’d arranged the weekend, and left her own message when her friend didn’t answer.

      And then, holding the phone, she debated whether to call Gigi. Her mother already expected her to be gone for the long weekend. That hadn’t changed, even if Deanna’s destination had.

      And what would she tell her mother when she did call?

      That she was marrying the boss?

      Gigi would probably think she’d died and gone to heaven. If she couldn’t achieve that status, then at least her daughter had.

      Deanna heard the distinctive sound of the champagne cork popping, and ignoring the sense of guilt she felt, she turned off her cell phone again. The only harmful thing that Gigi would do over the weekend would be to order more needless items. Items that Deanna would ensure were returned, along with all the other things she’d expected to have to deal with.

      No, she’d call her mother after the holiday when she was back in town.

      Maybe by then, Deanna would have figured out a way to couch her news so that Gigi wouldn’t start flying over the moon.

      She hurried into the small employee break room, pulled out two plastic cups from the cupboard and returned to Drew’s office.

      He was pulling off his linen, button-down shirt.

      She nearly dropped the cups. “What are you doing?”

      The shirt came off his shoulders and he balled it up, pitching it aside. The white T-shirt he was wearing beneath it clung to every centimeter of his wide chest.

      “Champagne bubbled over.” He picked up the bottle and she could see a ring of shimmering liquid on his desk where the bottle had been sitting. “Here.” He grabbed her hand with one of the cups in it and filled it more than halfway.

      “That’s too much.” She had to force herself not to stare at his chest. It wasn’t as if she had never seen it before, and even completely, gloriously bare. When he was playing beach volleyball at their branch picnic every year, for one. But she’d never been his convenient fiancée and been faced with him less than fully dressed …

      She could feel hysteria rising and ruthlessly tramped it down.

      “Live a little.” He was grinning as he took the second cup from her. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

      She was glad to surrender the cup, because that meant that she could wrap both hands around her own, and maybe stop shaking like she was some schoolgirl faced with her first crush.

      He filled his own cup, then held it out. “Here’s to marriage.”

      Her stomach dipped and swayed, but she managed to give him a stern glare. “You shouldn’t joke about it.”

      “Who’s joking?” He nudged the side of his cup against hers in the toast. “At least we both know exactly what we’ll be getting out of the deal. No illusions. No surprises.”

      “Right.” She dipped her nose toward the cup. The first taste of champagne was as bitter as the nerves tightening her stomach. She swallowed it anyway.

      “A ring,” he said suddenly.

      She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

      “We need an engagement ring.” He snatched his phone off his desk again and scrolled through the phone numbers stored in it.

      “You’re not going to find a jeweler open on New Year’s Eve,” she warned. “Not even Zondervan’s.”

      He grinned as he punched a number and held the phone to his ear. “As much business as I’ve given Bob Zondervan over the years? Want to bet?”

      “Um … no, thanks,” she managed with at least a little wisdom considering the number of orders she’d made on his behalf.

      “Smart girl.”

      Feeling strangely weak, she sat down and shook her head.

      Her mother had always told Deanna that a smart girl could catch herself the boss. Deanna had always said that would never, ever be her way.