Fortune's Proposal

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.

And yet … here she was.

Her mother’s daughter after all.

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