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

Elizabeth started to rise. “I’d better be going. Thank you again for your time.” She nibbled her bottom lip before adding, “I hope we will be able to count Waverly Enterprises among our contributors.”

He pulled her business card from the folder she’d given him and held it up. “I’ll be in touch with you. I promise.”

“Terrific.” She should have been relieved, happy. Why, Elizabeth wondered, did she feel apprehensive? No, what she was feeling wasn’t apprehension, but anticipation, an almost foreign sensation where a man was concerned. But then, Thomas Waverly wasn’t a man; he was a potential donor with pockets deep enough to push her cause much closer to its goal.

Just as she made that determination, he rose from his seat—a little more than six feet worth of perfectly formed and proportioned male. The custom cut of his suit showcased a pair of broad shoulders and a body made up of lean muscle rather than the kind of soft bulk found on a lot of the desk-bound CEOs she’d called on. Not a man? Those words, unuttered though they’d been, taunted her. Oh, he was a man, all right. And every last inch of him was steeped in testosterone.

The satchel slipped from Elizabeth’s hand and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. Her fingers had gone as slack as her mouth. She snapped her lips closed as he came around his desk. He was bending to retrieve her case even before she managed to move. And here she’d been hoping to make her exit before she could make herself look foolish.

“This thing is pretty heavy.” His smile, thank goodness, wasn’t awash in amusement.

“Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed in the handoff, and she experienced an unprecedented urge to sigh. Oh, it was definitely time to go. During the past month, she had managed to wrest precious little in the way of donations from the local business community, not sizable ones at any rate. Money continued to trickle in—a little here, a little there—but the well of largesse appeared to have run dry. Literacy Liaisons’s endowment fund campaign not only needed Waverly Enterprises’s support, but it was also desperate for it.

So, without further hesitation, Elizabeth beat a retreat, mentally kicking herself all the way home.

Howie greeted her at the front door of her small bungalow with an enthusiastic kiss after nearly knocking her off her feet. Whether she was gone an hour or all day, her golden retriever-slash-Labrador-slash-a-few-other-kinds-of-canine was always happy to see her.

Ecstatic, in fact. If only every door she opened held such adoration on the other side, her life and her job would be just that much more enjoyable.

“I missed you, too, boy.”

She removed his big paws from her chest and stooped to pick up the scattering of envelopes that had been pushed through the door’s mail slot.

Bill, bill, bill, junk, junk and a reminder that one of her magazine subscriptions was about to run out. The internet made communicating with friends, loved ones and business associates quick and easy, but Elizabeth missed receiving actual letters, even if the only person she really hoped to hear from was the one person who would never write. A person who couldn’t write. Or read.

Her brother. She hadn’t seen him in more than a decade, though he occasionally called their parents. For all intents and purposes, though, Ross had disappeared.

Howie’s whining pulled her from the past, reminding her that he needed to go outside and do his business.

When she opened the door, the dog was out in a flash, a bullet of peaches-and-cream-colored fur that pulled up short just before the sidewalk. Elizabeth had installed an electronic fence to keep him within the boundaries of the yard. As she watched him take off after a squirrel in what had become a ritual game of chase, her cell phone rang.

She retrieved it from her satchel. “Hello?”

“Miss Morris?” The deep voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes.”

“It’s Thomas Waverly.”

This was a surprise, so much so that the cell phone nearly fell to the floor, much as her bag had in his office. She bobbled it before managing to return it to her ear. The man had a way of making her uncharacteristically clumsy.

“Are you there?” he was asking.

“Yes, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” She gave her forehead a slap. “So soon that is.”

Cool, collected and confident—that was what she needed to be. Unfortunately, she sounded flustered and slightly breathless—reactions that someone as handsome as Thomas Waverly probably experienced on a regular basis when it came to women.

He was saying, “I was wondering if we could meet to discuss … a donation.”

Had she imagined that slight hesitation? Well, no matter. She would clear her calendar if need be to accommodate someone interested in helping her cause. “Certainly. Just name a time and I’ll be there.”

“I was thinking tonight. Over dinner.”

“Dinner. Tonight,” she repeated in surprise, and wanted to smack her forehead again.

Put together like that, it sounded as if she thought he was asking her out on a date, which, of course, was ridiculous. Thomas Waverly was a busy man. His time was at a premium. More likely he preferred to get this out of the way so that he didn’t have to waste office hours on what, for him at least, amounted to an inconsequential matter. That explanation made sense until a little voice whispered in her head that he needn’t be bothered at all. A man of his stature had plenty of subordinates to take care of such things, including the efficient older woman who’d so kindly asked him to see Elizabeth in the first place earlier that day.

As if he could read her mind, Thomas said, “I know it’s a little unorthodox, meeting over dinner, but I have something I’d like to discuss with you. An opportunity that is …” He paused again, just long enough to have Elizabeth holding her breath. “Well, in itself, rather unorthodox.”

“Oh?” Color her intrigued. Before she could respond further, however, her dog sent up a booming howl of protest as the squirrel he’d been chasing perched on the lowest branch of the front yard’s big oak and chattered noisily down at him.

“Howie!” she yelled.

Even though she’d moved the phone away from her mouth, she heard Thomas say, “I apologize. You have company. I should have realized.”

Elizabeth nearly laughed out loud at the statement. Did he think she was entertaining a man? More like man’s best friend. Sadly, no males of the two-legged variety had darkened her door in several months.

“Not how you mean,” she told him, even though she found her dog to be excellent company. She’d rescued Howie from the local pound nearly two years earlier. He’d been on death row, though the pound didn’t actually call it that. Still, his fate had been determined, his date with a needle full of sleepy juice scheduled. His crime? Few people wanted a nearly three-year-old, seventy-five-pound pooch who could be every bit as stubborn as he was affectionate. “Howie’s my dog. He’s chasing a squirrel.”

“A futile endeavor, I take it.” There was a smile in Thomas’s voice.

A fellow dog person? That made him even more appealing in her book.

“Very, which is why he’s barking loud enough to wake the dead.” She held the phone away from her and covered the mouthpiece long enough to holler the dog’s name a second time.

Mrs. Hildabrand, her neighbor from across the street, would be on her front porch any minute to warn Elizabeth that the police would be on the way if Howie didn’t quiet down. The elderly woman already had called the authorities twice in the past month with noise complaints. The officers the department sent out had been kind and even understanding. But Elizabeth couldn’t afford to press her luck. Thankfully, this time Howie obeyed her command to cease and desist. He trotted to the porch and then through the door she’d opened for him, tail held high and wagging madly, probably for the squirrel’s benefit.

“So, about tonight, do you have any plans?” Thomas asked.

“No. Not a thing.” Because the stark reply made her sound, well, pathetic, she amended quickly, “What I mean is, nothing that can’t be rescheduled.”

Or recorded on her DVR. Yes, her social life was that pathetic.

“Terrific.”

The relief she heard in his voice left her as curious as what his “unorthodox proposal” might be. After all, Thomas Waverly struck her as the sort of man who was always in control and only asked questions whose answers he already knew. Yet, he was acting very much like he needed her rather than the other way around.

They made arrangements to meet at an Italian restaurant where the highly rated menu came with equally high prices. Elizabeth had eaten at Antonio’s exactly once, and then, since she’d gone with a girlfriend, she’d ordered only a bowl of soup. Everything else was beyond her budget, especially once a glass of wine had been factored in.

After hanging up, she paced her living room, absently stopping to pick up the magazines that Howie had knocked off the coffee table with his tail. The dog paced alongside her, his tongue lolling out from his open-mouthed grin.

“I’ve got an hour before we meet.”

Howie panted, as much from his recent exercise as from the heat. The house had no air-conditioning and wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. She didn’t have the extra funds in her household budget for that kind of luxury. Everything she had, she poured into her work.

“An hour,” she repeated. “That’s not a lot of time. I need to make the most of it.” She let out a laugh that was brittle with nerves. For her benefit as much as the dog’s, she added, “I’ve worked my way through the alphabet when it comes to donors. Obviously, at W, I’m getting a little desperate.”

Howie stared at her, as if he suspected there was more to those nerves than desperation on behalf of the nonprofit she’d started from scratch a decade before.

“I need to do something to make Thomas Waverly sit up and take notice.”

When Elizabeth sat down in front of her laptop, the dog laid his head on her knee. She planned to print out a batch of success stories from Literacy Liaisons’s client list. The testimonials were proof of how life-changing learning to read could be. But as she perched on a chair in front of the computer screen, she fiddled with the ends of her hair and became distracted. She was due for a trim.

“Maybe the next time I see my stylist I’ll ask about a perm. What do you think, Howie?”

The dog lifted his head from her leg. She swore he looked confused, and no wonder. Why was she thinking about this now?

“Never mind.”

Howie continued to stare at her.

“Look, I know this isn’t a date.” She patted his broad head. Again, for his benefit as well as her own, she said, “But it never hurts to look one’s best. Dress for success and all that.”

With that in mind, she snatched up the phone and dialed her best friend’s number, sighing with relief when Melissa Sutton picked up just before the call would have gone to voice mail. It was hard to catch her very social friend, even on her cell.

The two women had been tight since college, even though they seemed to have little in common with the exception of their commitment to battling illiteracy, which was why after a stint as a packaging engineer, Melissa had showed up at Literacy Liaisons, willing to take a significant cut in pay for rewards of another kind.

The similarities ended there. Where Elizabeth was reserved and, admittedly, a bit of a wallflower, her friend, who was nearly as petite as Elizabeth, managed to stand out. It wasn’t only her infectious laughter and bawdy sense of humor that caught men’s attention. Mel was a bona fide head-turner. On more than one occasion, Elizabeth had witnessed her friend’s effect on men. It was almost comical the way they fawned over her and catered to her every whim. If only that kind of charisma could be bottled up and sold.

“I have an emergency,” she said in a rush.

“My God, Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

“I need some of your clothes.”

“My clothes?”

“I have an important meeting in roughly an hour and nothing suitable to wear.”

“You’re having a fashion emergency?” Mel’s laughter boomed. “I think I need to sit down.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Sorry.” Her friend’s tone turned serious. “It’s just I’ve never had you call to borrow clothes for a date let alone for work.”

“This is important.”

“So you’ve already said. Work shouldn’t be more important than your love life. That’s just sad, honey. Sad.” Elizabeth thought she heard a tsking sound before Mel went on. “You need to get out more, kick up your heels. And the heels I’m referring to are not those dowdy pair of black pumps that would suit my great-aunt Geraldine.”

Elizabeth pinched her eyes closed. “Can we have this conversation another time, please?”

“Fine. Another time. And don’t think I won’t hold you to it,” Mel warned, then added, “So, am I coming to your place or are you coming to mine?”

They decided on Mel’s since her two-story town house was closer to the restaurant Thomas had selected, and it wouldn’t require her friend to pack up an assortment of outfits.

Once there, Mel wasn’t satisfied with dressing Elizabeth in a ruffled shift that was surprisingly flattering on her less curvaceous form, and pairing the soft pink number with strappy silver sandals. She insisted on restyling her hair and applying additional makeup, too.

The effect was an improvement, and she hardly appeared overmade, but it still presented Elizabeth with a dilemma.

Studying her reflection in Mel’s vanity mirror, she said, “He’s going to think I’m interested in him.”

“He who?” Mel asked, leaning over to dab a little more coral-colored gloss on Elizabeth’s bottom lip.

“Thomas Waverly.”

Her friend drew back, eyes wide with surprise. “Thomas Waverly? GQ-cover-worthy Thomas Waverly? That’s who you’re having dinner with?”

“Do you know him?” Her stomach pitched. Had Mel dated him? That question was followed rapidly by: Why would that matter?

“I know of him,” Mel clarified. “I saw him at a celebrity golf outing that I played with Dominic last summer.”

Dominic, right. Mel’s beau of the month several months ago. A corporate highflyer of some sort. Yet for all the money he’d lavished on Mel, he’d been downright stingy when it came to contributing to Literacy Liaisons.

“So, what’s Thomas like?”

“We didn’t actually meet, but I saw him tee off on one of the par threes. Very nice swing. Fluid and strong. He nearly wound up with a hole in one. He settled for a birdie thanks to one very smooth putting stroke.” Mel made a purring sound that kick-started Elizabeth’s barely settled nerves.

“Do you ever not think of sex?”

Mel propped one hip on the edge of the bathroom counter. “I only think of it so often to take up the slack for you. You need to think of it more.”

“I don’t have the time.” A pitiful excuse, and, of course, Mel called her on it.

“Yes, it would be a real shame to miss your evening line-up of cable television shows once in a while.”

“You like to watch White Collar, too.”

“I like to watch the hunky guy who plays the ex-con,” Mel clarified while examining her manicure. “But I’m not faithful to him. When I have a better offer, I go out.”

Elizabeth scowled. “I haven’t had any better offers.” Indeed, she hadn’t had any offers in months.

“Because you make sure every guy around thinks you’re only interested in your work,” her friend said.

“It’s important.”

“That goes without saying, Elizabeth. And I understand why it’s so important to you. But—”

She put a hand out, pushing away the pain even as she redirected the conversation. “Can we get back to the crisis at hand, please?”

Mel sighed heavily. “Fine, but just so you know, I don’t see Thomas Waverly as a crisis. In fact, I find myself a little jealous of you. He’s one very prime specimen.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Elizabeth managed a nonchalant tone.

Mel wasn’t fooled. In fact, she nearly doubled over with laughter. Her mirth echoed off the bathroom tiles.

“Oh, please. You’d have to be dead not to notice, and even then I have a feeling that man could raise a woman’s pulse rate. Are you really going to sit there and tell me you don’t find him hot?”

“He’s attractive,” Elizabeth allowed.

Mel merely raised her brows at the bland assessment.

“Okay. He’s gorgeous. Drop-dead so. But we’re not going out on a date, Mel.” Elizabeth glanced at her reflection again. She liked what she saw—the softer hairstyle, the somewhat smoky eyes, the flirty dress. But that was the problem. She looked like a woman who was ready for an evening out. “I don’t want him to think that I think it’s a date.”

Mel pursed her lips. Unlike Elizabeth’s, they were an inviting pink color without any added gloss. “Why would that be a problem?”

“This is business. 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.