The C.E.O.'s Unplanned Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “Sssshhh,” he said, but whether he was soothing her, the curl, or the snagged petals of the daisy she didn’t know.

  She felt a tug, a ripple of possibilities all the way from her head to her toes, and then the flower and the curl were freed.

  “There.” His smile proved he was even more handsome than she’d remembered. Just when she’d convinced herself he’d been merely a nice-looking man, here he was. The very definition of handsome. “A lucky escape.”

  For the daisy maybe. She, on the other hand, was caught, but good. “I’d better put these in some water,” she said and turned back into the house. “Come inside.” She sensed, rather than saw him glance at his watch. “Unless you don’t have time.”

  He stepped inside, probably because she hadn’t actually uttered the magic words that meant he could mark party planner off his to-do list.

  “I’ll just get something to put these in,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.” She heard him close the door and felt the quiet of the house fold around them in an intimate privacy. Maybe she should have invited Benson in, too.

  “Nice house,” he said when she returned to the front room with a galvanized watering can, filled with flowers that were already regaining their vigor.

  Setting the improvised vase on the coffee table, she looked around. “A little too symmetrical and a lot too beige for my tastes, but nice enough, I suppose.”

  “So none of this is yours?”

  “Nope. I’m baby-sitting the whole kit and caboodle.” She gestured him to a seat and couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved when he chose a chair positioned a safe distance from every other possible seat in the room. The sofa was directly behind her, so she dropped onto its beige cushions and tucked one bare leg beneath her. “That’s usually the way this house-sitting arrangement works. Most of the time, it’s a house that’s been on the market for a while and just needs a lived-in look to sell. Sometimes the furniture is rented. Sometimes it’s been left with the house. Sometimes, it belongs to the housesitter. Sometimes, it’s the property of the leasing agency. Once in a while, like with this house, the owners had to be away for six months and contacted an agency for a sitter.” She shrugged. “They got me.”

  “What do you do with your furniture and all your other things when you’re house-sitting?”

  “I don’t collect things. Just experiences.”

  His expression turned skeptical. “A nice sentiment, Katie, but not very practical. I know, for instance, that you collect books. Large, heavy books.”

  “I buy quite a few books, true, but I only collect the experience of reading them, then I give them away.”

  “But you must have clothes, personal items—” his gaze tracked pointedly to the watering can vase, “—whimsical articles to make you feel at home in a strange place.”

  “Whimsy can be found anywhere, and no one really needs a whole closetful of clothes.” She shrugged, knowing Adam wasn’t likely to ever understand her philosophy of life or the obligation she felt to explore every facet of life. “I travel light.”

  His eyes narrowed. He was still, obviously, unconvinced. “You must have some sort of business office. Or at least a computer.”

  She shook her head.

  “A desk, a chair, an appointment book, pads of sticky notes? I know you have a phone.”

  “A cell phone,” she admitted. “A necessary concession to safety and convenience in this day and age.”

  “Well, it would be if you’d answer it.” He glanced at his watch again and she knew his thoughts were already divided and on their way somewhere else.

  “I suppose it would never occur to you to let a phone call go unanswered?”

  “Of course, it occurs to me,” he said. “Unfortunately, there aren’t that many I can afford to miss.” As if to illustrate the point, a phone rang and he pulled a high-tech, Star-Trek communicator look-alike out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Yes, Lara?”

  Katie flexed her legs and shifted position, tucking both legs into a half-lotus, pretending not to notice that her action had caught Adam’s attention. He watched her even as he listened attentively to someone else, a circumstance she found both titillating and disconcerting. The undisguised interest in his gaze sent a dangerous quicksilver thrill down her spine. She was an idiot to pursue this. She knew it in her normally, very, self-protective soul. He was so out of her league, she might as well have been born on another planet. But some core of loneliness in him echoed a loneliness she tried never to acknowledge inside herself, and she knew she was past the point of listening to reason on this one.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Adam was on his feet, addressing his remarks to the cell phone, his attention diverted away from Katie and back to the absent Lara. Agitation showed in his voice and in the overall tension of his body language. “Give him some more coffee. Ask him what he thinks about the Celtics. Get him to talk about his family. Have Nell ply him with cookies or brownies or peppermint tea or something. I don’t care. Just don’t let him leave before I get there. I don’t understand why he showed up an hour early. Are you sure you told him four o’clock?” A pause. “All right, but for now, just do what you have to do to keep him there. We’ll find out who’s responsible for this mix-up later.” His goodbye was a sharp metallic clack as he snapped the phone case shut.

  Katie was ready for him when his scowling gaze flicked to her. “Now aren’t you sorry you answered that call?”

  He didn’t seem to see the humor. He didn’t even seem to be aware he was talking to her and not just to himself. “Wallace again. I’m don’t know what kind of game the man is trying to play, but it’s wearing very thin with me.”

  “It must be scary to sell a company you’ve built from the ground up.”

  “Wallace does not need your sympathy, believe me. He’ll be more than well compensated for his trouble. He’ll never have to worry about working another day in his life.”

  “And that must be the scariest part of all.”

  Adam frowned. “Well, this deal is going through if I have to put on a Halloween mask and scare the living daylights out of him myself.” His scowl cleared as he tucked the phone into the breast pocket of his suit coat. “I have to leave. Please tell me now if you’ll take the birthday event or not.” He paused to offer an engaging smile. “And remember…you did accept the bribe.”

  “So I did.” She looked at the flowers, then at his expression which was, at least momentarily, intent on her answer. She wondered what kind of heroic measures it would require to distract him from the places he had to go and the things he had to do. With a sigh, she acknowledged that distracting him was a long shot at best and not at all likely to be in her own best interests. “I know I’m going to regret this—and you probably will, too—but okay, I’ll do it.”

  The remaining furrows in his forehead vanished and his smile flashed with a pleasure she felt as if it were her own. “I’m glad.” He offered her his hand and she let him enclose her fingers in a hearty deal-clincher of a handshake across the coffee table. A zinger of a hot flash traveled from his touch up her arm and zapped her heart with a warning. Too late, of course, to be of any use. Her common sense always had to play catch-up with her free spirit. “I hope,” he said, “that this means you’ll answer your phone now when I call you.”

  “When you tell Nell to call me, you mean.”

  He smiled. “It might not always be Nell. You’ll have to answer to find out.”

  “Well, either way, I’m not making any promises. I’ve got about a million things to do in the next few days, myself.” He was moving toward the door and she trailed after him. “The couple who owns this house is coming back Sunday and the place I was supposed to move into sold. Now that I’ve let you persuade me to take this birthday party gig, I’ll need to find somewhere else to stay in Providence. All of which means that if I’m out looking for a place to hang my hat, I may not be able to keep my cell phone full
y charged and ready for your call.”

  “Stay at the Hall,” he offered, opening the door. “There’s plenty of room and it isn’t even an hour’s commute. I’ll put Benson and the Rolls at your disposal.” He stopped, looked down at her, and a sweet, sensual longing filled the air, like the scent of a fragrant flower. “Plus, if you’re there, I won’t have to track you down somewhere else.”

  Proximity, proximity, proximity. If there was one thing she should definitely not do, it was stay in too close a proximity to him. “That’s probably not a good idea,” she said, intending to tell him she’d find something else—a safer, saner place to stay.

  But he leaned in, as if he were going to kiss her, and she forgot why it had seemed important to say anything at all.

  “I’ll send Benson to pick you up. When do you have to be out of here?”

  Mesmerized by the nearness of his lips, by the proximity of his whole body, she gulped and whispered, “Tomorrow.”

  “Benson will be here at noon.” He straightened with a smile. “Don’t forget to pack your party dress.”

  He spun on his heel and was striding toward the car before she had time to blink, much less consider what she’d just committed herself to do. Well, she’d just have to take her chances under the auspicious roof of Braddock Hall and keep her eyes and heart open to the possibilities she might discover there. She’d plan the party to the best of her ability and when it was over, she’d take only the amount of money she felt was a fair wage for her labor—depending, of course, on how the party turned out—and move on.

  After all, how hard could it be to plan a festive, everyone-has-the-time-of-their-life birthday party? With a generous, if not unlimited, budget, even a person who had to start from scratch ought to be able to put together enough food, flowers, fun and fandango to satisfy a couple of hundred guests. Adam hadn’t specified the kind of party he expected. Truthfully, he didn’t seem to have any stipulations past the point of getting her to agree. Why he wanted her, Katie couldn’t even begin to guess, but if he’d asked Ilsa Fairchild to come into the restaurant today for the express purpose of aiding his persuasive efforts—and he apparently had—he’d been determined to gain her services one way or another. Of course, Mrs. If hadn’t said that was her reason for coming in, and she certainly hadn’t expressed an opinion either yea or nay. On the other hand, she had offered to help with contacts or advice should Katie decide to take on the challenge. So why, Katie wondered, shouldn’t she wade into this adventure the same way she did everything else—with enthusiasm and the basic expectation that everything would work out just fine. Even if it turned out badly, the experience would be good for her.

  Which was the thing about collecting experiences, good or bad, she was stuck with them. She couldn’t decide to clean house and just sell off the experiences she didn’t want to keep for a penny a pound at a yard sale. But even as she watched the Rolls-Royce pull away from the curb and speed toward downtown, Katie knew there was a better than even chance that this time around, she could wind up wishing she collected Beanie Babies, instead.

  “THERE WILL BE a guest arriving tomorrow afternoon, Abbott.” Adam made an initial sort through the stack of mail the butler had designated as worthy of his attention. “Her name is Katie Canton and she’ll be staying with us for a few weeks.” He frowned at a glossy envelope and slid his thumb under the seal to open it. A wedding invitation. Sarah Angela Merchant. Wasn’t she the debutante Peter had been dating just a few months ago? Sam, he’d called her. Or maybe Angel. Apparently, they weren’t seeing each other anymore. “Make sure Ms. Canton has anything she needs, Abbott.”

  “Very good, sir.” Abbott was of the old school of butlers, proper, professional and proud. “Shall I put her in the room next to yours?”

  Adam looked up, caught unawares by the butler’s diplomatic question. “No, of course not,” he said, then realized Abbott needed some basic information. “Ms. Canton is the events coordinator who will be planning Grandfather’s birthday celebration. You met her Tuesday. She was here to look around the grounds.”

  “I remember,” Abbott said. “A delightful young woman.”

  “Yes,” Adam agreed absently. “Now that I think about it, she might enjoy a room in the north ell. What do you think?”

  “The guest rooms there have a lovely view of the gardens, sir, and the added advantage of being as far away from the family quarters as possible and therefore…quieter.”

  Abbott, who knew family secrets even Archer probably didn’t, knew exactly what Adam was suggesting. No point in being diplomatic. “Bryce isn’t staying past Sunday, is he?”

  “I don’t believe so, sir, but it’s difficult to know with Mr. Bryce. His plans are often subject to change without notice.”

  Adam frowned, shuffled through the mail again. “While Ms. Canton is our guest, you’ll please keep me informed when my brother’s plans change without notice.”

  “I will, sir.” Abbott nodded his understanding. “And Mr. Peter? Shall I make you aware of any change in his plans as well?”

  “I don’t think…” Adam stopped. If he was assigning himself the role of chaperon, he might as well play it full out. “Yes, Abbott. If Peter’s plans change unexpectedly, please make sure I know about it.”

  “Checking up on me, Adam?” Peter Braddock descended the stairs at a trot, his unruly dark hair newly cut short and in the latest, trendiest style. His clothes were straight out of GQ magazine, right down to the blue sports coat flung casually over his shoulder. Peter was nothing if not photogenic. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

  Adam looked up, taking in his youngest brother’s faultless appearance with a raised eyebrow, but making no comment. “Hello, Peter. How was your trip to Atlanta?”

  “If you’re asking about the building project, my report is on your desk. If, on the other hand, you’re interested in my personal impressions of the city, I’ll give you the highlights at dinner.” He reached the bottom step and set foot in the foyer with a purposeful two-step. “Aren’t you home early? I thought you had a meeting with Wallace late this afternoon.”

  “We were supposed to meet at my office at four o’clock. He showed up at three, claiming someone in his office had phoned and changed the time for the appointment. By the time I got back, it was a quarter of four and he was long gone.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Taking care of something else,” Adam said, not sure why he felt defensive about it and still amazed that he’d actually invited Katie to stay at the Hall. It had seemed a harmless suggestion at the time, a nice gesture to make, but almost before the car door closed behind him, he regretted the impulse and wished he’d given her the chance to say no.

  “Looks like Wallace isn’t as anxious for this deal to go through as we want to believe.” Peter let the jacket slide from his shoulder and caught it smoothly in the crook of his elbow. “Could be he’s getting cold feet about taking that early retirement.”

  It was what Katie had said, too. But Adam was still hot over the missed meeting and didn’t want to think about Richard Wallace and what might, or might not, be his problem this time around. “What are your plans for the weekend, Peter?”

  “You don’t seriously believe I’m going to tell you that, do you?” Peter laughed and clapped Adam on the upper arm. “If I so much as mention I have five minutes free, you’ll have me in your office discussing the layout and design of the Atlanta building…and then you’ll expect me to spend the rest of my weekend sketching out changes. No thanks. This is a family weekend, remember? You, me, Bryce, Grandpop…Dad.”

  “Dad?”

  Peter nodded. “Must be time for us to be introduced to our next and future stepmother because Abbott tells me they’re on their way and will be staying with us until after Grandpop’s birthday.”

  This was news to Adam and he looked to the butler for confirmation. “Mr. James and his fiancée, a Ms. Monica Labelle, should arrive at the Hall sometime tomorrow,” Abbo
tt verified. “It is my understanding they will both be staying through the celebration.”

  You see? Peter’s shrug said with eloquence. “Ten to one, Ms. Labelle convinced him to renovate the Colorado house before the wedding and she’s allergic to the smell of paint. Either that, or she’s thinking she can persuade him to move here so we can all be one, big, happy family.”

  Adam knew that was highly unlikely. James and Archer didn’t see eye to eye on much of anything, hadn’t for years, and the tension ran abnormally high whenever the two of them resided under the same roof. Consequently, James’s trips to Braddock Hall tended to be infrequent and usually of short duration. He’d long ago made a life for himself elsewhere and with limited contact, he got along pretty well with his father and three sons. Most of Adam’s memories involving his father centered around holidays and an occasional vacation trip of one sort or another.

  And the weddings. Adam and his brothers were always invited to the weddings.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Adam said drily.

  “Kind of makes you wish the Hall came equipped with a separate guest house, doesn’t it?” Peter winked at Abbott, whose spine stiffened in response. Abbott had never known quite what to make of the youngest Braddock brother. Perhaps because Peter had been a strapping nine-year-old when he came to live at the Hall and more than a little rough around the edges. Grandmother Jane deserved a great deal of credit for turning that graceless, often sullen preteen into this self-confident and sophisticated young man. Abbott deserved a medal of honor for putting up with him. “Which Step-mommy Dearest will this one make, anyway?” Peter asked. “Are we at lucky thirteen, yet?”

  “Number six, I believe.” Adam didn’t like to think about the number of marriages, and subsequent divorces, James had gone through in the past few years. Reason enough that his three sons—all born to different mothers—were cautious about making commitments themselves. “You may want to see this.” He pulled the glossy wedding invitation out of the stack of mail and handed it to Peter. “I expect you’re the Braddock who is most particularly invited.”