The Proposal

by Jennifer Lewis

  Once she ordered the tickets and sent them to her parent’s address, she started on work. The morning flew by and before she knew it, lunch time came. Kris found her at her desk.

  “Hey, Andrea. Do you want to go down to the cafeteria to get food?”

  She blinked. “Lunch already?”

  Kris chuckled. “It’s past 12 o’clock.”

  “Oh.” Shaking her head at her loss of time, she locked her computer and rose, stretching. “Sure. I didn’t bring anything today.”

  As they walked to the elevators, Kris said, “Oh! You’ll never guess what I heard!”

  Though she knew it couldn’t be about her, her stomach still lurched. “What?”

  “Brad from accounting got fired!”

  Trying to keep her face appropriately schooled, Andrea said, “Really? Did they say what happened?”

  Ordinarily she was not one for gossip of any kind. The women at Cross Enterprises seemed to have a gossip tree going; when one found something out, they called the other, and so on until the entire building knew. When they talked about others, she generally tuned them out and barely participated. Kris didn’t seem to notice that she was more interested in it today though and she felt grateful. She didn’t want to tell Kris anything that happened.

  “No one knows why. Apparently though, Deacon met with him on Sunday to fire him! He didn’t even show up to work today. I wonder if he was embezzling?” She mused.

  “Kris, don’t start that talk. He would be in arrested if so.”

  “That’s true. I hadn’t thought of that. Still, you never know,” her colleague added, winking.

  If only Kris knew. It was never coming from her own lips. So, she steered the conversation on to something else and joined her colleague as they got in line to order.

  Conversation as they ate leaned toward benign. Andrea interjected where she could, distracted by the news of Brad’s firing. She didn’t want to talk to Deacon about Saturday night, but now that she learned he fired Brad she thought it only fair.

  She found herself outside his door after lunch, hesitating. Steeling herself, she knocked and earned an entrance. His head was bent over paperwork, but at her arrival he looked up questioningly.

  “What can I help you with, Andrea?”

  She blew out a breath. “I heard you fired Brad.”

  “Yes.” Was all he said, waiting expectantly.

  Fiddling with the fabric of her blouse, she admitted, “I feel guilty, honestly.”

  Something sharp flashed in his face. “Don’t. He deserved it.”

  She lifted her hand, palm up. “It was only a kiss.”

  Deacon looked like he wanted to say more, but only replied, “I don’t want someone working for me that can treat another person like that.”

  The finality in his tone told her he would hear no more. She felt like if she thanked him it would be wrong. So, she nodded and offered him more coffee, which he turned down, expression serious as if more wore on his mind. Before he could talk about therapists, she excused herself and went back to her desk. Work seemed light today. Come mid-week she hoped she would be busier. Anything to take her mind off her current predicaments.

  Work progressed normally; Deacon conducted his usual meetings and she took care of any paperwork. Fifteen minutes before the shift ended, she locked away any unfinished work and closed her computer. Rising, she pulled her purse from the desk and started when a shadow fell across the door.

  “Mr. Cross is...” She stopped, realizing who stood there.

  He filled the entire doorway. Dark hair raised by the wind and damp from the rain, he looked a shade of wild. Those strong shoulders encased in a leather jacket, left open to reveal a dark button down, looked far too tempting. Slim hips giving way to slacks and a simple belt, begged to be touched. Just the hint of stubble across his strong jaw and sculpted cheeks only lent a dangerous air. She hated that he looked so good and she was caught like a deer in the headlights, staring.

  Those gray eyes assessed her face and she wondered what he saw.

  “How are you?” Were his first words.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she managed primly.

  Benton searched her face much in the same way Deacon did. It made her briefly look away in case he saw what he wanted to see.

  Breaking the tension, she said, “Mr. Cross is still here if you want to talk to him. I’ve got to make it to my cab.”

  “Why a cab? Where’s your car?”

  Walking this close to him, she reached for her coat in the closet and could smell the maleness of him brought out by the rain. She wished she didn’t like it. At least with her back to him, he couldn’t tell. It brought back memories of him finding her waking from a nightmare in bed. Color heated her cheeks, so she took longer shrugging into her coat than was necessary.

  Composing herself, she turned to him and hoped her face remained neutral. “It’s in the shop. The breaks gave out as I was getting home from lunch yesterday.”

  “Don’t you tune it up regularly?”

  Lifting her chin, she favored him with what she hoped was a wilting glare. He seemed unaffected.

  “Of course I do. I’m hoping the mechanic can tell me what happened.”

  Something passed through his face. “Where did you take it?”

  “The same place that tunes up Mr. Cross’ cars.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  Gesturing to the door, she said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Why don’t you wait here. I just have to talk to Deacon for a second, then I can give you a ride.”

  Thinking of being in an enclosed space with him, she declined. “No, thank you. I already called the cab.”

  “Andrea. Why waste your money?”

  Frustration ate at her. If she kept denying him, she would seem childish. It proved difficult to come up with a decent excuse when there really was none. She couldn’t tell him she didn’t want to sit next to him, surrounded by the scent of leather and man. They danced a delicate waltz here, and she wanted to deny her attraction to him with every fiber of her being. If he found out... She didn’t know what he would say, but she would be mortified.

  “All right,” she conceded.

  He nodded, moving past her to Deacon’s office. True to his word, they talked a short time and left her boss’ office. The three of them took the elevator together with the last of workers from the top floor. They parted in the lobby; Ryan drove the limousine today, so he would take Deacon home. Which left her as she worried: alone with Benton.

  Chapter Seven

  The rain poured down on them, barraging the Jeep in a relentless cacophony of noise. Cocooned in the warm interior, he didn’t mind it so much. After months of time spent in the unforgiving, dry desert, he enjoyed the wet and the cold of Winter. Growing up not far from the city, he could remember being disappointed in the rain over snow as a child. It was funny what kids got upset about. If only the weather were all they had to worry about now.

  As they sped down the road in silence, Benton cast a glance at Andrea next to him. Her eyes trained stubbornly forward and she hadn’t said more than a few words. A less aware man could have deciphered she felt upset. By now she knew he divulged what she tried to keep to herself. The woman thought she could get past it all without talking about it; even he knew that was impossible - a man that hated asking for help.

  She already made it clear she didn’t want to talk to him. So, he hoped she could talk to someone she trusted more; her friends or her boss. Obviously, she didn’t plan to do that either. For a woman so gently spoken and sparing of others’ feelings, she was by far the most infuriating one he ever met; headstrong and unwilling to listen.

  Eyes leaving the road, he traced the outlines of her face and the arch of her neck. She looked regal as a queen, always put-together and elegant, keeping her thoughts and emotions beneath the calm veneer. But he knew she felt more than she let on. Like the stray curl that escaped the twist of her hair, she held herself always a
little back from everything, as if afraid of what would happen should she let go.

  Benton thought she was beautiful. Even sitting on the toilet, face wiped bare from the wash cloth, he thought she looked lovely. No matter the situation, she kept her head held high and tried to push through it. Always alone though, never asking for a hand to hold her up. He had to admire her bravery, unnecessary though it sometimes could be.

  “Are you going to give me the silent treatment the whole trip?” He asked, as they pulled up a to a red light.

  She looked at him then, blue eyes big in her face. “I wasn’t trying to.”

  “Are you angry?”

  One slim shoulder rose and fell. “No, of course not.” Her lips opened and closed, before she added, “I just wish you hadn’t told Deacon.”

  “What, about Brad?”

  “No, you know that’s not what I mean.”

  Hands flexing on the wheel, he battled guilty briefly. “Someone needs to know, Andrea.”

  “I’m doing fine, Benton,” she deflected, hands twisting in her lap, belying her words.

  “You and I both know that isn’t true.”

  Closing her eyes, she opened them to fix the blazing orbs on his face. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Raising both palms upward, he conceded, “All right.”

  The light changed, and he pulled forward, noting the small space between them was charged with tension. Swallowing a smile, he admitted he liked it when some of that polish wore off and the spitfire bled through. That red hair wasn’t for nothing.

  Color rode high in her cheeks now, and she refused to look at him again. He found it interesting that with everyone but him, she kept her temper. He riled her up easily, and sometimes he wanted to peel away those layers and see what lied beneath. Would she be so alive under his hands? Though he had no right thinking like that, he couldn’t seem to help it lately. The more he was around her, the more he liked her.

  Another glance showed her smoothing her hands along her thighs, those carefully sculpted nails a pale pink that he, at times, thought should be fire red. The act proved she wasn’t as steady as she wanted him to believe. Did he make her nervous? Or did she just want to hit him? He doubted he would ever know.

  Her phone vibrated in her purse. Fishing it out, she answered hesitantly. “Hello?” After a pause, she continued, “Oh, that was quick. Thank you. I can pick it up today, if that’s all right?” She looked to him for verification as much as the voice on the other end of the line.

  He nodded.

  “Okay, see you in a little bit.”

  “Car finished?”

  “I guess so. That was quick. I guess there wasn’t much wrong with it.”

  Taking a quick left to get them in the right direction, he said, “That’s good.”

  The conversation trickled away after that. They drove to the auto shop relatively quickly, and he pulled into a space close to the door so that she wouldn’t have to walk through the rain in those heels.

  After a quick word with the man behind the counter, a mechanic came out to meet them, wiping his greasy hands on a towel. He greeted them both, apologizing for not shaking hands considering their current state. He turned his attention on Andrea after that.

  “Miss, when was the last time you had your car tuned?”

  “Well, just a month ago,” Andrea answered, expression puzzled.

  “The thing is, the brake fluid was completely dry. You’re lucky you stopped at all.”

  “That’s odd...”

  Benton folded his arms. “You didn’t see a puddle anywhere?”

  She shook her head.

  The mechanic looked just as perplexed. “There should’ve been something. Unless someone drained it.”

  Andrea brushed her hand across the top of her hair. “Why would anyone do that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, Miss. Just guessing, is all.”

  “I guess I better keep a closer eye on it,” Andrea murmured, following him to the desk to pay.

  “I’ll bring the car around front for you.”

  Surrounded by the scent of rubber as racks of tires were on display behind them, Benton was more than happy to get outside. As they waited for Andrea’s car, he considered what the mechanic said. The man wasn’t wrong. If the brake fluid came up bone dry, then Andrea should have noticed. The fact that she didn’t bothered him, raising his protective instincts. Why would anyone drain the fluid until the lack of braking could kill her?

  His first thought was the Africans, but they had no reason to bother her. That and they came closer to ridding the world of Kaahin’s men every day. Besides, devious tactics weren’t their modus operandi. They came at everything direct, leaving no doubt who the culprit was. Maybe she simply hadn’t been observant. If she lost it on the way to town, she had no reason to notice. And to his experience, women didn’t glance under their cars very often.

  “I guess I must’ve missed it somehow,” she told him, arms wrapped around herself to stave off the cold.

  “Possible.”

  “Well, I’m just glad it’s fixed. I’ll drive myself home now, Benton. You don’t have to stay.”

  A smile played around his lips. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  She stared at him a beat, rolling her eyes before saying, “No.”

  Pulling his keys from his coat pocket, he said, “Drive careful.”

  “Always. Good night, Benton.”

  Nodding, he took one last look at her before heading to his Jeep. The scent of her perfume lingered in the space, causing his stomach to tighten. Strange how the vehicle felt emptier without her in it.

  For the rest of the drive back to his home, he filled the space with music. By the time he pulled up the road toward the Cross’ gates, it was well after dark. As he slowly approached the towering iron, his headlights cast over another car, a figure standing beside it. Huddled under a coat, he could only make out that the person was male.

  Suspicious, he parked a few feet from it and reached into the glove box, pulling out a gun. At his approach, the stranger straightened and started toward his Jeep. In the headlights, he recognized the stooped posture and the hard lines of the face. Tension easing from his muscles, he could only sigh as he put the gun away and got out.

  “What do you want?” Were the first words out of his mouth.

  “Is that anyway to greet your old man?” A cigarette jutted from one corner of his father’s mouth, as he bit into it around a grin.

  “I haven’t seen you in six months. You aren’t here for a visit. You want something.”

  Jack pulled in smoke and exhaled. “Did it ever occur to you I might’ve just wanted to see you?”

  “No.”

  The older man dropped his head briefly, something sour flashing through his face. “Yeah, well... I got myself in a bit of trouble.”

  Folding his arms, Benton propped his hip against the warm hood of the Jeep. “Yeah, so, what’s new?”

  Hands slipping into his coat pockets, his father shuffled is feet against the ground a few times, not answering. Benton took in his ratty form and wondered why the man found such pleasure in gambling his life away. Moving from seedy hotel to worn down trailer parks, how could he say he was even living?

  Maybe he didn’t understand addiction. Not the kind Jack Grant sought; the bottle and the cards. Over the years, the man lost meaningful relationships, a chance to know his son as he grew and the crumbled, broken remains of his marriage. For what? So he could get in debt over and over, so his son could bail him out and he could turn around and do it all over again?

  “How much?” He demanded, words terse.

  Jack kept his head down a moment, before raising it. “Five-hundred thousand.”

  The amount hit him like a punch to the gut. Over the years, Jack asked for various amounts. None amounted to much over $1000. What sort of mess had he gotten himself into to owe so much?

  “I don’t just have that kind of money la
ying around.”

  “You know someone who does,” Jack tried.

  Benton’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking my boss to loan me that much money, Jack. He isn’t a cash cow.”

  “They’ll kill me if I don’t, Benton.”

  Looking toward the sky, Benton drew in a breath and compressed his lips. “What the hell sort of mess have you gotten yourself into?”