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Michael
S he’s holding back, I can tell. I can see the anger in her eyes when she talks about her ex and him cutting out on her a week ago. But she doesn’t go into details. Damn. I expect for her to bash him, and I wouldn’t mind—he deserves it—but she only coolly tells me he’s out of the picture and she was left with the debt for planning the wedding.
And most likely a broken heart. I don’t have to be a genius to know most women wait for their weddings their entire lives. Once they’re engaged, they live and breathe wedding dresses, tulle, flowers, honeymoons, veils, and cakes. Their entire lives become their weddings.
But Brianna doesn’t give anything away. She just sits calmly, sipping her coffee, and assessing me over the rim of her mug. With eyes the color of chocolate—melted milk chocolate.
Damn. I hadn’t seen her eyes in the bar last night. My fault, really, as I’d been distracted by her long legs, her tiny waist, and yeah—her breasts. I’d nearly gotten a hard-on showering this morning because I’d thought about her long, honey blonde hair swishing over her shoulders, just touching the tops of her breasts…
“That’s all,” she says, snapping me back to attention. “My sad story.”
She says it with a wry grin, clearly making fun of herself. I like it. That she can make light of something that had probably broken her heart. That she didn’t run away at my weird request.
But then, I’m not a threat. After all, she thinks I’m engaged. Or with someone.
The ridiculous thing is, her story, her presence—all of it—has pretty much guaranteed I’ll be with someone by the end of the day. I want Brianna. And clearly she needs me.
Or my money, at least. But we can negotiate.
“So she’s not your fiancée?” Brianna asks. Before I can answer, she grimaces. “No, wait—that’s none of my business. I just spilled my guts to you, of course, but you didn’t say you’d reciprocate, so really—”
“Hold on.” Her eyes lock on mine. “I’m making it your business.”
Those chocolate eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because I’m hoping you’ll help me with something.”
“I’ll give you the entire wedding experience—that was the deal, right?” She grins. “But it’s going to cost you.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
She smirks. Of course, anyone who knows me knows that money isn’t a problem. Brianna isn’t stupid, she knows I’ll pay whatever she wants—it’s pocket change. She just doesn’t know what else I want right now.
“Okay, what do you want help with? Figuring out how to ask her? I might not be the best help—remember? I got dumped.”
I don’t miss the hint of bitterness in her tone. And for a brief moment, I find myself wanting to reach out and touch her. To comfort her. To tell her not all men are like that, she just wasn’t with the right one. That things don’t have to be like that.
Especially if she takes me up on the offer.
“What’s your dream proposal?” I ask.
She lifts her eyebrows, surprised by the question. “Why?”
“Just curious. In case I need to ask someone to marry me sometime soon.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, just be sincere. I…” She looks away, watching people cross the street. She’s playing it pretty cool, but I see a suspicious glitter in her eye. “I like to be surprised. It doesn’t have to be dinner or something fancy, just a moment—one sincere moment where we can look in each other’s eyes and know we’re making the right choice. The rest is just details.”
“That easy, huh?”
“That easy. So, are you going to ask her soon?”
I rub the back of my neck, trying not to laugh. Brianna has no idea what’s coming—I almost feel bad for keeping her in suspense. But the other half of me is certain she’ll say no. Which would be a damn shame because I’m actually beginning to like this woman.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask.
She leans in, her lips curving. “Yes.”
“There is no fiancée. No girlfriend, not even a potential girlfriend.”
Her eyes cloud with confusion. “But…the magazines—”
“Were wrong. And the papers, too. I…sort of made her up. Someone general. I was sick of my family and my partners nagging me about settling down, so I said I already had. Sort of. And from there, well…the story took on a life of its own.”
“Wait…there isn’t anyone?”
“No.”
“Then—then why do you need all my wedding stuff?”
“Because I’m hoping there will be a wedding.”
“With…who?”
I lean back in my seat, my eyes locking on hers. I feel the heat in them, the way my body is responding to hers because she’s still leaning toward me with questions on her face. Hell, I want this woman.
“That’s the part I’m hoping you can help me with.”