The C.E.O.'s Unplanned Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Adam frowned heavily at his brother in the mirror. “That combination should certainly make your point. Don’t you have ties of your own?”

  “None that go with this shirt.” Slinging the tie across his shoulder, Bryce turned back to Adam. “I’m taking Katie to lunch at the club. You want to come along? Give her advice on what she ought to be doing instead?”

  “A tempting invitation,” Adam said, stuffing his shirttails into his suit trousers with more insistence than necessary. “But as I mentioned, I’m working today. Unlike you…or Katie, apparently.”

  “Why should I work when I have you to do it for me? As for Katie, she’s been working like a trouper, Adam. Ask Grandfather. Ask Dad, if you can get him away from Monica long enough for him to complete a whole sentence. Katie’s even been spending her spare time in town, trying to mediate a temporary truce on the repaving issue before Saturday, just so the only question you’ll have to contend with at the council meeting is the Christmas decorations.”

  “She should stay out of local politics and concentrate on what I brought her here to do.” Adam fastened his belt and picked up his tie—a conservative, navy-and-cream print—already laid out with the suit for his convenience. “If I’d known she was going to be this much trouble…”

  “What trouble? She’s taking care of the party, she’s friendly, she’s polite, she doesn’t eat with her fingers, she’s fun, a good sport and she always has a smile for everyone. Even you. Despite the fact that you’ve been growling like a bear with a sore paw ever since she set foot in this house.”

  “She comes barefoot to dinner,” Adam said before he could stop himself.

  “She does?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” He moved to the mirror to check the knot of his tie.

  “Maybe I have, but isn’t that beside the point? Katie is the first bit of sunshine we’ve had in this place since Grandmother died. Grandfather is almost like his old self again, laughing and whistling while he putters around in the garden. I even heard Abbott humming a showtune the other day.”

  “I hardly think Katie can take credit for all that,” Adam said, although he, too, had noticed a general uplifting of spirits around the Hall. Except for his own. He wished he could relax and enjoy the spurt of frivolity that followed Katie around like a playful puppy. But someone had to be responsible and make sure things got done and that job, as usual, fell to him. Jerking out the too-tight knot, he started over retying the tie. “Especially as she spends most all of her time entertaining either you or Peter, which, as difficult as this may be for you to believe, is not what I’m paying her to do.”

  “If I didn’t know better, Adam, I’d think you were jealous.”

  “Jealous?” he repeated. “Of whom? You?”

  “Yes,” Bryce said. “Me. Peter. Anyone who receives the slightest bit of attention from Katie.”

  Adam laughed without humor and slid the new, improved knot securely between the starched points of his shirt collar. “Believe me, I am not jealous.” Which was a huge lie. He knew it all the way to the pulsing green center of his heart. Ridiculous as it was, impossible as he wished it were, he was so jealous he could hardly see straight. “And if I were,” he said, calling up a cool, indifferent tone as he reached for his jacket, “you can be sure I’d simply steal her away from you.”

  Bryce laughed. “I would love to see you try.”

  “You don’t think I can?”

  “No, I don’t think you’d take the risk of finding out that you could.” Bryce headed for the door. “Thanks for the tie.”

  “I want it back,” Adam called after him.

  Bryce stopped in the doorway, flipped the end of the red tie in a challenge. “You get the girl,” he said with a shrug, “you get the tie.” And with that bit of brotherly provocation—and the tie—he left.

  SUBTLETY DIDN’T WORK. Katie had tried her best smiles on Adam. She’d tried listening attentively when he talked. She’d tried initiating conversation of a more personal nature than how much shrimp the caterer would bring and the last count of acceptances on their RSVPs. She’d tried eye contact and the almost accidental touch of her hand on his arm. She’d tried everything she could think of short of flat out propositioning him…and even if she wanted to try that, she’d probably have to make the initial offering via phone. Or by fax. If it wasn’t electronic or didn’t come out of his briefcase, the man just wasn’t interested.

  She was afraid she might have hurt his feelings over the shoes. But he’d taken her completely by surprise with his whispered, “I have something to give you later.” She’d thought—well, never mind what she’d thought. But never in a million years had she expected to open her bedroom door later and be presented—by Abbott, to add insult to injury—with four shoe boxes, each containing an expensive pair of ridiculously impractical—although pretty—shoes. “Mr. Adam said you needed these,” the butler had said.

  Wrong. Wrong size. Wrong reason. Wrong woman. She’d sent back the boxes, the shoes, Abbott and a note. Please, she’d written. Give these to someone in genuine need. I have two pair already.

  But on reflection, Katie had wondered if she hadn’t been too quick to take offense. He’d undoubtedly meant well, even if he should have known better. But she just couldn’t like the idea that he’d decided she needed something and gone out and bought it for her. She didn’t like that she’d told him she collected experiences, not things, but that what he’d heard was she needed things she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, buy for herself. She didn’t like the underlying presumption that she wasn’t up to Braddock standards if she wasn’t wearing the latest style of leather on her feet. And she especially didn’t like that he found her bare feet not scintillating, or sexy, or even simply interesting, but in need of shoes. She wanted, somehow, for him to accept her as is and not break his neck in his haste to conform her into a Monica, complete with the latest trend in high heels and the snooty attitude of ownership that went with them. That was the real reason she couldn’t accept the shoes. Regardless of his intention.

  She’d put on the Old Maine Trotters the next night because, obviously, it bothered him for her to go without shoes. But then, after a moment of second thoughts, she took them off again before going downstairs. If Adam objected to her bare feet, well, he was just going to have to talk to her, state his reasons, face to face, in person and in private.

  He didn’t.

  Oh, it wasn’t that he didn’t talk to her. He did. He just never let the conversation drift to her feet. He wasn’t home a lot but, when he was, he always seemed to have something to discuss with her. In his study. In private. Although Katie couldn’t figure out why privacy was required since they merely talked for a few minutes about the party—if she were having any problems, if she needed any advice from him—and then, as if he’d been waiting all day for the opportunity, he’d begin telling her about the Wallace deal, what was happening, how things were progressing, and what he hoped this merger would mean for Braddock Industries. He seemed to want to know what she thought, too, although he never came right out and asked for her opinion. At times, she suspected he was trying to figure out if her advice about Wallace had been a fluke or if she really had some special insights. Other times, she was convinced he was playing dodgeball with the attraction that continued to sizzle between them, but which he seemed determined to ignore. When he never picked up a single one of her hints that she wouldn’t mind if he pursued the attraction, she decided he was simply baby-siting her so his brothers would have limited opportunities to pursue her. It was, she thought, exactly the sort of thing Adam would do. The kind of thing he’d feel it was his duty to do. It apparently didn’t occur to him that she wasn’t interested in his brothers. Or that she spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about him, remembering what he’d said and how he’d said it, and wishing he’d stop talking and start kissing her instead. So with a sigh of regret for what she thought might have been a lovely little interlude, Katie wrote off her
attraction to Adam Braddock as a lost cause.

  Which was why, when she answered a knock on her door one evening, Adam was the last person she expected to see. Certainly not with a picnic basket in one hand, a quilt tucked under one elbow, and a smile that made her knees weak. She couldn’t decide if she was more surprised that he was there or that he wasn’t wearing a tie. Or that the top two buttons of his shirt were left undone to reveal a glimpse of manly chest. Or that he’d rolled the sleeves of his white shirt midway up his forearms with a casual lack of precision…although it was a good look for him. Unassumingly masculine. Sexy. Very sexy. His appearance, on all counts, astounded her. But there he was…out of uniform and looking for all the world as if he hadn’t been ignoring her for days.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she answered, cautious. This could be a trick. There could be shoes in that basket.

  “I thought we might go on a picnic.” He held up the basket, as if she might not have noticed it.

  “A picnic,” she repeated, wondering what this guy had done with the real Adam.

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “You and me,” she questioned evenly. “On a picnic.”

  The lazy curve of his smile deepened. “That’s what I had in mind when I asked Abbott to pack this basket.”

  “Just the two of us?” She wanted to be sure he wasn’t asking her and the fax machine. “Alone?”

  His gaze dropped tantalizingly to her breasts, lingered just long enough to interfere with her breathing, then came back to her face. “Unless you have a mouse in your pocket.”

  “The only mouse in this bedroom is attached to a computer…and if it’s going, I’m not.”

  “Good, it’s settled. The computer stays and you, Katie,” his voice dipped to a husky bass, “are coming with me.”

  Whoa there, Nellie. She cooled the sweet, hot rush of her skittering pulse with a healthy dose of skepticism. So the man was quite literally charming her socks off. Didn’t mean she had to capitulate without some show of spunk. “I was just about to go downstairs for dinner.” She pointedly glanced down at her bare feet. He pointedly didn’t.

  “We finally made the deal with Wallace today, thanks in part to your suggestions, and I thought,” he paused, the slightest hint of a shy hesitancy threading through his eagerness, “I hoped you might help me celebrate.”

  Katie recognized the Braddock charm at work. She’d been busy observing this family of males for almost two weeks now and she knew they could be powerfully persuasive. But either Adam was better than the rest of them put together or she was more susceptible to his particular brand of charisma. Dangerously susceptible.

  “Congratulations,” she said, trying for a prudence she was a long way from feeling. “Are you having it gift-wrapped?”

  He seemed lost for a moment in looking at her. “I’m sorry, what did you ask me?”

  “The company,” she said, feeling foolish. “You said you were getting your grandfather a company for his birthday and I said—”

  “Was I having it gift-wrapped.” He finished the sentence for her, nodding, bringing his thoughts back around from wherever they’d been. “Somehow a company—even one so complementary to our own—doesn’t seem like a very thoughtful gift now. Maybe I’ll get him a tie.”

  “Now that I know him a little, I think he’d prefer it if you gave him an afternoon.”

  “More thoughtful, certainly. But also difficult to gift-wrap.”

  “The best gifts often are.”

  He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, as if he had all the time in the world and didn’t want to rush her, as if he’d known her acceptance was a foregone conclusion the moment she’d opened the door to his knock. “So,” he said. “You’ll come with me?”

  “On a picnic,” she said to confirm it one last time.

  “Yes.”

  “Just the two of us.” She wanted to be doubly sure what she was agreeing to before she launched out on this adventure.

  A rakish angle appeared at the corner of his smile. “I only packed enough champagne for two.”

  “Abbott, you mean.”

  His eyebrow went up in a question. “Abbott?”

  “Abbott packed the basket, so technically he only put in enough for two.”

  “No,” Adam corrected. “I went to the wine cellar myself and picked out the bottle. I’m not a huge fan of champagne, but this is supposed to be a very good year. Trust me, we won’t want to share this with anyone else.”

  Trust me. Uh-huh. The plot thickened. She crossed her arms and ran her fingertips across the sleek fabric of her red dress as she considered what he was really after and whether she should go along for this little ride, or call his bluff right here and right now. “You know, Adam, you don’t have to ply me with champagne to get the latest head count for the party. It’s two hundred forty-three and climbing.”

  His brow lowered with a frown. “I thought we only invited two hundred guests.”

  Aha. “I knew the real Adam was hiding behind that picnic basket somewhere,” she said.

  His smile was slow in coming, but so worth the wait. “I’ll make a deal with you, Katie. Unless you want to talk about it, the birthday party and any plans you’ve made for it are taboo subjects tonight. I promise I won’t be the one to mention it.”

  “That’s a pretty rash statement for a guy like you to make.” She was intrigued by the possibility he wanted to discuss something other than business with her…and by his very flirtatious manner. Something, clearly, was on his agenda. “A picnic is bound to last an hour, at least, and that’s a long time for you to spend with me, talking about anything that isn’t business.”

  His shoulder—the one not leaning casually against her door frame; the one attached to the hand that held the infamously mysterious picnic basket—lifted in a shrug. “An hour’s hardly any time at all, but if that’s a challenge, I accept.”

  His tone was softly persuasive, seductive, even…and she—fool that she was—had already turned to putty in his hands. If he actually touched her, she’d probably fall in a soft, mushy clump at his feet. “It wasn’t a challenge at all,” she said, rummaging for her backbone. “But, as they say, if the shoe fits…”

  A poor choice of words, she realized too late. But he merely laughed when she winced. “Shoes are optional on this picnic…as on most all other occasions. I believe I owe you an apology, Katie. I’ve never known any woman with your sense of…style.”

  There. Simple. Direct. An apology of sorts. But with no justification offered. And certainly no admission of being in the wrong. She took a small measure of offense at his tacked-on “style” and used it to stiffen her elusive backbone. But still, she was truly perplexed by this overall change in his behavior, and couldn’t think of any explanation for it. Well, she could think of one, but much as she’d like to, she couldn’t really believe he’d suddenly fallen victim to her charm and decided to seduce her on the spot. “Maybe I should put on a pair of shoes. We might have to cross a stretch of rocky ground to get to our picnic site.”

  “Go barefoot. If the going gets rough, I’ll carry you.”

  Her heart caught at the idea of being in his arms, skipped a beat and rushed on ahead of her imagination. “Well,” she said. “In that case, what are we waiting for?”

  With his free hand, he captured her fingers and folded them within the warmth of his palm. “I was waiting for you to say, yes.” Turning easily, he drew her out into the hall with him and reached in to close her bedroom door behind them. There was a certain finality to that…as if he was symbolically closing the door on the past week and leading her down a hallway that was dim, but led to brighter spaces. Or maybe she was just being overly optimistic as she walked beside him down the hall, her hand securely held in his, their soft footfalls accompanied by a large anticipation and a faint, crystal clinking sound from inside the picnic basket.

  “Should we stop off in the library to let the family know we won’t b
e at dinner?” Katie asked.

  “No,” he said definitely. “Abbott knows, and as for the rest, I expect they’ll be able to guess we’re together.”

  Katie didn’t see how. “Maybe I should stop and tell Bryce, just as a courtesy. He said something earlier about going for a drive after dinner.”

  “There’s no need to do that. Bryce will know you’re with me.”

  There was something about the way he said it. A satisfied note in his voice, a certain tightening along his jaw, a quickening of his steps. “And why will Bryce jump to that conclusion, Adam?”

  He glanced at her and kept walking. He also kept hold of her hand, but perhaps he squeezed it a bit more tightly. “He just will, that’s all.”

  She got the picture. Clear as morning on the horizon. Two brothers. One woman. This wasn’t exactly rocket science. She stopped walking, let her hand slip free of his. “This is some kind of contest, isn’t it? A competition. Which Braddock brother gets the girl tonight. Isn’t that what this sudden change of attitude represents, Adam?”

  He stopped, seemed to consider how to answer. Then, decisively, he set the picnic basket on the floor, turned to face her in the dusky hallway and put his hands gently, but firmly on her shoulders. “Bryce dared me to try and steal you away from him, yes. He also accused me of being jealous, which I denied. But I’ve thought long and hard about it, and concluded he’s right. I’ve behaved badly this week. I could tell you my mind was on the Wallace deal. I could make a dozen excuses, all with some basic element of truth. But the reason—the only reason—I’m here now has nothing to do with Bryce or Peter…and everything to do with simply wanting to be with you.”