The C.E.O.'s Unplanned Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Across the table, Bryce raised his glass to Katie in salute. “You separated Adam from his cell phone,” he said. “I’m impressed, Ms. Canton. Deeply impressed.”

  “You should be,” she replied, although her smile lacked conviction. “It was quite an accomplishment for a…waitress.”

  Adam took the hit, determined not to let her attitude derail his quite justified indignation. “You might have told me,” he said, hating to believe she’d lied to him so thoroughly.

  Her gaze narrowed. “About working as a waitress? Or as a bartender? Don’t raise your eyebrows. They are both noble professions.” Anger flared in her voice. “I’ve been a secretary, too. Also, a grocery-store checker, a photographer’s assistant, and a dog groomer. I haven’t taken a turn as an exotic dancer just yet, but that could be next. Do you find those occupations as objectionable or is it only serving food and drinks that bothers you?” She pushed her chair back. “Don’t answer that. I believe you’ve made it very plain already.”

  “I think I deserve an explanation.”

  “Try not to be such an arrogant snob, Adam. Difficult as you may find it to believe, that could cause me to lose my good opinion of you. Excuse me, please.” With a tight hold on her anger, she nodded to the others at the table, motioned them all to remain in their seats when they, belatedly, started to rise, and headed for the door.

  Adam let out his breath, realizing only then he’d been holding it in.

  “Katie,” he said sternly, stopping her in the doorway, thinking he had to let her know he would not be lied to.

  She whirled around, fury in every line of her slender body, hurt in the flash of her stormy blue eyes. “What is it, Adam? Did I forget something?” As she spoke, she picked up the nearest pitcher from the sideboard and approached the table. “A refill, perhaps?” She topped off his glass, filling it to the brim with water and ice so that he couldn’t possibly pick it up without spilling. “Anything else?”

  He was angry, too, now. She’d misinterpreted his remark, was acting childishly. As if she were the injured party here. “You should have been honest with me from the beginning.”

  She stared at him for a minute, then dumped the remaining ice water in his lap. “And you, Adam, should learn to listen.” Setting the crystal pitcher on the table with a heavy thunk, she spun on her heels and walked barefoot from the room, leaving a stunned and startled audience in her wake.

  Chapter Nine

  “I wish you could have been here to see the look on his face.” Archer concluded his accounting of the morning’s events, his voice at the other end of the phone line fairly blooming with satisfaction. “I don’t imagine my grandson has ever been so befuddled by a woman in his life.”

  Ilsa thought it was more likely Adam had never been angrier in his life. Proud as he was—as all the Braddock men were—she couldn’t imagine he’d be in a forgiving mood anytime soon. She sighed. Smaller things than a quart of ice water had ruined many a promising romance. “Did he say anything?”

  “Not a word. Just brushed off the ice cubes, waved away the towel Abbott tried to foist on him and stalked from the room. He left for work a few minutes ago…in a different, dry suit and with his nose still considerably out of joint.” Archer chuckled. “I’ll tell you for a fact, Ilsa, I wasn’t sure about Katie the first time I saw her, but I have new respect for your insights. She’s possibly the only woman in the world who can keep my oldest grandson on his toes.”

  “As long as there’s a pitcher of ice water around, I can’t think it would be difficult.”

  Archer laughed in earnest, mistaking her dry comment for a joke. The truth was, Ilsa had very much hoped Katie and Adam were on a path to the genuine discovery of each other and the love of a lifetime, but she feared this incident would be a setback. She couldn’t imagine Adam Braddock allowing anyone to treat him so. The embarrassment alone would be difficult for him to acknowledge, much less any justification for the action. In her heart, she was proud of Katie for standing up to him, even if she was disappointed at this unforeseen turn of events. “Is that all that happened?” she asked, wanting to make sure Archer hadn’t left out some small, but important detail.

  “Well, they all think you and I are an item.”

  “What?”

  “They think you’re my special lady friend.”

  Ilsa was completely taken aback by that bit of leftover information. “You mean they believe we’re more than friends?”

  “James jumped to that conclusion the minute I mentioned I’d invited you to be a houseguest. Adam and Bryce followed his lead like puppies and I have no doubt one or both of them have already had Peter on the phone to bring him up to speed on the situation.” He chuckled with a hearty enjoyment. “I’ve been having a good laugh about it with Janey this morning.” His voice turned wistful. “I’m only wishing, of course, but if she were here, I know she’d be enjoying this even more than I am.”

  Listening to him, Ilsa couldn’t imagine how anyone, especially his son and grandsons, could think another woman would ever claim a significant place in his heart. “I can’t believe James was serious,” she said and recognized the question unintentionally tucked into her voice. “He was probably only teasing you.”

  “He may have started out that way, but you should have seen his face when I told him your name. If he didn’t before, he certainly left the breakfast table mortally afraid that you and I are romantically involved. And don’t go thinking I said anything to warrant such an assumption, because I merely stated the facts…leaving out the real reason you and I have formed our little alliance, of course. My son was pretty shaken up by what he imagines is going on, too, and I think it has a lot more to do with you than because he’s worried about somebody stepping into his mother’s place.”

  Ilsa could read between the lines well enough to know Archer had decided to try a bit of matchmaking himself. Although she didn’t like the idea that he was dangling her in front of James like a prize to be won, she recognized the swift kick of a thrill, too. And she liked that even less. “If you’re going to play matchmaker, Archer, you should be aware there can be serious consequences. James is engaged to be married and not interested in me other than as an old acquaintance.”

  “In a few days, Ilsa, I’ll have lived a full seventy-nine years and I’m not about to spend a minute of the life I have left worrying about consequences. James makes a fool of himself without my assistance on a regular basis. Don’t begrudge me the opportunity to help him do it just this once.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting his fiancée, “ Ilsa said to clarify her position, despite her rather rebellious emotions. “I’m sure she’s delightful.”

  “Delightful isn’t the way I’d describe Monica, but you go ahead and look forward to meeting her. Anticipation, in this case, has reality beat to a standstill.”

  Deciding it was futile to argue, Ilsa returned to the original purpose for his call. “What do you think Adam will do, once he’s cooled off?”

  “No pun intended?” Archer’s humor faded to a more serious note. “He’ll fire her. No doubt about it. I won’t let him, of course. I’ll hit him with all the practical reasons it’s not feasible to change coordinators at this late date, then I’ll persuade her it’s her duty to stay and see the party through to the end. She’s not a quitter and well, she likes me nearly as much as I like her. I think she’d genuinely hate to miss my birthday.”

  Yes. That was Ilsa’s feeling, too. But at this point it was hard to know how far the relationship had progressed or if it could weather this first bout of disenchantment. The main thing she wanted, now, was to persuade Archer not to interfere. “Not every match turns out the way I’d like, Archer. You should be careful not to alienate your grandson in your desire to make this one work.”

  “Pshaw,” he scoffed with a touch of the Braddock arrogance.

  “All I’m saying is that it might be wise to stand back just now.” She offered the advice with little hope of his foll
owing it. “Let Adam and Katie learn to follow their hearts in their own way.”

  “Hands off, you mean.”

  She gentled her voice, hoping he’d take her words to heart. “It is, if you’ll recall, Archer, one of my stipulations.”

  “If you could have seen his face, Ilsa…. He’s fallen as hard and fast for her as I did for my Janey. Adam is in love, probably for the first and last time in his life. I recognize the signs, even if he doesn’t.”

  “Then you only need to let him realize that for himself.”

  He sighed. “There’s always a catch, isn’t there?”

  Her lips found a smile. “You knew in the beginning this wasn’t going to be easy.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Are you sure you can’t come before Sunday?”

  “That’s only a couple of days away and it’ll take me that long to think about this situation and figure out how—and if—I can stir up the possibilities again. Let’s be still and see what develops between now and then.”

  His gruff chuckle was resigned, but confident. “And that’s exactly what Janey would say.”

  “I’ll see you on Sunday and, in the meantime, please try to avoid the temptation to act as matchmaker.”

  “For Adam and Katie? Or for James and…you?”

  “Both,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.

  But his laughter as he bade her goodbye was far from reassuring.

  “I WANT TO SEE Lara in my office,” Adam said as he passed Nell’s desk without slowing his agitated stride one iota.

  “Now?” Nell called after him, clearly alarmed by his mood.

  “No,” he snapped, out of patience with the world. “Five minutes ago.” He tossed his briefcase onto his desk and strode to the window, growing angrier by the second. Damn females. All of them. Everywhere. They’d all been put on earth just to aggravate him. Learn to listen. As if they made any sense to begin with. As if they could make a point without resorting to dumping a pitcher of ice water in a man’s lap. He could still feel the chilly humiliation, more than an hour later. And to accuse him of being a snob. Him! She was the one in need of lessons on how to treat another person with respect. She was the one who needed to learn to listen. She was the one who…

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Lara’s voice from the doorway was solid, no-nonsense, and openly curious. He didn’t bother to turn around, mainly because he knew she’d read something into his expression that wasn’t there. “How quickly can you get a background check done?”

  “Depends who it is and what you want to know.”

  “Background,” he said sharply. “A personal history from age zero to…well, to whatever it is now. Family, education, jobs, friends, previous relationships…everything.”

  Lara, being Lara, picked up on his one slip of the tongue. “Previous relationships?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry, so completely furious with another person—Katie, of course—or so upset at the way he was handling his emotions. Or not handling them. “I want a dossier on Kate Canton on my desk before the ink has time to dry on the paper.”

  “Okay.” Lara’s tone was hesitant and just on the safe side of amused. “She’s the party planner you hired, isn’t she?”

  “She is. Any other pertinent questions?”

  “I believe that is considered pertinent, Adam. Occupation is a good place to start when researching someone’s life.”

  “In that case, you should look up waitresses, too.” He felt a pang at saying it that way, as if he was upset because of what she did for a living. And he wasn’t. He was upset because she’d lied to him about it.

  “She worked as a waitress?” Lara was already enjoying his misery a little too much. He could tell by her voice.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said, turning. “It’s a noble profession.”

  She didn’t even try to conceal her smile. “Noble?”

  “It’s an honest way to make a living,” he snapped. “Do you have something against waiters and waitresses?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve done my time waiting tables and made some good money doing it.” She paused, trying to assess his strange mood. “But I never thought of it as particularly noble.”

  “You’re wasting my time, Lara. I want that information.”

  “I’ll call Nelson. If she’s been anywhere on the Internet, he’ll have her profiled in a matter of minutes.”

  Adam frowned. “I wouldn’t count on it being that easy.” With a touch of his hand, he buzzed Nell. “Get me the occupancy projections for the Boston office building.” He’d switched off, before he belatedly remembered to punch in her intercom number again and offer a conciliatory, “Please.”

  Lara was still in the doorway, curiosity etched all over her lovely face, but at his glance, she turned to go.

  “Lara,” he stopped her. “While you’re at it, find out what you can about Ilsa Fairchild, too.”

  Her carefully arched eyebrows lifted. “Kate Canton. Ilsa Fairchild,” she repeated as if etching the names in her memory. But what she was really after was his reasons for wanting the information. He knew it, and she knew that he knew. “Hmm. Two women whose names have been floating around this office lately like rumors. What are you up to, Adam?”

  For a moment, he thought about confiding in her. But only for a moment. “Six foot four and still growing,” he said. “Now get out of my office and prove you’re worth the exorbitant salary I pay you.”

  “And then some,” she said and closed the door behind her. She opened it again almost before it latched. “Do you have a social security number?”

  “I thought you’d have that memorized. You probably have occasion to refer to it more than I do.”

  “Not your social security number, Adam. It would be helpful, although not strictly necessary, to have one for the women you want investigated.”

  Investigated. The word sounded so invasive, so not what he wanted to do. But he had to know. The safety of his family was his responsibility. “I don’t know,” he said, picking up a report off his desk. “Ask Nell if she has it. She wrote out the retainer check for Katie…and who knows how many thousands of dollars more for the party.” The thought that he’d trusted Katie so completely was amazing to him suddenly. It had never once occurred to him to question her. He’d been so determined she would work for him, he hadn’t even taken basic precautions. He’d instructed Nell in the beginning to give Katie anything she asked for and now his stomach knotted in disappointment that she might have, probably had, done much more than lie to him. He’d certainly given her the perfect opportunity. “I doubt Nell will have Mrs. Fairchild’s social security number, but it amazes me sometimes what she has in that computer.”

  “I’ll check with her.” Lara closed the door again, but was back within a few minutes to hand him the occupancy projections and a bit of information. “No retainer,” she told him crisply.

  “What?” He looked up from the report he hadn’t been reading.

  “Your events coordinator hasn’t requested so much as a cough drop.”

  That was odd. But his black mood lightened instantly to a cautious gray. “I distinctly remember telling her to call Nell and arrange to pick up a check.”

  Lara shrugged. “She never called. Unless someone else has been paying her, she hasn’t received a single dime to date.”

  He frowned. “Nothing for caterers, supplies for the party?”

  “Not through Nell.”

  But through Nell was about the only way his money was ever disbursed. He used cash and credit cards, but Nell paid the bills. At home, it worked much the same, with expenditures handled mainly by Ruth or Abbott, subject to either his or his grandfather’s okay.

  “I’ll have to check on that,” he said, although he couldn’t fathom who he might check with. He would have known if the money was tapped from the household accounts. His grandfather wouldn’t expect to carr
y the cost of his own birthday party and would have questioned Adam about any request for funds. Certainly James wouldn’t volunteer to pay, and it wouldn’t occur to either Bryce or Peter that their older brother didn’t have the monetary issues all under control. So unless Nell had made a mistake, which was highly unlikely, Katie hadn’t been paid. Hadn’t, in fact, asked to be paid.

  Lara left again and Adam let the report drop back onto his desk. Turning to the broad expanse of window, he gazed unseeingly out at the river and the sure signs that spring was fading into summer. He should, he supposed, be wondering if Katie had made any preparations at all for the party, if she’d lined up even the most basic resources needed to put together an event worthy of being called a Braddock party. But he wasn’t truly concerned about that part. Bryce had said she was working on it and there were suppliers all over Rhode Island who were eager to work for his family. He couldn’t imagine that even one of them would worry if they weren’t paid in advance. It was Katie who occupied his thoughts. Katie, who hadn’t even made a phone call to request the wage he’d agreed to pay her. Katie, who collected experiences instead of material things.

  And just that quickly his anger was gone, replaced by a subtle and soothing relief. It was too soon, would be too impulsive to give up his suspicions entirely—plus he felt a little embarrassed that a lack of mercenary evidence could so quickly change his opinion. There were other things to consider, of course. But images of Katie, snippets of things she’d said were moving from the shadows of his mind, bringing with them a tender and tenacious longing, an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Or perhaps wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

  He wasn’t wholly ready to forgive her either. She had poured a pitcher of ice-cold water all over him only a couple of hours ago. He didn’t believe he’d deserved that. Not even if he were an arrogant snob, which he wasn’t. But she was, or had been, a waitress when he met her and she had no business going around passing herself off as an events coordinator. Maybe she and Ilsa Fairchild were in this ruse together.