Page 40 of Change Your Play

Where are we going?

“Keep going,” he encouraged me. “Okay.Now.”

I pulled the blindfold off and blinked in the sudden light of the sun. Lazy evening sunshine stretched from wide windows. I gazed out of them, stupefied, to see the training field below.

The War Room?

But it wasn’t the War Room. No, it was better.

The windows had a fresh coat of white paint, no longer the brittle, chipped surfaces I’d gazed longingly at. To the right wasn’t the crappy desk they’d hurried to rush in there. It was a real desk, cherry oak with a gorgeous gleam, and all the finishings on top. To the side, a projector connected to an enormous whiteboard. Everything professional, everything I needed, everythingme.

The real prize of the fair was the coffee bar.

Cherry oak to match the desk, the coffee bar languished in its own corner. The pristine machines, the polished trays, the little Marrs mugs.

My breath caught in my throat, staring at the whole thing.

I swallowed. “They’re making me head intern?”

“You got it, baby.”

“I…I’m head intern?”

“You bet you are,” Miles murmured.

Disbelief didn’t rock me. Satisfaction did. I worked myassoff for that position. I took every call, I took every note, I cleaned up every image for thechance. And head intern was a guaranteed spot on the Marrs University public relations team for life.

But I gazed out at the room for a very different reason. “Youdid this.”

“I definitely did not promote you.”

“No—Miles, you did this. You upgraded the War Room for me.”

“That I did. Everybody kept trying to convince me to go cheap with the materials, but there are pretty good sealing solutions you can buy with granite. Varnished wood too. My uncle knows a guy. Now, the coffee corner needs to be resealed once every six weeks—”

“Every six weeks?”

“And everybody said, she’s not going to care, and I said, if you think she won’t care about fingerprints, you don’t know Cleo.”

Stunned, I took a deep breath.

It wasn’t like I couldn’t have gone to the coffee shop in the training center. Miles knew that. But he went above and beyond to make sure that even in the middle of my future War Room meetings, I’d never be without my white drizzle mocha. Without my little cup of happiness that made the long days bearable.

“Hey, vixen?” Miles called to me. “Can you turn around? I don’t have my knee pads on.”

“Your knees?” I knew where that conversation would go, and I was about to remind him that there were at least a dozen windows in the office when I glanced back. “Miles?”

He was on his knees, a gorgeous grin on his face, and a little black box in his hands.

My mouth fell open.

“Are you coming closer?” he teased.

“What…what are you doing?”

A chuckle escaped him. “What’d you think I’m doing?”

It was silent in the War Room, the quietest I’d ever experienced in it. My heart hammered in my chest, no doubt loud enough for both of us to hear. Miles didn’t say anything though, he kept the box in his hands.

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