Page 18 of The Re-Proposal

“Does it belong to her? The girl you’ve been in love with for a decade?”

“Hand me the files for the severance packages. I need to adjust something.”

Vargas does as I ask, but he doesn’t drop the subject. “It’s her, right? You met her. That’s why you were off your game with Winifred. That’s why you’ve been stroking that stick in your pants—”

“Come on, Vargas. Language,” I mutter.

He scowls at me. “I’m saying this for your benefit. Buying your first love a store full of designer shoes isn’t going to make her run into your arms.”

“How do you know that?” I glance up at him, an eyebrow arched. “I’ve dated other women who were glad to take gifts from me.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Bolton. You don’t date other women. You toy with them. And your gifts are parting presents. The only ones who don’t recognize that are the ladies getting their hopes dashed.”

I open the file and scan it, not bothering to respond.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I know her name now. I can look her up. Clarissa Maura. Sounds pretty.”

My eyes flash to his.

Vargas smirks as if he won some kind of game. “What? She’s too precious to google?”

“You’re pushing it.”

“The Ice King has a weakness.”

“And you have a big mouth.”

“You melt at the mere mention of her name. What else do you call that?”

“Wipe that grin off your face or you’re fired,” I mumble.

“I wish you’d fire me,” Vargas grumbles to the window. “Then I wouldn’t have high blood pressure and cholesterol.”

“You have high cholesterol because you eat bacon with every meal.”

“Hey, bacon is a food group.” He frowns. “Get off my neck, Bolton.”

I let out a chuckle. Vargas sometimes feels more like a fussy older brother than an executive assistant.

“Hey, Vargas?”

“What?” he grumbles.

“Know where I could buy a live giraffe?”

* * *

Abe’s viewingparty isn’t being held at Clay’s estate. Instead, the GPS leads me to Darrel Hastings’ farmhouse.

Since Clay will be there, Doberman and his team get the evening off.

Which means I get to breathe a bit.

The farmhouse is set on a sprawling acreage with plenty of trees and a trail that disappears into a grove. I note the Victorian-style pillars, ornate railings, and varnished wood. The rustic finish doesn’t fool me. Thanks to my real estate portfolio, I can tell that Hastings paid top dollar for this property.

Music thumps loudly. Just beneath that is the sound of laughter, childish squeals, and happy chatter.

My arms full of gifts, I saunter to the porch.

---