Page 7 of The Re-Proposal

I briefly contemplate sticking around so I can meet the owner myself, but I decide not to push my luck. With the stuffy, uber-rich CEO types, it’s better to make an appointment rather than ambush them with proposals.

I head left and crash through the emergency stairwell, heeding Winifred’s warning about the elevator. My ankle throbs when I see all the stairs I have to walk down. With a sigh, I gingerly begin my descent.

After one floor, I’m sweating.

After two floors, I’m done.

The mysterious new owner of the company must have arrived by now. I’ll take an elevator to the lobby. Winifred isn’t omnipresent. It’s not like he can arrest me for not using the stairs.

I open the emergency door and glance inside the office. This floor has lots of lights, grey carpets and cramped cubicles, most of which are empty. Their occupants must be upstairs, showering their new boss in confetti and champagne.

Ridiculous.

I cross the room but, by the time I get to the elevator, the throbbing is undeniable. Taking the stairs was definitely a bad idea.

Since I’m alone, I slip my foot out of my shoe and inspect my ankle. My brown complexion makes it hard to see any bruises developing. At least it doesn’t look broken. Hopefully, it’s just a sprain.

I squeeze my toes, noting that there isn’t any pain.

So it’s just my ankle then?

At that moment, the elevator dings and the doors open.

I drop my foot, face burning with embarrassment.Did this guy see me massaging my toes like a lunatic?

Geez, I hope not.

Without lifting my head, I stuff my feet haphazardly into my flats. I’m so jittery that I don’t bother pushing it in properly and half-shuffle, half-limp forward, nearly walking right out of my shoes.

The air around me changes when I get close to the stranger. It’s the weirdest thing. Like the stirrings of a flame dancing over my skin.

“Clarissa?” A voice I haven’t heard in years rumbles around me.

My heart lurches to my throat.

The blood drains from my face.

No.

Not now.

Not here.

Not when I’ve had the most embarrassing day of my life.

I think of that night ten years ago…

Okay, second most embarrassing day of my life.

The stranger steps forward, bringing the scent of mint and spice. My insides tingle and I take a deep breath.

For a moment, I just stand there, my fingers tight around my laptop case and my body tense.

Then I glance up slowly, taking note of a broad chest and shoulders perfectly fitted in a navy dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Dark blonde hair, tousled. Eyes the color of spring, this glittering green-gold, like the leaves on the daises that painted my ugly childhood home with much-needed vibrancy.

Time has changed some things—there are a few wrinkles around his eyes and bracketing his lips—but those eyes, that deep voice, and that lethal charisma are the same.

It’s him.

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