Page 98 of The Re-Proposal

It all seemed… so beneath him.

Looking at the long line of trucks that flank the co-op, I’m starting to realize that the cluelessly affluent college boy turned into a cluelessly affluent billionaire.

Same Cody.

More zeroes behind his name.

“You’re saying,” I swallow hard, “that all of this is for me?”

“It’s under care of Clarissa Maura, yes. I’ve said this three times.” The driver at the front of the line has been arguing with me for the past ten minutes. He’s understandably testy now. “Look, lady. There are a bunch of men back there who need to get to their next delivery.” He gestures behind him. “So just sign here so my guys and I can install the computers.”

“But we didn’t order any computers,” I snap. “I’m telling you there’s been a mistake.”

He rolls his eyes to the blue sky as if he wants nothing more than to throw me off a cliff. “Like I said, lady, it’s been paid for. Can you step aside so we can install it?”

I slam my hand on my hips and remain in place.

The pain cream.

The re-stocked fridge.

The notes.

They’ve got Cody’s sticky fingerprints all over it, but they were still small gestures. This? A parade of semis out to deliver thousand-dollar goods like we’re kids on Christmas morning?

This is too much.

Ms. Phoebe’s footsteps pound toward me.

I whirl on her. “Did you get him?”

“Mr. Bolton’s not answering.”

Laura nudges my side with her elbow. “Why don’t you just accept it?”

“Laura.”

“When will we ever get another opportunity like this?”

“We don’t just accept donations,” I say stiffly. “There are proper channels—”

“Come on, Clarissa. Think of how excited everyone will be when they see this stuff? I heard they’re bringing sewing machines, office supplies, new furniture. One of the delivery guys said they have an industrial oven. Did you hear that? Anindustrial oven.Think of how excited Erica will be.”

My heart wobbles, but I hold firm. “It’s too much.”

Ms. Phoebe watches me silently.

“Besides, Cody can’t just drop off expensive gifts at our doorstep. We have to file paperwork. We have to get approval from accounting…” Turning, I meet Ms. Phoebe’s eyes. “Am I wrong?”

“We can write up the papers later.”

“Really?” I squeak. “You’re taking his side?”

“Come on, Clarissa. The trucks are blocking traffic.” Laura swings my hand back and forth. She pushes out her bottom lip. “Please, can we accept it? Please?”

With a dark frown, I grab the pen and scribble.

The driver looks relieved.

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