Page 24 of The Proposal
“I mean, we all get distracted sometimes,” I say, sighing.
Astrid rambles on about what good customer service means and its importance to business.I get it. I like good service as much as anyone. But sometimes Astrid gets tooby the book,and I have to remind her that real human beings are involved.
She doesn’t have this problem with my younger sister, Bianca.
Bianca and I mostly share a personal assistant because I feel pretentious for having one and don’t give her enough to do. She worked for me virtually while I was overseas, but now helps me in person. Is it nice having someone available to coordinate the landscape crew, return calls I don’t want to deal with … and send dinner clothes to me when I jump on a plane from Miami to Vegas for a birthday weekend? Absolutely. Is it necessary? Nope.
On the other hand, my sister is much better at doling out tasks. She has no qualms about having Astrid take over her personal life while she sits at Dad’s right hand and helps run the family businesses. And I get it—Bianca is probably busier than I am. Smarter than I am. More successful than I am. But I still think she could do some shit herself.
“Did she even send a black outfit?” Astrid asks.
I step away from the mirror and find my cologne. “Yes. Even my underwear is black.”
“That’s more info than I need.”
I chuckle. “How much did you tip the salesgirl?”
“Enough.”
“Astrid…” I say, teasing her.
“For fuck’s sake, Renn.”
She laughs. “Don’t forget that you have a charity game at the end of the month. You got a packet in the mail today about it, reminding you to share it on your social media and giving you the details about the charities it supports. I added it to your calendar since you verbally agreed and didn’t give me details.”
“Hey, look on the bright side. I told you about it, at least.”
“That would be a bright side if you had. Except you didn’t.”
Fuck. I put her on speakerphone and apply a few squirts of cologne. “I’m sorry. Gabe Henderson called me a few months ago and said he was trying to start this foundation andblah, blah, blah. What was I supposed to do?”
“You say yes.And then you tell me about it.”
“Want me to send you a selfie to make you feel better? That always seems to help irritated females.”
“Sure. I’ll use it as a dartboard.”
“That’s mean.”
She only laughs.
I dig around the bags from the boutique Astrid sent the clothes from and find my belt.
Her mention of the charity game reminds me that I need to call Gannon and get him to cut a check from Brewer Group as a donation.Since he’s so worried about my image and all—he can put his money where his mouth is.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll let you get back to your night. Any plans?”
“Oh, that wasn’t begging, Ren. I can be a lot more persuasive than that.”
That line has gone through my head a hundred times already.
If Blakely were anyone else, I’d have her bent over the bed by now. Then again, if she were anyone else, I wouldn’t be this messed up about it.
I weighed the risk versus reward for about five seconds earlier. Is there any way I could get away with fucking Blakely and not have Brock rip my throat out? The answer was a resoundingno. But even when I pretended there was a chance, something was wrong with that picture.
The thought of having Blakely in my bed makes me lose my mind.Naked. Spread open. Moaning my name as she comes on my cock.But the idea of seeing what I’ve seen in other women’s eyes when they have to leave makes me ill.
Blakely’s not like that. She’s a treasure, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I could actually fuck a woman and not give a shit afterward.
