Page 4 of Perfect Proposal
My boss’s response froze me in place. “The question you should be asking me is whether or not you want to come with me.”
Tingles of awareness crawled up the back of my neck as if Burke’s nails had just scored my neck. I swallowed with some difficulty. “Do you want me to?” I finally managed to get out.
With a negligent shrug, as if it ultimately didn’t matter what I decided, Burke dismissed me by turning back to a contract on the desk. “You have two weeks to decide, otherwise I’ll need to post the position to someone else.”
Even though I kept doing the job I was hired to do for Wildcard and Burke, I was a seething cauldron of emotion. As a senior paralegal with a specialty in rights and clearances, I knew I had a commodity that was difficulty to replicate in my chosen field. I graduated from UCLA with a dual degree in cinematography and fine arts and held a master’s degree in legal studies from Perdue. The more I thought about it, the more infuriated by it I became.
Turning the corner, I walk down toward our offices near Rockefeller Center. It was late one night, two weeks later three years ago, when we were working on a new deal for Elfinie Bischoff that my temper boiled over. Fortunately, we were the last two in our division working when I exploded and set off a chain of events that led to our now.
Incensed, I yelled, “I drafted sections of those damn contracts, Burke.”
All I got in return was an arch of her perfectly curved brow and a twitch of amused lips. “And?”
“And, I think it’s high time you show me some damn appreciation for what I do for you other than a pat on the back,” I demanded hotly. “I deserve some recognition.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I understand.”
“Well then?”
“Meet me downstairs for dinner in thirty minutes. We’ll discuss it then. Right now, I have to finish this contract before they’re ready to finish my exit interview and escort me from the building.”
Like a slap across the face, I realized it was Burke’s last day and no one did a damn thing to show their appreciation.
Not even me.
Feeling selfish and foolish, I started to turn away when Burke’s voice calling out my name stopped me. “Yes?” I answered.
“Maybe I never said it enough, showed it enough, but I couldn’t do this without you.”
Such simple words, and they meant everything to me. “Can I turn back the clock on the last few weeks?” I asked quietly.
My heart shriveled in my chest when she said quietly, “No, but you can meet me downstairs for dinner if you don’t already have plans. Then we’ll talk.”
The breeze between the skyscrapers picks up, lifting the ends of my scarf off my coat. Turning the corner, I spy the building that houses our office near Rockefeller Plaza. Picking up my pace, I remember the nervous anxiety pulsing through me as I paced the lobby until I heard the sound of footsteps on the polished marble entryway. Burke’s lips were curved as one of the evening security guards walked next to her—likely telling her all about his grandkids, I think with a touch of amusement. For all she’s a sharp, demanding, take-no-prisoners attorney, beneath it is a heart of pure gold that draws people in.
Like the way she’s had my devotion since the day we met because that’s all I could give her while I worked for her at Wildcard. I didn’t know how I was going to handle not having the chance to be near her every day. It was a proverbial punch to the gut that sent bile swirling in my mouth.
As she slipped her badge over her head—the final act of her employment at Wildcard—I realized I was gutted on every molecular level. And it was made worse when I realized the tiny little sprite was carrying her own carton of personal possessions.
I approached slowly as they shook hands. As the guard departed, he called over his shoulder, “Come back to see us soon!”
“I will, Otto!” she called back before she almost rammed into my stomach with the banker’s box. “Umph!”
Snatching it away, I said heatedly, “Where are you parked?”
“The garage, but you don’t have to…”
“Let’s go,” I said brusquely. “Then you can take me to dinner.”
We ended up at this incredible restaurant with the most decadent desserts I’d ever tasted. I vehemently protested when I wasn’t allowed to pick up the tab. But Burke merely smiled when she handed our server the billfold. “Let me do this for you, David. I was never able to before. Company rules and whatnot.”
And then I saw it.
Felt it.
Fuck, had it been there the whole time buried beneath corporate bureaucracy and HR policies? As Burke’s—Carys’s—delicate fingers moved to pull back, I reacted without a sense of logic. Before I could understand how, they were trapped beneath my own. “How long?” I asked quietly.
One of the things I always liked about her being my boss was the complete lack of bullshit in our relationship. And now since that barrier wasn’t there, she didn’t suddenly introduce games—much to my relief. “How long have I had feelings for you?”
