The Perfect Proposal Read online

  The Perfect Proposal

  By

  Rhonda Nelson

  Copyrights

  eBooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of these works.

  This book is an original publication of the author who wrote the story herein contained.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  “The Perfect Proposal” copyright © 2011 by Rhonda Nelson.

  This book has been published by Rhonda Nelson at Smashwords.

  Cover Art by Dee Tenorio, Laideebug Digital

  Formatting by Laideebug Digital, www.laideebugdigital.com

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  She’d been dumped.

  By duller-than-dirt Edward.

  And it had to happen on the mother of all bad days.

  In quick succession Annie Witherspoon sucked a lemon wedge, licked the salt from her wrist, then tossed back another shot of tequila. Her eyes watered and the Cuervo scaled her tonsils, but she scarcely noticed. After shot two, she couldn’t feel her throat anyway. Besides, she was too busy feeling sorry for herself. After all, it wasn’t just every day that a woman’s personal and professional life went to hell in a hand-basket.

  With a beleaguered moan, Annie tunneled her fingers in her hair and massaged her tingling scalp. Edward, she knew, she could do without. She’d known from the onset of the relationship he wasn’t the one, whether or not there would ever be a one and she definitely had some serious doubts about that. Just part of her cynical charm, Annie told herself, smiling wryly. And really, the end result was the same, so what did it really matter who dumped whom? Technically, it didn’t...but it was decidedly less pathetic to be the dumper as opposed to the dumpee.

  Under normal circumstances, Annie would have consoled herself with the old at-least-I’ve-still-got-my career balm. Her trusty standby for when things inevitably didn’t go her way.

  Which was often.

  But unfortunately-as of today-even that comforting thought was no longer true. If Mitch Hightower, her boss’ jet-setting, skirt-chasing, global playboy nephew had his way, Annie’s glory days at Hightower Advertising would be over. The very idea that he could just waltz in and snatch her rightful position based on nothing more than some shared DNA made Annie's unrelated blood boil.

  She frowned thoughtfully as she pondered her present circumstances. Too bad Will was such a fair-minded person, Annie thought, thinking fondly of her friend and mentor. Regrettably, William Hightower had decided to give his nephew a second chance at assuming the helm of the prestigious Atlanta agency, a job Annie had both coveted and trained for over the past five years.

  Because she thought so much of William, Annie had tried to understand his perspective, and she supposed deep down she could. But that didn’t change the fact that she’d worked long and hard for the position, and now she might lose it to a man who had simply walked away from the family business years ago.

  It was more than wrong, it was unjust.

  “Want me to call you a cab?” the bartender she’d come to know as “Tank” over the past four drinks asked, interrupting her depressing thoughts. A ham-sized arm flexed with muscles she couldn’t name as he wiped down the bar.

  “Hey, baby, I’ll drive you home,” the guy on the stool next to her offered before Annie could respond.

  Tank shot the man a warning glare. “Can it, Dick. You can’t even drive yourself home.”

  Dick—appropriately named in Annie’s opinion—scowled and returned to his drink. Dejected once more, Annie sighed and ordered another shot. Misery loves tequila, she thought gloomily, and tossed back the shot Tank accommodatingly slid her way.

  Mitch Hightower slung his jacket over his shoulder and exited the hotel restaurant with the intention of going to his uncle’s home. Instead, and much to his relief, his feet took him to a secluded table in the back of the hotel bar. He hoped the real estate agent would come through soon. Mitch knew from experience that hotel life got old in a hurry.

  After ordering a drink, he released a tired breath and surveyed the crowd of barflies. Damn. What the hell was he doing here? He’d promised William he would drop by tonight so that they could discuss his impending takeover, yet for reasons which still escaped him, he couldn’t seem to make the drive over to Dunwoody. Mitch let out a weary breath and passed a hand over his face. Perhaps knowing that Uncle William wasn’t in the peak of health anymore—and having just lost a friend and business partner who had been—made him reluctant.

  Uncle Will had always been larger than life, a veritable force of nature. He’d been an anchor of Mitch, especially after the death of his parents and, though over the past few years they hadn’t seen eye to eye on several of his lifestyle and career choices, Mitch had always known that he could depend on William. It had been a comfort he’d taken for granted, which shamed him now.

  In all truth, Uncle Will’s request for his presence at Hightower Advertising couldn’t have been more timely. Though he would have never imagined it himself, Mitch was ready to run the family company, to say goodbye to the empty life he’d been leading. He’d traded his Harley for a Jag, his jeans for Armani, and his long hair for a trendy new cut. No more partying, no more unnecessary risks and, most importantly—at least until he got his bearings at the agency—no more dating. Women were a distraction he couldn’t allow. A beautiful distraction, he’d admit, and he knew himself well enough to know that he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh too much to abstain forever. But he liked to think that he had enough self control to manage a temporary hiatus.

  At any rate, it was past for time for him to have made some serious decisions about his future.

  And it was past time for him to have gotten to Dunwoody. Determined to do just that, Mitch heaved a sigh, tossed a couple of bucks on the table and made his way toward the exit.

  “Look, Dick, I said no,” an extremely sexy and slightly slurred feminine voice said through slightly clenched teeth. “What part of that don’t you understand?”

  Oh, damn, Mitch thought, feeling his hero hormone kick in. He told himself to ignore both the voice and the woman it belonged to. He’d just sworn off the softer sex, wasn’t even going to look. Twenty more feet and he’d be in the clear.

  “Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” the man cajoled drunkenly.

  She yelped in pain. “Hey! Let me go!”

  Mitch looked. Damn. Now he had to help.

  “I don’t think my girlfriend is eager to leave with you, friend,” Mitch said in a calmly threatening voice.

  Startled warm brown eyes looked up at him as Dick released her wrist. She understood immediately and awkwardly propelled herself into his arms. “Oh, honey!” she excla
imed. “W-where have you been? I’ve been waiting all night.”

  Mitch slid a protective arm around her slender shoulders and leveled an assessing gaze at the man before him. “In the back. Where I said I would be.”

  “In the back?” she parroted. “I thought you said to meet at the bar. Silly me,” she breathed and snuggled closer to him. Wild, coffee-colored curls brushed against his neck. A light musky scent surrounded her and drifted up to tease his nostrils. A sensual awareness zipped unexpectedly through Mitch, taking him momentarily off guard.

  Dick narrowed his bloodshot eyes and snorted. “She’s not your girlfriend. You didn’t even look at her when you came in.”

  Mitch shrugged. “I’m looking now.” Let it go, Mitch thought. Don’t make me have to kick your ass.

  Reluctantly defeated, Dick exhaled a toxic breath and moved on, presumably to look for a more willing partner.

  Like a spent party balloon, his damsel in distress sagged against him. “Oh, thank you,” she breathed gratefully. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She pushed a shaky hand through her tangled mane. “Geez, what a night. First, Edward’s revelation and then that Dick…” She belatedly noticed a stain on the front of her dress and an adorable scowl wrinkled her otherwise smooth forehead. “That bumbling oaf spilled beer on me. Wonderful. Just icing on the cake.”

  “Are you all right?” Mitch asked.

  She quit trying to salvage her dress and looked up. Her dark gaze locked on his and for an instant Mitch was paralyzed. A punch to the solar plexus couldn’t have affected him than this overwhelming first impression of this angel. For that enigmatic second, they could have been the only two people on the planet…and for some perverse reason, he suddenly wished they were.

  She blinked, dispelling the fantasy. “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m f-fine. Then she seemed to realize that she no longer needed his protection and, to his regret, she pulled back. Then promptly swayed back into him. “Ughhh, no I’m not. I, uh… I think I’m… gonna be… sick,” she said brokenly.

  Sick? Mitch thought. Sick as in vomit? He inwardly swore.

  “Oh, I need to lie down,” she groaned, pressing her hand to her head that was undoubtedly spinning. She gave him a sweetly beseeching look. “Could you be a dear and get me a cab? This night has been a complete disaster, and if I’m going disgrace myself any further, I’d really prefer to do it at home.”

  Mitch reached for his cell phone. “Isn’t there anyone you can call?”

  “I-I live alone.”

  He scowled at her. “That’s not something you should be advertising.”

  Seemingly distressed, the inebriated angel opened her mouth to say something, then promptly snapped it shut. Her chin trembled. Oh hell. Not tears. Mitch hated tears.

  “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice cracking in a way that made Mitch incredibly uncomfortable. “T-that was stupid. Unforgivably so, really. And under ordinary circumstances, I’m very logical.” She sniffed and her eyes watered ominously. “Just ask anyone. But today, quite frankly, has sucked hind tit and I want nothing more than to go home.”

  “Of course,” he said, making an awkward attempt to soothe her. He sighed, then he made a split-second, probably not very bright decision. “Give me your address. I’ll see to it that you make it home.”

  “O-okay,” she snuffled, dabbing delicately at those luminous brown eyes. “Thank you.”

  She allowed him to guide her uneventfully out of the bar, but when the valet brought his car around, she balked. “Where’s the cab?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  Mitch smiled reassuringly and shrugged. “I didn’t call one. I don’t mind giving you a lift home.” Determined to do just that, then call it a night himself, Mitch took another step toward his car. When he looked back, her stiletto heels were anchored to the concrete. The woman hadn’t budged. He looked heavenward and heaved a beleaguered breath. Really? This was the thanks he got for attempting to do a good deed?

  Biting her lip, the angel shook her head. “Look, I appreciate you helping me with Dick back there, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful.” She gave him a little smile, one that was somehow simultaneously apologetic and unrepentant. “But…I can’t get in the car with you. I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer. Maybe even have some plaster of Paris stashed in the trunk. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

  It took Mitch a second to make the plaster of Paris connection—Ted Bundy—and then smiled at her. “I am not a serial killer.”

  “Well, it’s not like you would admit it to me, would you?”

  “You said she wanted to go home, that today had ‘sucked hind tit’ —”

  She gasped. “I said that out loud? I thought I was talking to myself.” She pressed her palm to her forehead and winced. “Damned tequila.”

  “I’m offering you a ride home,” he said. “That’s all.”

  She hesitated, seemed to consider him for a moment. A second later her eyes rounded and she darted for the nearest bush. Shit. He hurried over and held her hair back while she deposited her own brand of fertilizer onto the designer mulch. When she straightened, he silently handed her a handkerchief.

  She looked up, her gaze clearer and speculative, as though she didn’t know quite what to make of him. “All right then,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, strangely relieved, and walked her to the car. “What changed your mind?”

  She settled into the seat and clipped the belt into place. “The valet,” she sighed as she leaned back and closed her eyes. “He wrote your tag number down and gave me the thumb’s up. If you kill me you’ll be in big trouble. I might be dead, but you’ll go to prison and end up as someone’s bitch. It’s something to think about.”

  Mitch chuckled under his breath and shook his head. Indeed it was.

  She’d swallowed cat fur, Annie thought groggily, struggling to open her uncooperative eyes. But that wasn’t possible, because some to think of it…she didn’t have a cat. She groaned and pushed her tangled hair away from her face, then, stomach lurching, rolled over and promptly hit the floor.

  Annie stilled. That was her first clue something was amiss. At this point she knew four things. One, her career was on the brink of disaster. Two, Edward had dumped her. Three, she’d had entirely too much tequila last night. And, four, she was lying on her living room floor in nothing but her bra and panties.

  Annie squinted thoughtfully, then stopped because her face hurt. She couldn’t remember taking off her dress, and she never slept on the couch. How on earth—

  Then it hit her.

  She remembered her hero from last night. The gorgeous guy with the wavy black hair and clear blue eyes. And that smile, a devastatingly sexy smile that had held her enthralled last night. Annie paused. She had the vague impression of his lips brushing against her forehead. Had he done that? She wondered. Or had it been wishful thinking? Who knew? But she did know that he’d scared Dick off, held her hair while she’d vomited, of all things, and then driven her home.

  Annie bit her lip. And apparently he’d disrobed her as well. Any normal person would have been irate that he’d taken such a liberty, but all Annie could manage was a brief scowl followed by the overwhelming relief that she’d had on her best Victoria Secret lace.

  Groaning miserably, she pushed herself up to check and see if by some chance he’d stuck around, but could tell by the empty silence that she was alone. Her stained dress lay folded neatly on an armchair. Maybe he left a note, she thought hopefully. Her body rebelling with each movement, Annie struggled into a vertical position and performed a quick search. Nope. No note. Well, damn. She would have at least liked to thank him for seeing her home safely.

  She smiled again and a flush warmed her from the inside out. A modern day knight, she thought dreamily. Dreamily, hell, Annie thought, alarmed at her romantic train of thought. Note to self, she decided—no more tequila. Still, it wasn’t every day a woman ran across a ge
nerally nice guy. Annie only remembered bits and pieces of the previous night and, while she should have remembered her dumping session with Edward, surprisingly that memory was quite indistinct. Oddly enough, she could recall more about the helpful stranger who’d come to her rescue.

  Interesting, that.

  And there’d been something about him that had seemed vaguely familiar last night, but Annie knew she’d never met him. Had she met him, she knew she would have remembered. Those eyes, in particular, would have been impossible to forget. Then another thought struck her.

  She didn’t know his name.

  He’d saved her from Dick, taken her home, held her hair back—which had somehow been the most chivalrous thing he’d done for her—and she’d never even gotten his name. An unwarranted sadness washed over her, leaving her feeling as though she’d just lost something that could have been incredibly important. Feeling ridiculous, Annie harrumphed under her breath. Hell, he was just a guy. Just another potential heartbreaker. So why the melancholy? Why the dismay? Enough, Annie told herself. Hadn’t she learned anything? Dependable Edward had dumped her. Sheesh. She should give up on men and get a cat.

  Contemplating the latest plot twist in her own personal soap opera, Annie sat on the sofa and drew her knees to her chest. The light of a new day had put an entirely new perspective on Edward’s defection. After all, she’d planned to sever the dead-end relationship herself. A small smile curled her lips. Shallow though it may be, her only regret was that she hadn’t beaten him to the punch.

  Just as quickly, her smile fell. Given the state of her career, she didn’t have the time or the energy to be thinking about Edward—or, for that matter, the handsome stranger who’d driven her home.

  Besides, thinking about William’s impending retirement only worsened her headache. Once her boss was no longer at Hightower on a day-to-day basis, Annie knew she would miss him terribly. He was more than a dear friend, he’d become her family and she’d been under the impression that he’d felt the same way about her. She really couldn’t think about that right now. It was too depressing. She’d take the Scarlett O’Hara approach and think about it tomorrow.