He'd just finished reading the motivational messages on Annabelle's refrigerator when he heard a rustling noise. He turned to enjoy the sight of Annabelle shuffling into the kitchen. She hadn't made it as far as the shower, but she'd twisted her hair up and washed her face, leaving her eyelashes spiky and her cheeks flushed. A pair of plaid cotton sleeping boxers stuck out from beneath an oversize purple sweatshirt. He followed the line of her bare legs down to her feet, which were tucked into ratty chartreuse running shoes. All in all, she looked sleepy, rumpled, and sexy.
He handed her a mug of coffee. She waited until she'd had her first sip before she acknowledged him, a little gravel still in her voice. "Do I want to know who took off my jeans?"
He thought it over. "Robillard. Guy's a sleaze."
She glowered at him. "I wasn't that out of it. You copped a feel when you unzipped them."
He couldn't have looked repentant if he tried. "Hand slipped."
She sank down at the kitchen table. "Did I imagine it, or was Delaney here last night?"
"She was here."
"Why didn't she stay and help out?"
Now came the tricky part. He made a play of rooting around in the cupboard for something to eat, even though he knew she'd been cleaned out. After he'd shuffled around a couple of cans of stewed tomatoes, he closed the door. "The whole thing was a little too much for her."
She sat up straighter. "What do you mean?".
Too late, he realized he should have been figuring out how he wanted to spin this instead of hiding African violets and standing in front of the refrigerator reading inspiring quotes from Oprah. Maybe a shrug would help stave off this particular discussion until she was wide awake. He gave it a try.
It didn't work.
"I don't understand." Annabelle untucked the leg she'd crooked under her hip and started looking worried. "She told me she was starting to like football."
"As it turns out, not when it's quite so up close and personal."
The lilies on her forehead deepened. "I'll coach her through it. They're only intimidating if you let them get the upper hand."
He shouldn't smile, but wasn't this exactly why his new plan would work so much better than the old one? From the very beginning, Annabelle had made him happy, but he'd been so focused in the wrong direction that he hadn't understood what that meant. Annabelle wasn't the woman of his dreams. Far from it. His dreams had been the product of insecurity, immaturity, and misdirected ambition. No, Annabelle was the woman of his future… the woman of his happiness.
His clearer vision told him she wouldn't take his news about Delaney well, especially when he couldn't quite rein in his smile. "The thing is… Delaney and I are over."
Annabelle's coffee mug dropped to the table with a thud, and she rose from the chair. "No. You're not over. This is just a bump in the road."
"I'm afraid not. Last night she got a good look at my life, and what she saw didn't make her happy."
"I'll fix it. Once she understands-"
"No, Annabelle," he said firmly. "This one can't be fixed. I don't want to marry her."
She exploded. "You don't want to marry anyone!"
"That's not… exactly true."
"It is true. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you." Her arms started to flail. "You're making me crazy, and I can't take it anymore. You're fired, Mr. Champion. This time I'm firing you."
It was an impressive display of temper, so he proceeded cautiously. "I'm a client," he pointed out. "You can't fire me."
She bored into him with those honey eyes. "I just did."
"In my defense, I had good intentions." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the jeweler's box. "I was planning to propose last night. We were at Charlie Trotter's. The food was great, the mood perfect, and I had the ring. But just as I got ready to give it to her… you called."
He paused and let her draw her own conclusions, which she, being female, was quick to do.
"Oh, my God. It was me. I'm responsible."
A good agent always shifted the blame, but as her consternation grew, he knew he had to come clean. "Your phone call wasn't the real problem. I'd been trying to give her the ring all evening, but I couldn't seem to get it out of my pocket. That's got to tell you something right there."
By putting the blame where it belonged, he set her off again. "Nobody's right for you! I swear, you'd find something wrong with the Virgin Mary." She snatched the ring box from him, flipped it open, and curled her lip. "This was the best you could do? You're a multimillionaire!"
"Exactly!" If he'd needed any more proof that Annabelle Granger was a woman in a million, this was it. "Don't you see? She likes everything subtle. If I'd chosen anything bigger, she'd have been embarrassed. I hate that ring. Imagine how the guys would react if they saw a puny rock like that on my wife's finger."
She snapped the lid shut and shoved the box back into his hand. "You're still fired."
"I understand." He slipped it into his pocket, took a last swig of coffee, and headed for the door.
"I think it'll be better for both of us if we cut if off right here."
He hoped that tremor he heard in her voice wasn't all in his imagination. "Do you now?" The urge to kiss away her outrage nearly overwhelmed him. But while short-term gratification was tempting, he needed to focus on the long term, so he merely smiled and left her alone.
Outside, the morning air held the crisp smoky scent of autumn. He breathed it in and, with a light step, headed down the street to his car. Watching her with the men last night had opened his eyes to something he should have realized weeks ago. Annabelle Granger was his perfect match.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ever since the day Annabelle had walked into Heath's office, her life had been a Ferris wheel spinning at triple speed. She'd soar to the top, hang there for a few blissful seconds, then take a stomach-turning plummet to the bottom. As she got ready for her birthday party, she told herself she was glad she'd fired him. He was crazy. Even worse, he'd made her crazy. At least tonight she wouldn't have time to think about him. Instead, she'd be making sure her family saw her as she was, no longer a failure but an almost-successful, just-turned-thirty-two-year-old businesswoman who didn't need anybody's advice or pity. Perfect for You might not be a candidate for the Fortune 500, but at least it was finally turning a profit.
She screwed the top back on a tube of lip gloss and headed across the hall from the bathroom to the full-length mirror in Nana's bedroom. She liked what she saw. Her cocktail dress, a long-sleeved A-line, had been a splurge, but she didn't regret a penny. The flattering off-the-shoulder neckline made her neck look long and graceful, as well as dramatizing her face and hair. She could have chosen the dress in safe, conservative black, but she'd opted for peach instead. She loved the dramatic juxtaposition of the soft pastel with her red hair, which was behaving perfectly for a change, floating around her face in a pretty tousle and providing peekaboo glimpses of a delicate pair of lacy gold chandeliers. Her butter-cream stilettos gave her a few extra inches of height, but not nearly as much stature as the man on her arm would provide.
"You're bringing a date?" Kate's astonishment over breakfast at her parents' hotel that morning still grated, but Annabelle had held her tongue. While Dean's relative youth might work against her, the Grangers were huge football fans. With the exception of Candace, the family had followed the Stars for years, and she could only hope that Dean's status would compensate for his youth and diamond studs.
She took one last look at her reflection. Candace would be wearing Max Mara, but so what? Her sister-in-law was an insecure, social-climbing dork. Annabelle wished Doug had brought Jamison instead, but her nephew was home in California with a nanny. Annabelle glanced at her watch. Her trophy date wouldn't be picking her up for another twenty minutes. Before Dean had agreed to do this, she'd had to promise to be at his beck and call for the rest of her natural life, but it would be worth it.