He tilted his head slightly. “You can think of it that way.”
But then he picked up his glass and took a deep swallow, emptying the glass with that one gulp. He seemed nervous, and I didn’t understand why. If he was offering me a job…
“I don’t even your name,” I said suddenly.
He looked up, his eyes widened. “I thought you knew who I was.” And then he laughed. “Now that makes all this even more awkward.” He reached across the table, his hand outstretched. “I’m Miles Thorn.”
My heart skipped a beat, as much from the name he offered as the hand that touched mine with strength and virility. Miles Thorn. Miles Thorn was CEO of Thorn Construction.
I’d thought he was just a construction worker.
At least that explained the BMW.
He poured us both another glass of wine—I hadn’t even realized I’d finished mine—and sat back again, his eyes studying me as though he expected some sort of odd reaction. I didn’t know what to say. I mean…damn, I didn’t know what to say when I thought he was a nobody. Now that I knew he was somebody, what was there to say?
“I hadn’t realized that Joan didn’t explain who I was the other day. I just assumed…” He laughed again as he picked up his wine glass. “My mother always did say that only fools make assumptions.”
“She wasn’t terribly impressed with me. I think she was in a hurry to get me on the elevator.”
Miles tilted his head slightly. “That does sound like Joan.”
“Has she worked for you long?”
“Joan has worked for my family in one way or another since I was a toddler. She was my father’s personal assistant. And then she moved out here—too retire—and I talked her into helping me with this new business. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks, but I can’t seem to convince her I’m capable of running things on my own.”
“She must care an awful lot about you.”
He smiled as he lifted his glass to his lips. “I hope so. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
There was something genuine in his voice that made me warm to him a little. He’d lied to me—at least, he’d lied by omitting his real name—and he dragged me out here on the pretense of a date only to turn the subject to something else, a job, maybe. So far, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy a girl could trust. Yet, that little bit of genuine feeling in his voice made the walls I was beginning to build against him fall a little.
The waiter arrived a minute later with a large bowl of fresh salad, complete with a lovely Italian dressing. I’d had it before, but it always seemed like a new sensation when you took that first bite. I helped myself to a huge plateful, starving after a long day of serving coffee to Waco’s stressed and fatigued.
“Have you lived in Waco all your life?”
I looked up. “Since I was five.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. But I don’t really have much else to compare it to.”
“Have you ever been to New York?”
I shook my head. Lisa and I dreamed of travelling someday. She wanted to go to NYU and live a bohemian lifestyle, but her parents wouldn’t pay unless she went to Baylor, like me. However, she still wanted to go, and I was still planning to follow, as I always did when it came to anything Lisa did.
“I don’t travel a lot.”
He served himself some salad and tucked into it, taking a large bite and then making something of a face when the bitter vinegar of the dressing touched his tongue.
“I grew up in upstate New York. It’s beautiful there.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“The Catskills in the summer…that’s great, too.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I began eating my salad, too. It was so good. I sighed with the first bite, closing my eyes without really realizing it. When I opened them, he was watching me with something like a smile, but not really.
“You should travel,” he said. “I bet you’d love Italy.”
That was a dream of mine, to visit Europe someday. Lisa thought it sounded like too much trouble, all that getting a passport stuff. However, it was something I’d always wanted to do. Italy and Paris and Spain. In fact, I had my passport. I applied for it over a year ago in the hopes that I would be able to find a job that would afford me the benefit of international travel. But that was before I found out what my aunts had done to pay for my education.
He pushed his salad plate away and sat back, sipping his wine again.
“We did something of a background check on you when you applied for that job.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “Mostly public records. Credit history, education, birth records.”
“Why?”
“It’s standard practice with most businesses these days. Want to make sure we’re getting an employee who won’t disappear on us after the first payday.”
He played with the stem of his glass, acting nervous again. I found it kind of sexy, the lack of confidence, but it was also a little unbalancing. It made me wonder just what it was he wanted to ask of me. Was it illegal? Why else would he seem so nervous?
“The thing is, you weren’t qualified for that job. Not by a mile.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Surely you knew that going in.”
I did. Of course I did. But I wasn’t about to admit that to him.
“But you are qualified for something else I need.” Again, his eyes dropped to the glass and his big fingers sliding up and down the delicate stem. “You’ve never been arrested, never had a ticket, and you vote Republican. I couldn’t have found a more perfect candidate if I’d sent out a list of qualifications to every bridal magazine published in the world.”
I didn’t understand what he was saying. On the one hand, it sounded like a compliment to my boring way of life. On the other…what did bridal magazines have to do with anything?
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Okay.”
But before he could say another word, the waiter arrived once again, this time with our dinners. It smelled heavenly, all that butter. My mouth was watering as the waiter set it in front of me, but Miles didn’t even look at his. He was watching me from across the table, his expression thoughtful as I politely thanked the waiter.
When the waiter was gone, I focused on Miles for a minute.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I was,” he said, “but I’ve sort of lost my appetite.”
“You don’t like the food? I’m sure he could bring you something else.”
“It’s not the food.” He cleared his throat, his eyes moving over me again. I felt like he was searching for something in my face, some secret that would make it easier for him to do whatever it was he was trying to do. But he clearly wasn’t finding that secret.
He picked up his fork, stabbed a shrimp, and bit the tail. He seemed to like it because he slid the rest into his mouth a minute later. But then he put down his fork and watched me eat. And that was nerve wracking, so I put my fork down and met his eyes.
“I find it’s easier to just get it done with, like tearing a Band-Aid from your skin with one quick rip,” I said.
“You’re probably right. I don’t think I was this nervous when I was called to the principal’s office.”
“I’m sure that happened a lot.”
“More often than my mother would have liked.” He smiled, the memory clouding his eyes for a second. Then he focused on me again. “So, I guess I should just say it. I want you to marry me.”
Now that was the last thing I expected to hear. I stared at him for a long second, thinking I must have misunderstood him. But then he said it again.
“I know it sounds really crazy. But I need a wife, and you fit the bill perfectly—at least on paper. And now that we’ve had a few minutes to talk, I don’t see anything that might change that.”
“You want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”