The rhythm of the kitchen was enough to distract me from his mad proposal, but when he asked me to meet him here at the end of service, the shock came roaring back.
I'm glad I arrived before him to get that fortifying shot in my belly before having to see him again. Wait, why am I even here in the first place? Why did I agree to do what he asked of me, again?
I stiffen, then force myself to relax. I take a sip of the tequila, realizing I need to keep my wits about me.
He nods at the bartender, who grabs a bottle of Jameson, and pours him a healthy portion, before placing the tumbler in front of him.
The bartender knew what he wanted. He must come here often.
He takes a sip of his whiskey and sighs. His muscles are wound tight. Tension radiates off him.
After a few seconds of both of us not speaking, he turns to me. "I didn’t mean to spring that on you."
"That crazy proposal, you mean?" I take another sip of my tequila and refuse to look at him. If I do, I’m going to be drawn into those glacier-blue eyes of his and, likely, find myself drowning. Or at least, losing my train of thought.
"You understand why I did it?"
“Because you’re messing with me?” I’m hopeful that his answer will be a yes.
“I’m not messing with you.”
My heart begins to race. This can’t be a real proposal. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
He looks at me strangely. “I meant what I said. I need you to marry me.”
This is not about love. This is about an arrangement. Not quite how I imagined a proposal.
My ill-timed sense of humor wants me to chuckle. Instead, I toss back the remaining tequila and cough.
My eyes water. Damn, I’m a mess. I slam the shot glass on the table, and wheeze.
A glass of water appears at my elbow. “Drink up,” he orders.
Damn. Once again, I reach for the glass before I can stop myself. I’ve got to stop obeying what this guy asks of me. For example, just because he proposed doesn’t mean I’m going to marry him. I snatch the glass of water and drain half of it.
Let’s try again, shall we? I turn to him with a bright look on my face. “Is there a chance you’ll change your mind?”
“I never change my mind.” His lips thin.
Forgot, he’s the Human Algorithm. Mr. Binary thinks in ones and zeros. And once he speaks, its gospel.
"So…this is some crazy plan to save your business…off my back?" I scowl.
He clicks his tongue. “We’ll be helping each other.”
I snort. “From where I am, you stand to benefit more than me.”
He nods. "I didn’t tell you the entire story."
"Oh?" I frown.
"I'm in the process of opening a new restaurant and have heavily borrowed against my assets. If my investors pull out, I’ll be bankrupt."
I blink. I wasn't expecting my boss to share his business plans with me. I didn’t expect him to explain his actions either. The very fact that he’s acting against character sends a spurt of alarm through my veins.
“And my grandmother wants me to get married before the year is out. Otherwise, she’ll disinherit me. I can’t deliver on my expansion plans without that money.”
“Your gran turned your marriage into a business proposition?”
