03

I did the strangest, most unexpected thing today.

I proposed.

To Charlotte Samuels, no less.

Even in hindsight, I’m still not sure what happened.

I went to Marlow’s to meet her.

I’ve only ever been there once or twice even if Dad is a regular—like most wealthy and important men who favored the iconic diner where industry-makers from decades ago communed, and where new players tried to emulate them.

I didn’t eat and from what I remembered, the food wasn’t that amazing.

It must be the girls. Marlow’s has a good array of young and attractive waitresses. I’m not sure it’s intentional but I had a feeling it helped draw in the clientele.

While I sat and waited, I observed the customers’ interactions with the serving girls who smiled and flirted back. I haven’t seen anything too inappropriate but I wasn’t oblivious to the possibility that some of these customers might pay for exclusive services outside of the diner.

Thinking that this young girl my father was so fond of was earning extra on a similar capacity made me a little sick. In spite of how I felt about the situation, I didn’t like thinking of women forced by their economic circumstances to trade their bodies for food and shelter.

The fact that I was ready with a rather generous monetary offer to give Charlotte Samuels in complying with my plan that she come to Dad and tell him she didn’t want to marry me, made me feel a little bit better.

The money might help her get out of whatever hole she’d dug for herself.

My initial anger had ebbed slightly and I was grateful for that.

It never helped to approach a business deal with an emotional bias.

Not that I imagine it would be too complicated.

I’d offer her money in exchange for her having a simple conversation with my father about how she didn’t really want to go through with what he’d planned. In the end, we all win, even my father, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

I know he’s guided by some kind of notion that he’s doing something wise and important but while I respected and admired my father, I drew the line at being dictated about my bride.

Unfortunately, none of the reports I read through prepared me for the sight of Charlotte Samuels.

I first noticed a pretty girl as she was coming my way, stopped by the shameless flirt Bruce Cooper. I watched, wondering whether I was going to have to jump in and save her if Cooper got too friendly but she handled that well and kept walking.

I couldn’t look away. As she came closer, I got a better look at her, not recognizing anything except the fact that the girl with the unruly dark blond hair and bright blue-green eyes had my blood singing.

She’d said something when she arrived at my table but I was too absorbed to have caught it.

She wore the look of innocence and surprise when she caught my eye and I had the most disorienting urge to trace the curve of her bottom lip.

I had to remind myself that I was in Marlow’s for something else—something more important than an inconvenient attraction to one of the serving girls.

It wasn’t even that she was a knockout beauty. That was more like Simone and a dozen other women I’ve dated over the years.

I tried to put a finger on it but gave up after a few moments. It wasn’t anything specific about her—just the fact that she reminded me of a day on the beach, sitting under the warm, bright sun shining against bright blue skies, and looking out to the sparkling blue-green ocean.

The realization worried me a little. I’ve always been able to point out what attracted me to a woman.

It could be the hair or the eyes or the figure or the poise. I mean, it was logical to recognize what it was that drew you in. Call it the bait in advertising that lures you into the trap.

To know that I couldn’t pinpoint the specific reason I was reacting strongly to the girl except that she inspired the feel of a beautiful summer day, was unsettling.

I decided, despite my reservations, the girl might be worth pursuing.

I kicked myself mentally when I remembered that not only was I exclusively dating Simone, I was also still trying to get out of some kind of archaic betrothal my father forced on me.

Maybe when this mess was sorted out, I could talk to the girl and see if I liked more of her than what I’ve seen so far in the endless minutes I stared at her.

My exclusivity with Simone didn’t come from some deep devotion to her. It was more for convenience. I was rather eager to be inconvenienced again if it meant that I could bask in a little bit of sunshine.

Just as I was about to speak and introduce myself, and hopefully get her name and phone number, she narrowed her eyes at me and declared that I wasn’t Mr. Maxfield.

That’s when the truth sank in on me with the weight of a giant steel anchor.

I managed to get her to repeat what she said in case I’d misheard it, and she went on and told me that she’d been informed that Mr. Maxfield had specifically asked for her, and looking at me, I was definitely not who she was expecting.

There really was only one other Mr. Maxfield—if you don’t count my baby brother.

Holy God.

This—she—was Charlotte Samuels !

I couldn’t decide which made me angrier—the righteous riling she gave me which got my blood simmering to a near boil, or the fact that she had been flirting with Cooper when she was supposed to be marrying me, or that I was still annoyingly attracted to her even after finding out she was the chain about to wrap herself around my ankle in holy matrimony.

Suffice to say, I’d said some very rude things in my temper but if there’s something to be said about Charlotte Samuels, she sure burned back like the hot sun that she was.

The words were out of my mouth before I could even think about what I was doing.

I told her that I was proposing.

I admit, it wasn’t the romantic proposal women always gushed about. Maybe that could’ve gone more smoothly.

But the damned woman laughed at me. Laughed !

The first and only time I, Brandon Maxfield, ever uttered a marriage proposal and the woman laughed at me so hard she was clutching her stomach in breathless gasps.

That might have been what got me angrier.

First of all, I didn’t understand what the hell I just did. Second, having her laugh at my face for it was humiliating, not to mention, unbelievable. If I could put a price tag on a marriage proposal for me, it would be nothing short of a king’s ransom.

Being Mrs. Maxfield was a highly coveted social and financial position and this girl just laughed at it.

And while I hated to admit it, she actually looked charming when she laughed—her eyes crinkled in the corners, her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks flushed a soft, luminous pink.

I was having a hard time remembering I was supposed to resent her and that irritated me more.

Add to that the lecture she heaped on my head—fierce, razor-sharp and undeniably valid points—and I was close to grabbing her and… well, either shake her silly or kiss her senseless.

Her concern for my father surprised me. She seemed like a girl who wore her emotions plain on her face and at the mention of Dad’s health, her concern felt genuine—which made me feel like a bigger cad but it was a strategic point that pressed my suit.

Yet, despite the reminder of her dire circumstances, the money (which I’d practically tripled from the original figure) which would ease her troubles, the promise of a luxurious life she could enjoy for a little while, Charlotte Samuels just tipped her chin at me in defiance and walked away.

Well, she climbed over the table and displayed her firm, shapely legs to me, but the point is, she walked away—from me.

I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before—which is why, this isn’t over.