Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée
“Wooed! Not turned into a Jane Austen novel cosplay!”
“Then why the hell are we wearing these costumes and riding in a carriage drawn by a horse who needs to cut down on fiber in his diet?”
“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask Gina?”
How did this turn into a fight?
The diamond ring is in my front left pocket, burning a hole against my thigh.
A hole of hellfire and damnation.
“You do this,” she says slowly, contemplatively, with the air of someone mulling over a topic they’ve struggled with for a while. “You hand off complicated issues to your people. And most of the time, that works. Really. It’s why you’re on top of the business world. You know how to make snap decisions and how to delegate. I’ve seen it in action, in meetings, and it’s astounding. You’re brilliant.”
I really like the turn this conversation has taken.
“Go on,” I urge.
“But.”
Uh oh.
“But I am not a task to be managed. That doesn’t work in relationships. Or maybe it does, but it doesn’t work in a relationship with me.”
Shit.
The clop clop clop of the horse’s shoes on pavement comes to a halt, right in front of my shining Tesla. The incongruity would be amusing if my intestines weren’t doing an impression of a state fair pretzel.
“Let’s talk in the car.”
“The car?”
“You thought we were taking this carriage all the way to Walden Pond?”
“Walden Pond? You weren’t kidding about visiting Henry Thoreau?”
“I never kid about literature.”
“You are such a geek.”
“No. I’m not. James McCormick would never allow it.”
That’s meant to be a joke, but her eyes soften with sympathy. “I’ll bet he wouldn’t.”
“Besides, with a body like this, I could never be a geek.” I primp, tightening my arms. I hear seams pop in my tailcoat.
“Geekdom has nothing to do with the body. It’s a state of mind. And any guy who would basically turn Pride and Prejudice into a LARP is a geek, hot or not.”
“LARP? Live-action role-play game? This is an historical re-enactment!” A damn expensive one. One that might cost me my balls, in more ways than one. I re-adjust. There’s no room. I really understand why Colin Firth pursed his mouth so much.
“Same thing.”
“No, Amanda, they are not the same thing! You think we’re playing a game?”
“Of course we are. It’s just not the game you think we’re playing.”
I didn’t think I could fall in love any deeper with her, and then she says that.
“I did this because I couldn’t think of any other way to make it clear to you that I love you and want to be with you forever.”
“Oh.” She swivels toward me, eyes wide with surprise. “Oh.”
I shrug. Or at least, I try. The coat is so fitted I think I know what it’s like for Amanda when she wears a sports bra.
And now all I can think about is her breasts.
Because…breasts.
“You keep saying that you’re not good at this whole sharing emotions thing. But you’re better than you think.”
I don’t know what to say.
“And you can become better. With me.” Her eyes move down, her focus on me but not piercing, the difference between eye contact and being the center of her attention enough to give me the space to actually share.
“Thank you.”
“We can become better, Andrew. Together. That’s how this is supposed to work. You share your story with me, and I share my story with you, and over time we have a third story that is ours.”
“A better story than the other two.”
“It’s not a competition.” She kisses the tip of my nose. It tickles.
“Everything is a competition, Amanda.”
“If that’s how you view life, then I can see why you think you’re bad at revealing your feelings.”
“Explain.”
“You can’t compete with someone and be authentic at the same time. It’s impossible, like trying to orgasm and pee at the same time.”
Can’t argue with that logic. Again.
“You’re comparing my difficulties talking about feelings with…that?”
“I suck at analogies. It’s a weakness.” She shrugs.
No kidding.
But she has a point, in her weird way. Being competitive means using analysis and risk assessment to determine the best approach for gaining the upper hand. Sometimes, it involves subterfuge. Half-truths. Holding cards and revealing information only when it’s to your strategic advantage.
As Amanda watches me and her expression deepens with concern, I wonder how much my innate competitiveness has cost me.
And how innate it really is. Was I like this before Dad got ahold of me and turned me into his replacement for Terry? Who is the real Andrew—the guy I am now, or the guy I would have been if Mom had lived?
No.
I can’t think this way.
Not the time, not the place.
Especially when I have to drive.
“I’m impressed,” she says, as we drive away from the curb, leaving Will with the carriage and a fat tip.
“By all this?”
“By you. All the time you’re spending outside. Found the cure for vampirism, eh?”
“I did. It’s between your legs.”
“Mr. Darcy!” she says viciously.
“And ears! Between your ears, too,” I add, but it’s obviously an afterthought.