Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t unbutton it.”

My erection’s making the pants tighten horribly. I reach down and try.

I fail.

“As enticing as outdoor sex is, how about we settle for good old-fashioned bedroom sex with a wine chaser?”

“Done.” Her laugh has the promise of a lush few hours buried in her and my blood rushes through me, ready for it all.

I pat my front pocket, ready to reach in for the ring, because now is the time.

Now.

I’m ready to propose.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,’” I call out, using Darcy’s most famous line.

“You can stop with the quotes, Andrew! I’m a sure thing!” she calls back, already a few yards ahead of me.

I pat my front breeches pocket again.

Hmmm.

Maybe it’s in the other pocket.

No. Just touched that when I was fiddling with the buttons. It’s flat, too.

Must be in my coat, which is hanging on a branch a few feet to Amanda’s left. I zag as I approach her and grab the coat, putting it on casually, grinning at her as she tilts her head, slightly off kilter.

I pat myself down like a TSA agent searching a patchouli-oil-coated guy after Burning Man.

Nothing.

Where the hell is the ring? I know I had it. It was in the front pocket of my breeches when I got out of the Tesla. No question.

None.

Zero.

“The mosquitoes are coming out in full force,” she says, smacking her arm. “Open the car door!”

I smash my palms against my breeches pockets, then rifle through the coat again.

Losing the ring is bad. Bad bad bad.

But where is the key ring for my car?

“You don’t have the keys?” I call out, knowing it’s a hopeless question, but trying anyhow. We all have our verbal Hail Marys.

“Why would I have your key fob? You drove.” She reaches in her purse. “All I have are two EpiPens and a tampon.”

“Right.” Can’t start the car with those. Those tampon commercials say you can swim with them, horseback ride with them, drive with them…

They lie.

“What’s wrong? Can’t find the key?”

“No.”

“Maybe you dropped it? On shore?” There’s still enough light as the sun starts to set. We both sweep the bare-ground shoreline. It shouldn’t be hard to spot the key fob, a bright red leather object with the logo on it. Unlike a standard car key, the key fob is designed to let me unlock and start the car as long as I have it on me.

I clearly don’t have it on me, and neither does Amanda.

“It has to be somewhere!” she says, exasperated.

We both turn slowly, in tandem, and stare at the water.

“No,” I groan. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, God.” Me and my swimming, showing off my fly stroke, powerful kicks and strokes churning the water.

These damn pants and their buttons. Weird pockets. My key fob.

But worse—

The engagement ring.

I can’t let her know about the velvet box. Losing the keys to the Tesla is bad enough.

Losing her engagement ring? Talk about a major screw-up. Teasing Declan for the ring in the tiramisu mistake is pure gold. I can’t give him leverage with my own proposal catastrophe.

My pride is at stake here.

Amanda wades into the water in her costume and bends at the waist, her arms pumping up and down in a pattern.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching for the key fob.”

“Amanda, there’s no way we can find them. Look at the size of this pond. It could be anywhere.” And I had to show off and swim a quarter mile sprint into the middle, then back. On the other hand, my butterfly skills are still quite impressive almost a decade out of college.

I still got it.

“You lost the keys! How will we get home?”

“We’ll call.”

“With what? Our phones are locked in the car, Mr. Leave-the-Technology-Behind-for-Authenticity.”

Shit.

Wading in, I give it a try, replicating her hand motions. Searching for a set of car keys and a jeweler’s box in a giant pond is like having sex for the first time and trying to find the clitoris. You know it’s there, and you know that finding it will change your life forever, but you also have a sinking suspicion that the search is futile.

Yet desperation drives you to continue.

As dusk settles over the placid waters, another similarity hits me.

We’ll be searching in the dark soon.

“I can fix this,” Amanda mutters to herself. “How hard can it be to find a set of keys?” I look past her. The pond is pretty big. They should call it Walden Lake. I had to do a quarter mile, didn’t I? And back.

The Tesla key fob could be anywhere. If I had my smartphone, I could use the keyless-entry app. If I had my key fob, I could access my phone.

I am in a double bind of my own creation.

Which means we have only one option.

“Stop,” I say, making my way slowly through the water to Amanda, who is starting to shiver. I pull her to me, my heart slamming in my chest. I’d pumped myself up for this moment, a grand pronouncement after even grander gestures, all the hope in my heart poured into a diamond ring that symbolized a promise.

A promise that is being eaten by fishes right now.

Aside from losing a mid-five-figure ring and my car keys, which is bad enough, I’ve lost the potential for this evening.

I feel like a ten-thousand pound millstone.

And I can’t say a thing about the ring.