Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée
I look up from my computer, where I’ve just ended an online meeting with the very happy Sultan of Al-Massi. A nine-figure meeting that will leave our board of directors very happy as well. Amanda and I have been invited to attend a sprawling gala on the grounds of his estate. Professor Kensley-Wentingham will be there as well, as historical consultant.
I think I’ll have my tailor do my own pants this time.
“What does Declan want?”
“Something about the local news? How you’re on it?”
“What?”
She shrugs. “Pickup the phone and ask him?”
I do.
“Did Amanda freak out yet?” Dec asks, dispensing with the preliminaries.
“Freak out over what?”
“Turn on New England Cable News. The Walden Pond story.”
“The what?”
“Just watch.”
“Why should I watch a—” I click on the television in my office, rattle through channels filled with nothing but bad daytime soaps and old movies, and then:
LOCAL WOMAN FINDS THREE-CARAT DIAMOND RING IN WALDEN POND
Bzzz.
Texts start pouring in.
“Lucky you, Amanda’s in Chicago on business. You’re never living this down,” Declan says. “Shannon’s laughing her ass off.”
“Amanda won’t care,” I lie. We’ve been engaged for two months, just starting to make wedding plans for next year. I wondered if anyone would ever find that ring.
He snorts. “You really don’t understand women, do you?”
Click.
“Gina!”
“Yes, sir?”
“If a guy went to propose to you but lost the ring before he had a chance to propose, then bought another ring and proposed later, but never told you about ring number one, would you be upset if you later learned about it?”
She just blinks.
“And if the story made the local news, would that be upsetting?”
“Mr. McCormick?”
“Yes.”
“You are the weirdest boss I have ever had. And I worked in academia as a temp, which is the very definition of workplace dysfunction.”
That’s two declarative sentences in a row. I’m on Gina’s shit list now.
“But I’m never boring.”
She laughs and walks out of my office.
Ring!
An actual phone call. It’s Amanda.
“Funny how some woman found a three carat engagement ring in Walden Pond. Wonder if she found the Tesla key fob, too.”
She has picked up the rude habit of starting conversations midstream from my brother.
“What are you talking about?” I lie.
“Don’t play that game.” Her voice goes soft. “Declan told Shannon who told me.”
The modern equivalent of the party line.
“You think I have something to do with this?” I put the television on closed captioning.
“Andrew.”
“You have a ring, right?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful.”
“Then why do you care about some crazy story about some stupid guy who lost a ring in Walden Pond?”
“He isn’t stupid.”
“You know him?”
“I might.”
“Sounds stupid to me if he decided to jump in the pond and re-enact a classic scene from nineteenth-century British literature and wound up unable to finish the job by proposing.”
“Loose pockets?”
“Something like that.”
Her breath catches. “News reports say the ring has an inscription. You can guess what it says.”
Damn.
“You were going to propose then?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Have you met my ego? He’s the size of Vince, and doesn’t exactly run around admitting to monumental mistakes.”
“I was so mean to you about losing your keys.”
“Yes, you were.”
“And your pants.”
“The hair on my thighs is starting to grow back in.” And it itches. I don’t get how women wax everything.
“And it turns out you were freaking out because you’d lost so much more.”
“It was just a ring. What I couldn’t bear to lose was you.”
“You have me now.”
“Yes.”
“Forever.”
“Soon.”
“We need to set a date.”
“How about next week? When you come home. We’ll just go to the courthouse, get the license, and quietly run off.”
“My mom would kill me.”
I think of Pam, who would be devastated if we eloped. My dad, on the other hand, would just be angry that we deprived him of a public relations boost.
“Fine. But I draw the line at cats acting as flower girls.”
“My mother would never do that!”
“Good.”
“She would use Spritzy.”
“That’s supposed to be better?”
“Spritzy is a dog. Not a cat. A cat as a flower girl is crazy. A dog is just silly.”
“You have a spectrum stored in your mind that is calibrated in ways I cannot fathom.”
She ignores that and says, “Montelcini Flowers is not doing our wedding.”
“Agreed.”
“This is really happening, Andrew? You’re sure?”
“You keep asking me that. I’m going to stop answering. I’ll have Gina make a big sign that says Yes, I’m sure and I’ll just hold it up whenever you ask.” I wish she were here so I could look her in the eye. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I weren’t sure.”