Karen Whittenburg - The C.e.o.'S Unplanned Proposal

His smile slid into a patient amusement and his gaze slipped back to the computer. “He’ll be seventy-nine and he is in good health, but let’s not push the envelope.”

“Gotcha,” she said as if making a note to herself. “Fun, but conservative. Dancing in, bellies out. Any other restrictions on this carte blanche you’ve given me?”

“Only that you exercise good taste.”

“Oh, well, if that’s a requirement, you’ll definitely need to find someone else.”

There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a touch of humor in his solemn tones. “I’m glad to know you have a sense of humor, Katie, and I have the utmost faith in your judgment. I also trust you’re aware that a few words from me can greatly enhance your reputation. Or severely cripple it. It really is in your own best interest to ensure this party comes to pass without a hitch.”

“Or a belly flop,” she said, wondering how he managed to stuff that much ego into his nice white shirt without getting either one wrinkled. “I think you can rest assured, Mr. Braddock, that I—”

“Adam,” he corrected absently, his attention circling back on that dumb computer screen.

“Adam,” she repeated dutifully, wishing his name didn’t feel so weightless and welcome in her mouth. “Rest assured I have no intention of—”

The phone rang then, a distracting tweet of a noise, and he had it to his ear in a flash. In less than a second, she was forgotten, relegated to a blip in the background of his consciousness.

“Yes, I see it,” he said, staring intently at the computer screen. “He’s a fool if he holds out much longer. He’ll lose everything. I haven’t a clue what he thinks he can gain by this. Put Allen on.”

Katie listened—as if she could do anything but—while the one-sided conversation filled up with legal terms and contract points. A year or more ago, she’d worked in a Seattle brokerage firm for a few months and picked up enough of the lingo to recognize that Braddock Industries was conducting a surefooted and leveraged buyout. So Adam was getting his grandfather a manufacturing company for his birthday. Imagine that.

“He can’t afford to be that obstinate. What is he thinking?” He snapped the words into the phone, but even Katie could tell it was a rhetorical question. No answer except the one he wanted would ever satisfy Adam Braddock. “Wallace can’t expect we’re going to make a better offer.”

“He’s concerned about his employees,” Katie said, hardly aware she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, much less expecting to get any response to her unsolicited opinion.

“What did you say?” Adam’s sharp tone brought her up short. “No, Allen,” he continued. “I was asking Katie…the events planner.”

She gave a guilty start and realized she suddenly had his full and complete attention. “Me?”

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