Page 13 of A Bossy Proposal

I’ve never noticed it so vividly before. Maybe it’s because of where I saw him on Friday night, and the secret we now share.

But then again. My awareness of him has always been there.

Now, I see more.

It's not just his dark hair or his pale blue eyes that look into mine like he knows me.

It's not the clench he makes in his square jaw when we look at each other in silence.

There is something more lingering beneath his surface.

I try not to think about it.

“Amelia, look at this.” His voice is tight as he slides a newspaper across the desk.

I lean forward, my eyes widening in shock as I scan the headline. It’s about Club Elysium, the sex club I saw him leaving on Friday night. The night he asked me to keep to myself.

My heart races.

How did this get out?

“Did you know about this?” His eyes bore into mine, searching for something.

I shake my head, confused. “No, I...I didn’t.”

“Really?” His tone is accusatory, and it hits me like a slap to my face. “Because you were there too.”

My confusion turns to anger. “Wait, you think I sold this story?” My voice is raised.

“What am I supposed to think?” He stands up, pacing behind his desk. “You see me there, and two days later this appears in the papers?”

I jump to my feet, my voice rising a couple of octaves. “I can’t believe you’d think that of me! I would never betray your trust like that. You gave me a job I love. Why the hell would I jeopardize that?”

“Then explain how this happened,” he demands, gesturing at the paper with his pointer finger. “I’ve been going there for years and not once has a story been published about me.”

“I don’t know!” I’m almost shouting now, hurt by his lack of faith in me. “But it wasn’t me. I thought we had a better workingrelationship than this, Mr. Davenport. I thought you trusted me.”

I watch as the anger drains from his face, replaced by a weariness that makes him look older than his years.

He sinks back into his chair, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up.

“I do trust you.” He lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry. This whole situation has put me on edge.”

My heart stops racing as my anger dissipates, replaced by a mix of relief and curiosity. “It’s okay. I understand.” I sit back down, smoothing my skirt. “I promise you it wasn’t me, Mr. Davenport?”

West leans forward, elbows on his desk and smiles. “I believe you. But my father. He’s...well, he’s not happy with how things are going in my life. He thinks I need to settle down and present a more stable image for the company.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And by ‘settle down,’ you mean...”

“He wants me to get married.” West’s voice is flat, devoid of emotion. “To Elizabeth Jameson.”

My heart does this strange little flutter. So does my stomach when he looks at me.

Stop it!

He can never be yours.

“Elizabeth Jameson.” I try to put a face to a name, but she doesn’t ring any bells. “Who is Elizabeth Jameson?”

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