met with his approval. That was the way her uncle did business, whether he was running the country or running his family.
Jonathon frowned as he scanned the article. His eyes crinkled at the edges as his face settled into what she thought of as his problem-solving expression. But if he could figure a way out of this one, then he was smarter than even she thought he was.
“It says here she is survived by a brother and sister-in-law. Why don’t they take the baby?”
“Exactly,” she said grimly. “Why not? It’s what every conservative in the country will be thinking. Those conservative voters made up a huge portion of Uncle Hank’s constituents.” And they weren’t the only ones who had that question. It was no secret that their grandmother, Mema, didn’t approve of modern families. In her mind, a family comprised a mother and a father. And possibly a dog. Mema would want Hank Jr. to take Peyton. And what Mema wanted was generally what the family did.
She may have been in her late eighties, but she was a wily old dame. More importantly, she still controlled the money.
“It’s so frustrating,” she admitted. “This wouldn’t even be an issue if I had a husband I could trot out to appease my grandmother and Uncle Hank’s constituents.”
“You really think that’s all you need?”
“For my family to see me as the perfect mother?” She gave a fake, trilling laugh. “Oh, yes, a husband is the must-have accessory of the season. The richer, the better. Optional add-ons are the enormous gas-guzzling SUV, the Junior League membership and the golden Lab.”
“And it’s really that simple?”
“Oh, sure. That simple. I’ll just head over to the laboratory and whip up a successful husband out of spare computer parts. You run out to the morgue and steal a dead body I can reanimate and we’ll be good.”
His lips quirked in a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, just a hint of cockiness. The expression gave her pause, because he wasn’t laughing at her joke. No, she knew this look too. It was his I’ve-solved-the-problem look. “I think we can do a little better than that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said it yourself. All you need is a rich, successful husband.”
For a moment she just stared blankly at him, unable to follow the abrupt twist the conversation had taken. “Right. A rich, successful husband. Which I don’t have.”
“But you could.” He smiled fully now. Full smiles were rare for him. Usually they made her feel a little breathless. This one just made her nervous. “All you have to do is marry me. I’ll even buy you a dog.”
Having never before asked a woman to marry him, Jonathon wasn’t quite sure what reaction he expected, but it wasn’t Wendy’s blank-faced confusion. Or maybe that was a perfectly normal reaction under the circumstances. After all, it wasn’t every day a man proposed to his assistant for such transparently selfish reasons.
For a long moment, she merely stared at him, her blue-violet eyes wide, her perfect bow mouth gaping open in surprise.
She wasn’t just surprised. She was disconcerted. His proposal had shocked her. Maybe even offended her. On some deeply intimate level, the thought of marriage to him horrified her.
Not that he could really blame her. Despite his wealth, he was no prize.
She was going to say no, and he couldn’t let her do it. He needed her. Quite desperately, if the past seven days had been any indication.
“I’m not proposing a romantic relationship,” he reassured her, hoping to make his proposal seem as benign as possible.
“Obviously,” she muttered. Still holding the baby in her arms, she sank to the edge of the desk. She dipped her head, nuzzling the tuft of dark hair on Peyton’s head.
“This would be strictly a business arrangement.” He argued more vehemently as he felt her slipping away. “We’ll stay married as long as it takes to convince your family that we’re suitable parents. We won’t even have to live together. I’ll grant you an annulment as soon as we’ve convinced them.”
“No,” she said softly.
He felt a pang in his chest at her response. Then he saw it. Her letter of resignation. Signed, dated and ready to be handed over. As official as an order for his execution.
This past week had been a premonition of his future without her. He could envision an endless parade of incompetent temps. Countless hours of interviewing assistants, all of whom would fail to live up to the precedent set by Wendy. This government contract would slip through his fingers, just as the Olson deal had. FMJ had lost millions on that one. Which was nothing compared to what they’d miss if they didn’t secure this contract. He could feel the stepping-stone slipping out from under him, the future he’d planned out for the company dissolving before his very eyes.
Panic mounting, he kept talking. “If you’re worried about sex, don’t be. I certainly wouldn’t expect to sleep with you.”
Her gaze darted to his as she bolted to her feet. “No.” Then she squeezed her eyes closed for an instant. “What I meant was…” She drew in a deep breath. “… a fast annulment wouldn’t work.”
Just as quickly, her eyes shifted away from his. In that moment, a powerful, unspoken message passed between them.
Not once in all the years they’d worked together had they talked about sex. They had shared countless other intimacies. Eaten meals late at night. Sat beside each other on long plane flights. He’d had her fall asleep with her head on his shoulder somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. They had slept in hotel rooms with walls so thin he’d heard the sound of her rolling over in her bed. And yet despite all that, neither of them had ever broached the subject of sex.
But now that the word had been said aloud, it was there between them. The image of her, sprawled naked on a bed before him, was permanently lodged in his brain.
He found himself oddly pleased by the faint blush that crept into her cheeks as she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“If we’re going to do this—” she shot him a look from under her lashes as if she were trying to assess his commitment “—then we have to go all in.”
He raised his eyebrows, speculatively. She wasn’t saying no. She was making a counteroffer. He felt a grin split his face. Just when he thought he knew her, she always managed to surprise him.
“We can’t get an annulment in three or even six months,” she said. “My family will see right through that. In a year, maybe two, we’ll have to get divorced. Simply pretend the marriage didn’t work out.”
“I see.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think you do. I’m committed to fighting for Peyton. I’ll do whatever I have to. But I can’t ask you to do the same.”
“You’re not asking,” he pointed out. “I’m offering. And just so we’re clear, I’m not doing this
