Eleven minutes later, the elevator began moving again, and they straightened their clothes as best as they could.
“Well, I guess I finally know your rate,” Gray said as he helped her retie her top. “I should have left a diamond ring on the dresser a year ago, and we could have skipped all the past few months and gotten straight to the good stuff.”
“But then we’d never have experienced the awkward family dinner, or The Castle, or the Blackwells…”
“Speaking of the Blackwells, what do you say to a honeymoon in Maui?” he asked.
“Will Alistair be there?”
“I can probably arrange it. Assuming he doesn’t have a mosquito convention.”
“Then absolutely. I’m in. Ugh, I don’t suppose you have a handkerchief,” she said, struggling to right her appearance.
He pulled one from his pocket, predictable as ever. “I thought you were supposed to save the one I gave you last time as a memento,” he said as she carefully removed her smeared lipstick.
“I believe what I said was that I wasn’t keeping it.”
“I thought you women were supposed to be attuned to romantic inklings.”
She snorted. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I didn’t set your handkerchief on fire.”
Gray grabbed her left hand and ran a thumb over the new diamond. “You’re sure about this, Sophie? You think I can be a good husband?”
“I’m sure about you,” she said confidently, smiling into his worried face. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life annoying the crap out of you.”
Gray’s lips closed over hers, and it took them several moments to realize that the elevator doors had opened, and that a crowd of people were staring at them. The same hotel manager from before came rushing over.
“Mr. Wyatt, I hope everything is—well, I mean—will your companion be joining you for dinner?” Mr. Clinksy finished awkwardly, clearly unsure how to handle the unusual situation.
Gray smiled down at his new fiancée. “Indeed she will.” Sophie and Gray walked away from the elevator lobby for the second time in the same year.
But this time, they were going in the same direction.
Will Thatcher is exactly the type of sexy bad boy that good girls like Brynn have always avoided.
But Will is out to show Brynn that this imperfect man might be the best mistake of her life…
Please see the next page for a preview of
Made for You.
CHAPTER ONE
Accept the aging process with grace and decorum.
—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an Exemplary Life, #32
Distributing toilet paper was not on Brynn Dalton’s life list.
Neither was crying in a public bathroom at her own birthday party.
But if there was one thing Brynn was starting to suspect, it was that life’s plans went to hell after thirty.
“Excuse me, um…ma’am? Would you mind passing some toilet paper? This roll is empty.”
The slightly embarrassed question from the neighboring bathroom stall caught Brynn on the verge of a sob, and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
“Oh. Sure.” She kept her voice composed. Her voice was always composed.
Brynn carefully tore off six squares of toilet paper and folded them neatly. She was about to pass them under the stall when she paused. The tidiness of the bundle annoyed her. So instead of handing it over, she set the folded squares on her knee and slapped at the toilet paper roll again until she had an enormous wad of tissue. Brynn very slowly, very intentionally crumbled the toilet paper into a ball.
Much better.
Plus, now the poor lady on the other side wouldn’t be in the awkward position of having to ask for some more toilet paper. And Brynn Dalton was very good about not putting people in awkward situations.
Brynn leaned down slightly and thrust the wad of tissue under the stall wall.
“Thanks,” came the relieved voice. “You’d think a classy place like this would have enough TP stocked, huh?”
“You’d think,” Brynn agreed politely. Not that she gave a hoot about the toilet paper stocking policies at SkyCity’s private event venue.
“You here for the party?” the voice asked.
“Mm hmm,” Brynn said, becoming aware that she was on the verge of entering full-on conversation from a toilet seat.
What kind of crassness was this? Weren’t bathroom stalls supposed to be sacred places?
“Do you know the birthday girl?” the voice persisted.
Brynn gave a grim smile at that. “Oh yes.”
“Never met her,” the other voice said. “I’m just tagging along as the date of one of her friends.”
“Oh, nice,” Brynn said, struggling to keep her voice polite.
Brynn heard Chatty Cathy’s toilet flush. Finally. “Well, see ya,” the voice said. “Good luck.”
Good luck? What exactly did the stranger think Brynn was doing in here that required “luck”?
Then again, she had been in here for the better part of twenty minutes. And come to think of it…what was Brynn doing in here?