$10,000,000 Marriage Proposal (4 page)

Caroline felt wired
when she left the interview. It had been unexpectedly fun—like a date that had gone particularly well. There was a sense of hope and anticipation. What would come next? Her enthusiasm was only slightly dampened by her mother. She had barely put the car in Park when Isabelle and Brooke surged from the house into the driveway, demanding to know what had happened.

“You were gone all day!” Brooke said. “Did you win?”

“No, sweetie,” Caroline said.

“What? That's ridiculous,” Brooke said.

Her mother scowled in disappointment. “Who did they pick? Did you even have a chance to sing?” Isabelle pursed her lips. “It's not that you're lacking, Caroline. It's that you don't
sell
yourself. Did they give you a contact number? I would like to call—don't worry, sweetie, I won't embarrass you, but they do owe you an explanation.”

“Mom, there were, like, two thousand other women there. They don't owe me anything.”

“You always did give up too easily. You have to fight for what you want. Haven't I taught you anything?”

“Can you please just tell us what happened?” Brooke asked.

“If you let me get out of my car,” Caroline said.

She was starving. She started fixing herself a turkey sandwich and filled in her mother and sister on the strange, strange day.

“Like I said, there were lots and lots of women there.”

“Leggy blondes?” her mother said. “If that's what he wants, then good riddance.”

“Exactly what you'd expect. But I was among a group of about forty who were asked to interview.”

Isabelle's face immediately transformed, her eyes now bright with expectation. “You did it, baby! You got called back! I knew you could do it if you really, really wanted it. I've always said that if you just set your mind to success—and maybe had a little work done—”

“So when is the callback?” Brooke asked.

“Actually, they already interviewed me, so it might be over already. They didn't say anything about another meeting. I don't really know where I stand.”

“Jerks,” Brooke said.

“No, actually, that's the weird part. The interviewers were shockingly normal. They seemed to really care about who I was as a person, not just what I looked like or whether I'd make an ideal wife. They were—I don't know—
likeable,
even after conducting who knows how many interviews. Prince Charming, whoever he is, has good taste in people. It made me kind of curious about him.”

“If he has such good taste in people, how come he can't find his own girlfriend all by himself?” Brooke asked.

“Good point,” Caroline said.

“Is there a contact number?” Isabelle said. “We really should follow up. I'm going to check in. Find out your standing.”

“Mom, please don't,” Caroline said.

“No, Mom,” Brooke said at the same time.

Isabelle pursed her lips in frustration. “I'm not going to just sit around and wait.”

“That makes three of us,” said Caroline.

The meeting was
set for 10:00 p.m. Suze was uncomfortable with the timing. Why so late? What made this a safe situation? She'd signed a nondisclosure that required her to keep every element of this meeting private, but she wasn't an idiot. She put Meredith on call. The deal was, if Meredith didn't get a text from Suze by midnight, she was authorized to open the fingerprint-locked e-mail Suze had sent her with all the confidential information. Thanks to a technology Redfield had invested in, Suze would then receive an automatically generated text. If something went amiss, not only would Meredith have the mystery man's address in hand but Suze could use the autotext as proof to him that the police were en route. She was certainly curious enough at this point to agree to a meeting at a Bel Air mansion late at night, but she wasn't taking any chances.

The car dropped Suze off at the end of a long, gated drive. There was a cobblestoned cul-de-sac, well lit, with two architectural olive trees in the center. The house was sprawling but traditional, with nothing showy or oversized. An understated mansion. The entrance was warmly lit, making the late hour less creepy, and the wide front porch had powder-blue Adirondack chairs on it, a bit askew, as if someone actually made use of them. Suze noticed, as she rang the doorbell, how utterly quiet everything was. There was no traffic up here in the hills. No neighboring houses within sight. No sign of any other finalists. She nearly double-checked the address, but the millionaire's car had brought her here. It had to be the place. Maybe everyone was out back. Or maybe she was here alone. Or maybe this was a test and she was being watched right now. She reflexively reached into her bag to touch her phone. It was her safety line, one that would work even if she couldn't access it.

A woman in blue glasses opened the door. “Suze! Welcome. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to the door. This place is big! Frankly, I'm a little winded after walking from the library.” She ushered Suze in. “By the way, my name is Alicia. Congratulations on making it to this stage.”
This stage,
Suze noted. She hadn't won yet.

As she talked, Alicia led Suze to the left, down a wide hallway. They passed a large formal living room with a wall of sliders opening out onto a well-lit backyard. There was a dining room with an obscenely long table and several paintings that certainly belonged in a museum. They turned again, into another wing—the house seemed to be U-shaped, with a courtyard in the middle. The rooms along this hallway were clearly more lived in: First there was a comfortable game room with a pool table, bar, and a few retro pinball machines. Then they came to a library with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves, overstuffed reading chairs, and a wide antique desk.

“Please have a seat here,” Alicia said, directing her to one of the chairs. “What can I get you to drink? A glass of wine? Coffee or tea? Water? Whatever you want.”

“Just water is fine, thanks,” Suze said, then thought better of it. This wasn't a business meeting! It was a date—or if all went well, it might turn into one. “On second thought, a glass of red wine would be perfect.”

“You got it,” Alicia said. “And don't worry if it takes me a little while—the kitchen is at least a mile away.”

Suze waited. This had to be Mr. Moneybags' house, right? It certainly fit the bill. Was he lurking here somewhere? Scared to meet her, or just biding his time? She looked around. Was she being observed? Filmed? She stood up and started looking at the books that lined the shelves, pulling out one on Renaissance art. Might as well learn something while she waited. Plus, not to be calculating, but it didn't hurt to clue him in the minute he entered that she was no bimbo.

Another woman came
into the library—Suze recognized her as the woman from the Staples Center who had counseled her to smile at Mr. Moneybags, as if that opportunity would actually someday arrive. Apparently, it now had.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Alicia had to step away. But I brought you your wine.” The woman lowered the shades on the sliders. “Here, this is cozier, isn't it?”

Suze had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she sensed she hadn't gotten far enough to earn that. When entrepreneurs came to Redfield seeking funding, they were expected to make their case, presenting all the information in a coherent and convincing way before Redfield gave them any indication of interest or partnership. Suze knew where she stood. But that didn't mean it wasn't worth a shot.

“How many of us are there at this point?” she whispered to her presumed ally.

“It's not a competition,” the woman said. “Not in the traditional sense. He's not comparing women. He's just looking for one. The one. It'll just be a moment. Good luck. And don't be nervous—just be yourself.”

Easy for you to say,
Suze thought. But the wine was an excellent idea. A few sips in, Suze's doubts and mild paranoia fled, and she was left to appreciate the luxurious setting and romantic scenario in which she found herself. This was a real-life fairy tale. Somewhere out there was a man. Would he sweep her off her feet? Did she even believe in love at first sight? He seemed to have confidence in this process—otherwise, how could he trust that from it his perfect mate would emerge? She herself had a mental list of what she wanted in a man, but she wasn't wed to it. There had to be variables; anyone with half a brain knew that.

Suddenly, without fanfare, a man dressed casually in jeans, loafers, and a pullover came out and sat down across from her. He was in his midthirties, handsome, with a warm smile. Suze felt an unfamiliar combination of relief and disappointment. Here he was at last—the man who had sparked all this drama and speculation, the owner of this dream estate, a person who was willing to spend anything on his search for the right woman. He was certainly more than attractive enough, but now that he was in front of her, Suze felt a vague sense of loss. Gone was the magic of not knowing anything. The mystery of a man who had no features and no form. The unknown had been more intriguing than this real person sitting before her. Suze instantly saw it as a flaw in the process—he'd built himself up to be a god and then exposed himself as a mere mortal.

“I'm Brendan,” he said. “You must be Suze.” He looked down at a piece of paper. “I know a lot about you from this, but is it okay if I ask a few questions?”

“Of course,” Suze said. “That's what I'm here for. And, by the way, hi. It's nice to finally meet you.”

“It's nice to meet you, too.” He flashed a quick smile. Not unfriendly, but somehow too businesslike. “Would you be open to telling me about a past relationship—preferably the first one that springs to mind?” He paused, then added, “Maybe it will help for me to tell you why I'm asking, so it isn't such an open-ended question?”

Suze shrugged flirtatiously. “This is a pretty open-ended experiment anyway.…”

Brendan laughed. “I know it. A bit crazy, right? Thank you for bearing with it. Okay, so the reason I'm asking is simply because the way we talk about love says so much about how we see ourselves and what we hope for in life. In some ways we are driven to repeat our relationships. We are attracted to the same qualities. We make the same mistakes. We make choices that are reactions to what we've learned in the past. When you talk about an important relationship, it's a good way for me to absorb all this stuff about you.” There was a sparkle in his eye. “Plus, I might learn the way into your heart.”

“You just might,” Suze said. He radiated confidence, this man. She could see why he was so successful. Her initial hesitance faded. Brendan was definitely her type. Maybe he was onto a good thing with this elaborate blind dating. She was willing to take it seriously, for now at least. “Okay, so, I'm a serial monogamist. I had a high school boyfriend, a college boyfriend, and a postcollege boyfriend. Approximately four years each. I swear that wasn't a deliberate plan, even though I'm sort of a control freak. Each of them was, I have to say, a very good match for me. They were all high achievers, like I am, but thoughtful and loving. I really can't complain.

“My postcollege boyfriend, Craig, is the one I'm going to tell you about because I really thought we'd get married. We met in business school, and we were both very driven. Just completely and obviously well matched. When we started dating, nobody noticed. Literally. Like they'd assumed we were already together. Plus, he was half Korean, which would have made my mother happy. Not that she gets to decide whom I marry. We were both really hard workers who thought the whole work-life balance concept was completely silly. Love what you do and you don't need to worry about balance. For the most part.”

“Yes!” Brendan said. “That's what I've always said—kids hate school and adults hate work. That's where we go wrong—making work into a chore. We need to find our passions.”

“Right! Except of course there are jobs it would be very hard to love. I mean, personally I would hate being a sanitation worker,” Suze said.

“Oh, right. Me, too,” said Brendan. “We need to—”

“We need to check our entitlement.”

“Exactly.”

“Anyway, Craig and I were focused on building our careers, and along the way we went out to dinner and on trips and did all the things that happy couples do together…and we
were
happy.”

“But?”

“It was too…easy. Flat. We had settled into life, and I could see us going on like that for years. Adding in kids, buying a house. It was a cookie-cutter life in the making.”

“So no cookies for you?” Brendan asked.

“Truthfully? I'm pretty hungry right now,” Suze said. “I was too nervous to eat before I came here.”

“I'm on it,” Brendan said, turning on his phone to send a quick text.

“I didn't mean—”

“No, I'm glad you said something. I'm starving, too.”

Suze continued. “Ultimately, the reason I left Craig is that I was bored. He made me boring. I made him boring. Whatever it was, there just wasn't enough…”

“Enough cookies?” Brendan said as a server put down a huge tray of assorted cookies that, impossible though it was, seemed to be freshly baked.

“Exactly,” Suze laughed.

“But seriously, you broke up over boredom. Does that mean you've never had your heart broken?”

“To be honest, I'm not wired that way. I guess I'm just practical. You know how people say, ‘If it's meant to be, it's meant to be'? That's how I am. I was just born this way.”

“So no heartbreak, no big disappointments in life?”

“I aim low,” Suze joked.

“I doubt that,” Brendan said.

“Okay, it must be that I pick reasonable goals and work hard to accomplish them. I'm the opposite of a drama queen. So you can see why I have to be careful not to get stuck in a boring life.”

“What's the antidote?”

“To boredom? You know, I think the antidote is being adventurous. I like to scuba dive, skydive, and ski. It's easier to be brave when you don't stand in your own way.”

“I like that!” Brendan said.

“Kind of like being willing to search through any number of women to find the right match…” Suze was trying to steer the conversation to Brendan. Would he reveal anything about himself? Anything about why he was doing this and where she stood?

“It might be bravery. It might be cowardice. But, say what you will, it's certainly not boring.”

“Here's to that.” Suze lifted her wineglass, and though Brendan's glass seemed to hold water, he clinked it against hers.

“To adventure,” he said.

This date, Suze told herself, was going very well. “Now how about you?” she tried. “What about your sordid past?”

“I appreciate you asking—but first I have a few more questions for you.” Brendan was so easy to talk to—Suze found herself confessing far more than she usually would on a first date. This man, this house, she could see herself slipping so easily into this life.…