The Bachelor's Perfect Proposal (Bliss Series Book 2)

T
he night began
like any other night—with me bored out of my head. I shook hands with the right people, talked business with others, and kissed a few too many women—who replied with subtle and some not-so-subtle gropes. In a black, tailored tuxedo, I stood beside my date for the gala, Louisa Marie Alfonso-Parker. Though her divorce wouldn’t be final for another week, she thought she should make a new start, soon. And she had targeted me for trial-and-error purposes. By the way the night was going, I was leaning more toward error.

Throughout the night, I kept wondering what in the world had possessed me to accept her invitation. She was gorgeous, but her personality was drier than the Gobi desert. No amount of single malt could drown her mind-numbing political tirade.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out, hoping it was a means of escape. As I viewed the name on my screen, I was reminded that there were worse people out there than my date
du jour
.

“Olivier, must you work all the time? It’s time to play, dahlin’,” Louisa said through gritted teeth, and her nails skimmed the side of my neck.

I cringed, removing her claws before she drew blood. She hated not having anyone’s full attention. “I won’t be long,” I told her, and ignored the plumes of dark smoke coming out of her ears.

The phone call I was about to take was rather…delicate, or indelicate depending on the other person. I didn’t need an audience. Dodging the attendees in varied black-and-white attire, I made my way to one corner of the grand ballroom before answering the call.

“Ophelia?” I kept my voice flat. No need to excite her.

“Hello, lover,” she drawled.

The wannabe actress/model had been a huge pain in my derrière ever since I’d made the mistake of taking her on a date. It had been a dare.

Huffing out a breath, I looked up to the gilded ceilings. “I thought I asked you not to call me again.”
Many times over.

“Oh, but you weren’t serious.” I could practically hear her silicon-plumped lips pouting. “When are you coming home? I’m cold and lonely.”

“I made it clear that I didn’t want to see you anymore, remember? Remember when you keyed my new car?” Just the thought of what she had done to my Tesla made my blood pressure rise to dangerous levels. “I won’t file charges, but you promised not to come near me again.” Calm, I had to stay calm.

A sharp intake of breath came through the line before a maniacal laugh pierced my ear.

“You were just playing hard to get.” She purred and moaned. “Check your phone. I sent you a selfie that will make you want me back.” I didn’t trust the confidence in her voice.

A ping sounded from my phone. I pulled it away from my ear to see what she had sent me. I shouldn’t have, but I was glad I did. For there she was. All of her cosmetically-altered, naked self was spread-eagle on
my
cloud-grey sateen sheets. The ones on my bed, in my master bedroom, which Ophelia shouldn’t have access to. As soon as I ended the call, I needed to reconsider acquiring a restraining order.

“How did you get into my penthouse?” I yelled at the phone, garnering stares and unwanted attention from people around me.

“I have my ways.” Her voice took on a salacious tone. “So are you coming back soon?”

I
had
been patient for far too long. “All right, Ophelia, stay put. Do not move.” I enunciated those last three words. Before she could say anything else, I disconnected and tapped in another number. “Jerrod, explain to me how someone was able to enter my apartment. The same woman who vandalized my car yesterday.”

The head of security of my building stuttered an incoherent response. Not many had witnessed or experienced an angry Laurent. Jerrod went right into action, not making any excuses. He promised to handle my intruder personally and, if the authorities had to be contacted, that I would receive immediate reports. I then called my lawyer for the R.O. and had him get in touch with Blackwood Security for a more reliable and current system for my penthouse.

I had just ended that last call when, through the doors I stood next to, came a woman in a simple black dress, ass first.
Delightful
. Facing away from me, she leaned over a rolling tray, pulling it out from the kitchen. Staring right at that tempting behind, I didn’t move fast enough. Her buttocks bumped me right where they should, but her right heel pierced my foot.

Alerted, electrified, and high on the buzz, I grabbed her hips just as she turned.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” She pressed a hand on her chest.

She was a goddess.

Everything slowed down. All I could hear was the swift tattoo of my heart. The rest of the world disappeared into a puff of smoke. No one else was present except her and me.

The neckline of her 50’s-style dress displayed a décolletage waiting to be explored. A string of pearls wrapped delicately around a neck that was aching to be kissed. The smooth skin of her jaw begged me for a nibble. And when my eyes met hers, cliché as it might sound, I felt that I had died and gone to heaven. My mind was a dense fog, but the sight of her was clear as day, as illuminating as the sun, as bright as the stars.
Be still, my beating heart
.

“You can let go of me now.” Her voice somehow broke through. I gazed at her again, from her crown of caramel braids down to pink toes peeking out of her black, unadorned shoes. “Let go…please.”

I followed the resonance of her voice—as though I could see it—from the edge of her neckline, up to her elegant throat and to heart-shaped, pursed lips. Then, one by one, she extracted my fingers from her hips, and daintily plucked the top of her dress and righted it.

“You can stop staring at my cleavage,” the goddess admonished me. My eyes dropped to my hands, to the electrified parts of my skin she had touched.

When I looked up again, I stepped back from the disdain and clear disgust on her face. She might as well have called me ‘pervert’. Possibly remembering where we were, her pursed lips and furrowed forehead melted into a slightly more serene countenance.

Any other time, I would have thought she had a screw loose, managing to go from one emotion to the next in one second flat. But I’d dealt with my fair share of crazies, and there wasn’t any doubt in my mind that she wasn’t one. She was pure and simple and beautiful.

And I had to know her.

But the first words that came out of my mouth weren’t entirely what I had in mind. “There wasn’t much to see.” I was an idiot. What I’d meant to say was that I wasn’t staring at her breasts.

Before I could rephrase my words, she “humphed!” her way around and back to the task at hand, angling the cart toward the main bar. As she stepped away, she muttered, “Should have stepped on your other foot too.”

A quiet laugh escaped my mouth. It was something I hadn’t done in a while, and it sounded strange. All I could do was watch the swing of her glorious hips as she moved forward, fast.

I muttered out loud this time, “Be still, my beating heart,” and placed a hand over the erratic tattoo in my chest.

“Levi!”

I had trouble turning away from the goddess and toward the source of the voice which had called me. A man in his late sixties with an antalgic gait waved as he ambled up to me. His heaving paunch pushed the limits of the buttons on his shirt.

“Santiago, how are you doing?” Still reeling from the excitement of bumping against the sweet-looking woman, I shook his hand with gusto.

He returned my greeting with a big smile on his face. “Very well, son. Still surviving. How’s your dear grandmother doing?”

“Martina was doing great last time I spoke to her.”

Santiago leaned closer and jabbed my side with his plump arm. “It’s okay, son, you can tell me that she’s angry as the devil himself. How did her grapes survive the early frost?”

I shook my head and raised my hands in front of me. “You’ve known her far longer than I have, Santiago. You know how she gets.” As tender and loving my grandmother was with me, she was a wrathful demoness when things didn’t go her way. She had a love-hate relationship with Mother Nature, and oftentimes she would be found sleeping beside The Farmer’s Almanac. “I’ve read reviews for your wine. Congratulations! Now that you’ve reached the top, isn’t it about time to retire?”

The older man guffawed and coughed, clasping and adjusting his collar. “Never! I will be harvesting those grapes until my last breath. Now, tell me, son: Martina has taught you all her secrets. Isn’t it time you branch out on your own? Run your own vineyard?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Not in the stars, Santiago, not for me. It’s best for people who have the heart to get shit done, who don’t mind all the work and dirt on their hands.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Santiago ducked his head and peered around us, waving a hand in the air. “Who in their right mind would give up waking whenever you want, with any woman you want, and only getting up to party all over again, eh?”

“Who indeed?” It was hard to explain, but there was a sudden emptiness inside as I said those words. I glanced to my left, and almost too easily, my eyes found
her
again, talking amicably with one of the bartenders.

What would be her views on this matter? On someone like me?
I wondered, while I watched her from afar, the goddess with the sweet smile who had captured my heart.

* * *

T
hroughout the night
, I tried in vain to find out who she was. No one seemed to know her, or even cared to figure it out. She was like a ghost haunting the ballroom, flying from one corner of the expansive hall to the next with little effort. After a while, I accepted that most, if not all, the event’s attendees were rich, self-centered bores.

During dinner Louisa asked me to take a seat next to hers, and there I sat, but my mind roamed and my eyes darted from one area to the next. After desserts, I spotted her talking to Evelyn Witham, the chairwoman of the charity for which the fundraising gala was held.

There it was, another chance to figure out who the mystery woman was. Could I redeem myself? “Louisa, there’s Evelyn.” I nodded my head slightly in their direction. “Do you know who’s talking to her?” I hoped that my voice did not betray me.

“Hmmm…I’ve never seen her before.” Louisa pursed her lips, which reminded me of an anteater.

How could everyone else not notice her? “She’s been here all night.”

Louisa extended her neck and leered at me. “Maybe she’s the help.” She said the last word like it was a curse. “Viola would know. Viola,” she called across the table, and Viola duBarry did not hesitate to appear interested. “Do you know who that girl is talking to Evelyn?”

“I think she’s the event planner,” the woman replied.

I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from asking more questions, from appearing too eager.

“Planner? I thought Jayleen did this? Did they fire her? I just saw her at the club last week, and she’d been going on about this whole night,” Louisa pressed.

Viola flattened a hand on her chest and leaned forward, but did not lower her voice. Meekness was lost to some of these women. “That’s what I heard. Apparently, Evelyn found out Jayleen took some of the funds for personal purposes. Jayleen does have a new convertible.”

Louisa quirked her eyebrow, while I remained, with bated breath, waiting for these two women to confirm whether my goddess was indeed the planner.

“Where did they find this one?” Louisa flicked a finger over her shoulder, like a fly had been annoying her. “I’ve never seen her in the circle before. She can’t be new. Why would they get someone new to replace a veteran?”

“Maybe they wanted someone with fresh ideas,” I put in, careful not to inflect my tone and betray my true emotions.

Louisa turned to me and scoffed. “Have you not seen what Jayleen can do? She planned my wedding!”

“And that’s a great example? You’re getting divorced after six months of marriage.” I was preparing my own grave if I didn’t stop mocking Louisa.

“Apparently, Evelyn worked with her in some art gallery opening, or something a couple months back,” Viola added.

Louisa turned her head again, wrinkled her nose and said, “Look at her. She can’t even afford a proper couture gown for tonight. You can practically smell the mothballs from here.”

That was enough to tip me over. “I’m surprised you even knew what mothballs are, Louisa.” I stood abruptly and straightened my suit jacket. “I thought the only balls you knew were your ex-husband’s old, hairy ones.” I strutted away from the table as I heard a collective gasp.

Once I was a few feet away from the goddess and Evelyn, my heart thumped like a high school drum line in my chest. I couldn’t count each beat, and I tried—and failed—to steady my breathing, lest I sounded like I had run a marathon when I reached them. I knew she sensed me. Within a quarter of a beat, our eyes met, my line of vision blurred, I grinned like a fool, and my step faltered. She did not return my smile.

Whether she had heard of me, recognized me, or just understood the type of person I was in a matter of seconds, she didn’t like me, and it showed. Her head nodded once, and a small smile played on her pink lips as she turned her attention back to Evelyn, before hastily leaving her side.