The Perfect Proposal (11 page)

Annie’d never had a problem working up a few
ideas and this case as certainly no exception. She had roughly six
good, workable campaigns. Nevertheless, she knew none of her
current thoughts would dazzle Les Peters. She bit her lip. And
nothing short of dazzling would do for the flamboyant little
cowboy.

She huffed a breath of exasperated air. And
the way Mitch had been carrying on last night, she’d have though
he’d come up with something better than a legendary stomach remedy
jingle. Annie scowled. Since Annie had always made it a priority to
know her competition, one of Liz’s first acts as her assistant had
been to unearth some of Mitch’s previous campaigns from his college
days when he’d still worked at Hightower.

Like every beginner, some of his ideas were
horrible, but most showed definite promise. Grudgingly, Annie had
to admit that, had Mitch stuck with Hightower, he’d definitely be a
force to be reckoned with. It must have really hurt William when
his protégé nephew left the company.

But whatever Mitch’s reason for taking a
different path from his familial predecessors, the fact remained
that he’d walked away and she’d stepped in.

Annie had built more than a career there,
she’d found a home. The company had become her identity in some
ways, and truth be told, she needed it.

In her own dysfunctional way, Annie had made
the people she worked with into her family. William she likened to
a father. Betty in accounting a grandmother. Carl from the art
department, an uncle. She had much more at stake than Mitch, Annie
decided petulantly. After all, he could go back to his computer
company. What did he need with Hightower Advertising?

Annie paused and for the
time since considered that question. What
did
he need with Hightower? After all
the time, why had made the company a priority now? Like herself,
did Mitch have some illogical personal reason which had made him
equally desperate to secure the CEO position? And if so, then what
was it?

Feeling an unexpected softening toward him,
Annie bristled and told herself whatever his reason, it didn’t
matter. She’d been looking out for herself too long to entertain
any thoughts to the contrary. She’d do well to remember that.

Instead of contemplating Mitch’s motivation,
she should be thinking about her campaign. Or lack thereof, she
amended. Nevertheless, while Annie would privately admit to a few
inconvenient insecurities, her ability to invent and market certain
products hadn’t failed her yet. Admittedly, certain items posed
more of an advertising problem—like hot dogs—but she hadn’t a doubt
that she could do it. And, given the opportunity, Annie was certain
she competently lead Hightower Advertising into the twenty-first
century.

But she had to get out of bed first.

With a sigh, Annie hoisted herself up and
planted her feet on the floor. She padded to the door and poked her
head out, disappointed when the pleasing aroma of coffee didn’t
instantly tickle her nose. That was odd, she thought. Since their
arrival some three days ago, Mitch had appointed himself “Guardian
of the Grounds” and hadn’t let her near the sophisticated coffee
maker. It was then that Annie noted the absolute stillness of the
cottage. Not a sound came from the other rooms. No water running,
no TV, and, she realized as uneasiness made her empty stomach
clench, no Mitch. She knew it.

With a flash of flurry, Annie jerked the door
open. Clad in her robe, she stalked through the house to confirm
her suspicions. Her search proved futile. She’d been right. He was
gone. Her eyes narrowed fractionally. And it didn’t’ take a genius
to figure out where.

That low-down dirty sneak
had gone to see Les.
Without
her
, which could only mean one thing. While
she’d been doing her Sleeping Beauty impersonation, Mitch had taken
the opportunity to track down Les and give his pitch. Another surge
of fury rocketed through her veins, making her grit her
teeth.

And to think she’d almost entertained some
charitable thoughts about him! Good thing she’d caught herself.
Annie didn’t take time to contemplate the underlying disappointment
she felt upon realizing Mitch’s underhanded trickery. Instead, she
shoved it to the very back of her mind, where she stored all of
life’s past disillusions. It was starting to get a little crowded
back there.

Then, she did what she always did when dealt
a blow—Annie immediately planned a counterattack.

A grim smile touched her lips. Mitch would
never know what hit him.

“
Now, see here,” Les
announced in his louder-than-a-megaphone voice. “You mighta been
hunting with some of those amateurs who spray themselves down with
scent, plant a little corn on the path and hide up in a tree,” he
said derisively. “But this ain’t how I do it.” Les huffed
indignantly as he barreled through the woods like a leprechaun in
camouflage. “Hell, boy. That ain’t huntin’! That’s waitin’! Humph!
I hunt like they did in the old days before it got so gol-darned
sophisticated.”

Mitch suspected Les didn’t hunt like any
other soul on earth, much less one of his touted ancestors. While
Mitch’s hunting experience had been limited to a few excursions
with Uncle Will as a teenager, he’d nevertheless gleaned a few
pertinent tips for bagging his game.

One of which was the need for silence. For
instance, when tracking an animal, one didn’t announce one’s
presence to the would-be prey.

Listening to Les loudly regale him with more
hunting anecdotes, Mitch decided the little meat magnate had never
learned that particular ploy. Hell, he was certain any
self-respecting animal within a two-mile radius had already fled
the surrounding woods and given them both a wide berth.

“
And so,” Les said,
awkwardly smacking a tree limb out of his way with a short stubby
arm, “that’s why I don’t even carry a gun into the woods. Sorta
evens up the odds for the animal, wouldn’t you say? After all, the
deer isn’t armed.”

And that would be the other hot tip, Mitch
thought silently. When hunting, one generally had procured a
weapon.

How did Les catch them, provided he ever did
actually stumble cross an animal too dumb or weak to get away from
him? Suddenly, Mitch had a horrible mental vision of Les tackling a
deer and wrestling it to the ground.

“
I bet you’re wonderin’ how
I ever get a deer, aren’tcha? Les said, interrupting Mitch’s
overactive imaginings. “Well, it’s like this. I use my bare hands.
I wrassle ‘em to the ground, then pull out my trusty pocket knife-“
Les pated his pockets in search of his weapon and come up
empty-handed. He frowned. “Well, anyhoo, you get the
picture.”

Yes, Mitch thought, unfortunately he did.

As far as he could see, Les’s only concession
to conventional hunting was his camouflage outfit. Which, Mitch
decided, knowing Les’s penchant for dressing up, was obviously the
draw.

“
That’s amazing, Les. I’ve
never thought of it that way.”

Les turned and shot him a pleased look. “I’ve
learned that most people don’t think the way I do.”

Mitch resisted the urge to mutter a heartfelt
“Amen.”

Les paused and whipped a gourmet granola bar
from one of the many pockets on his extravagant hunting gear. “I’m
getting a little hungry. Want one?” he asked.

“
Uh, sure,” Mitch said,
though he’d just as soon eat tree bark. Still, he was supposed to
be wooing Les, not critiquing his eating habits. That’s why he’d
sneaked away this morning and accepted Les’s impromptu invitation
to join him on this hunting farce.

His conscience twinged a little at deceiving
Annie, but it was unavoidable to achieve his goal. Sabotaging her
alarm clock had been a stretch even for him, but again, necessary.
Had Annie known he’d planned to sneak over and see Les this
morning, she wouldn’t have stood for it. And, considering he was no
longer just trying to win his uncle’s game, but attempting to save
his sanity as well, there was simply too much at stake.

After Annie had gone to bed last night, Mitch
had made up his mind to put an end to this contest as quickly as
possible. Spending time with Annie had distracted him from his
goal, and lately he’d become more interested in learning the shape
of her mouth—or more specifically, tasting that mouth—than besting
her.

Mitch had always had healthy
male urges, but the emotions that Annie Witherspoon aroused in
conjunction with those urges was something totally new and
completely unexpected. And a little frightening as well. Suddenly
he remembered Annie just as she’d been this morning when he’d
sneaked into her room.
Utterly
gorgeous.
He expelled a pent-up breath. The
sooner they were out of Texas and back in Atlanta the
better.

Whistling tunelessly, Les trundled over and
plopped down on a felled tree. He kicked his tiny booted feet out
and instructed Mitch to take the mossy spot beside him, then handed
him one of the tasteless granola bars. Mitch inwardly shrugged,
then bit into the oaty rectangle.

“
So, any hanky-panky
happenin’ with you and that little spitfire yet?” Les asked
casually.

Mitch choked.

Les guffawed happily, then jumped up, rounded
the log and pounded Mitch on the back with enough force to collapse
a lung. “Hell, boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He chuckled again.
“Just curious is all.”

Mitch’s eyes watered as his throat convulsed
around a wad of dry oats. Was it possible to perform the Heimlich
maneuver on yourself? he wondered wildly. Hell, he’d have to—Les’s
arms were too short to wrap around Mitch’s middle.

With supreme effort, he finally managed to
swallow the obstruction. Or at least the part that hadn’t settled
at the bottom of his lungs. “Uh, no, sir. No…hanky-panky,” he
rasped. Mitch pulled in a deep breath of blessed oxygen and wiped
the moisture from his eyes.

Seemingly satisfied that Mitch wasn’t going
to expire, Les resumed his seat on the log. “Well, then, that’s a
shame. Handsome man like you, pretty girl like her,” he lamented in
aw-shucks voice, as though Mitch hadn’t almost choked to death only
seconds ago. The little cowboy shot him a suspicious look and his
bushy brows rose an inch. “You ain’t one of them boys that likes
boys, are you?”

Mitch was thankful he had foregone the rest
of his gritty snack, otherwise he might have choked again. He shook
his head emphatically. “No, sir. I’m not. I like girls,” he
assured. “Lots of girls.”

Les laughed. “So what’s the problem then? You
like girls, and Annie’s a girl,” he reasoned. “Mighty fine lookin’
girl too.”

Now if this wasn’t a blatant attempt at
matchmaking, Mitch would eat the rest of the horrible granola
bar.

“
She’s real smart, too,” Les
continued, listing Annie’s many good points. “Put herself through
school. And what with her sorry beginning and all, that’s pretty
good indication of character. Takes a real scrapper to accomplish
all that she has.”

It took a minute for the last part of Les’s
glowing recommendation of Annie to sink in. Curiosity got the
better of Mitch.

“
What about her beginning?”
he heard himself asking.

“
Oh, you didn’t know?” Les
asked innocently. “Well, since Annie doesn’t keep her childhood a
secret, I don’t suppose it would hurt for me to tell you.” He
paused. “Annie was abandoned as a child, raised in the foster care
system. From what your uncle says, some of the homes were pretty
bad. Abusive. It’s a shame, isn’t it? That someone so good had to
go through that? Makes you wonder how many other children like her
are out there. And if they turned out as well,” he added
soberly.

After a moment, Les smacked his thighs and
stood. “Well, I suspect we should be getting’ back. We’re due for
lunch in a few minutes.”

Still taken aback by this unexpected
revelation about Annie’s childhood, Mitch stood as well. No wonder
she was so close to Uncle Will, he realized. His kindhearted uncle
had taken her under his wing and, like a starving little chick,
Annie had sort of let herself be adopted. A peculiar feeling
tightened in his chest. So many things about her now, made sense.
Things that—

“
So, if you really like
girls as you say, then what’s the problem with Annie?” Les asked
again, interrupting Mitch’s turbulent thoughts with another nosy
question.

Inwardly, Mitch sighed. Here he’d planned to
corner Les about the campaign and instead, he was getting cornered.
“Annie isn’t a problem per se, Les. She’s a colleague. I make it a
point not to mix business with pleasure.” There, Mitch thought, Les
was a businessman, surely he could understand that logic, even
though it was a lie. Mitch liked to be able to find a little
pleasure in everything he did.

“
That’s funny,” Les
remarked, scratching his temple. “I seem to recall an article about
you and a little data entry clerk a few years back.”

An alarm sounded in Mitch’s head. The article
in question was at least five years old and had run in one of the
smaller tabloids. Les either had a photographic memory, or he’d
done a background check. Gut instinct told Mitch it was both.

“
I’ve turned over a new
leaf,” Mitch said carefully.

Les laughed until he wheezed. “Alright,
alright.” He sighed. “Still, can’t help thinking the two of you
would make a fine couple. Seems to take forever these days. Why,
when I was a young feller…” Les droned on, but Mitch tuned him
out.

Not bloody likely.

Mitch wanted to have a wife and a
family—someday. But not now. A relationship like that would be too
hard to cultivate and maintain at this point in his life. He had to
tackle first things first. And presently, taking over the family
company and making certain he had something to pass on to future
offspring was his main priority.