Page 26 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“Says who?” she asks.
I point to my chest. “Says me.”
“And would you say that you’re the one that makes all the decisions?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s what the termbossentails. The decision-maker.”
“And your choice is to fire me?”
What kind of fucking circus is this? Is this some sort of social media trend? Refusal to be fired?
Am I actually old and I don’t realize it?
“Yes, my choice is to fire you; that’s why I did it yesterday: I fired you.”
“You did, but a part of me thinks that you might regret that decision.”
I stick my hands in my pockets and ask, “What makes you think that?”
“Because I have a proposal for you.” She hops off my desk and gestures toward my seating area. “Please, join me.”
Skeptical but also intrigued by the fuckery, I follow her and take a seat on the couch as she does, only about a foot of space separating us, close enough to catch the lavender scent that clings to her.
“What’s going on, Sloane? I have things to do.”
“I know; this won’t take too much of your time.” She places her hands on her lap and looks me in the eyes. “I was thinking about yesterday and everything that happened. And I know the right thing to do would be to come in here and tell you I didn’t mean any of the things that I said, but that would be a lie. I meant every single word.”
Every single word?
Because I remember specifically one thing in particular that she triedto deny saying, but I’m not going to bring that up, not when she’s sitting this close and smells this damn good.
“Okay,” I say.
“And an apology is not why I’m here. I’m here on business.”
“Sloane, I don’t think I can give you your job back.”
“Not looking to be your assistant,” she says, and then, to my surprise, she gets down on one knee in front of me, takes my hand in hers, and continues. “I’m looking to be your wife.”
My WHAT?
“Hudson Mitchell Hopper, will you marry me?”
She smiles up at me. Winks.
Fucking winks…
She’s kidding right?
I look for something, anything, to tell me this is a joke. I glance around the room. Are there hidden cameras in here? Am I on a daytime talk show where someone is going to come out, have a gotcha moment, and say to the audience that I’ve been lusting after my too-young-for-me assistant?
I wait a few seconds, and when I realize none of that is happening, I clear my throat. “Excuse me?”
“Look at you, in shock. How cute.” She pats my hand. “Hudson, it’s a simple question. Will you marry me?”
“Uh…” I shake my hand out of hers and slide back on the couch, putting space between us. “Not to sound like an obtuse ass, but why the fuck would I marry you, Sloane?”
She rolls her eyes. “And here I thought you were a smart businessman.”
