A Proposal

Chapter 6: A Proposal

Leah

I swallowed the guilt and the leftover ache from last night and forced myself to keep working.

The faster I finished this transaction, the faster he would leave, and the faster I could go cry in the staff bathroom about the fact that I had slept with a man who already belonged to someone else.

He had chosen the halo ring—the exact one I said I would want if someone were buying for me.

Of course he had. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

I locked the tray, carried the selected ring to the sales counter under the glass, and began the process the way Louise had drilled into us a hundred times.

“All right,” I said, keeping my voice steady and professional. “This is a platinum halo setting with a 2.1-carat center stone, G color, VS1 clarity, GIA certified. Current retail is—” I quoted the number that still made my stomach drop every time I said it out loud. “We’ll need to confirm sizing. May I know the intended wearer’s size?”

He held out his own left hand without hesitation. “We’ll resize it properly later if needed. For now, just process it with your size.”

Huh? My size? This man really is a heartless asshole.

I measured anyway, wrote the details on the sales form, and slid the paperwork across for his signature.

I filled in what I could while he watched me with that same calm, faintly amused expression he’d worn since he walked in.

“Payment method?” I asked, already bracing for whatever creative lie he was about to offer about how an escort afforded a ring like this.

He reached into his jacket and produced a matte-black card with no numbers on the front. Just a name embossed in quiet silver.

I took it and the world tilted on its axis when I saw the name on the card.

PRESTON ROYCE

The letters sat there while my brain tried and failed to process them. I read it again. Then a third time.

My mouth went dry. “You’re… Preston Royce?” My voice came out thin, like it belonged to someone else.

Megan, who had been hovering nearby pretending to polish a display, abandoned all pretense and leaned over my shoulder. Her eyes went wide.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “You’re Preston Royce? Like Royce Industries Preston Royce?”

He didn’t look away from me. The corner of his mouth curved like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“I see you’ve finally put the pieces together.”

I took an automatic step back. The card was still in my hand. My fingers had gone cold around it.

Everything from the last twenty-four hours rearranged itself in my head with sickening speed.

The mask. The guards bowing. The private elevator. The penthouse that belonged to a “client.” The way he had known the exact operating margins of Royce Industries and the underperforming plant in Guadalajara. The Ferrari. The diamond bracelet that had only two matches in the world.

I had not hired an escort. I had slept with Bryce’s uncle. I had slept with the richest man in the country.

And he had a fiancée.

The room suddenly felt too small. My heart was trying to climb out of my throat. I could still feel the ghost of his mouth on my skin from last night. I could still feel him in between my legs.

I had thought it was the best sex of my life because he was skilled and attentive. Now I understood it was also because he could afford to be patient.

Because men like him never had to rush.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Why did you let me think—why did you let me—”

I couldn’t finish the sentence. The list of things he had let me do was too long and too humiliating.

Before he could answer, the back office door swung open and Louise appeared like she had been summoned by the scent of Preston's extreme wealth.

Her eyes locked onto him and lit up with the particular hunger of a store manager who had just realized her monthly sales target was about to be obliterated in the best possible way.

“Mr. Royce!” She clasped her hands in front of her, practically vibrating. “We are so honored to have you in our store today. Please, whatever you need—”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, still looking only at me. “Your store has something the others don’t.”

Louise’s smile faltered for half a second as she registered that his attention had not moved. She recovered quickly and shot Megan and me a look that promised consequences if we embarrassed her in front of a client of this magnitude.

“Forgive our associates,” she said smoothly. “They’re a little—”

“I dropped by to see my fiancée,” he interrupted, voice calm, “and to get her a ring.”

Louise blinked. “Your fiancée? I hadn’t seen anything in the press. Still… Congratulations, sir.”

My stomach dropped to another floor.

I told myself it was fine. I had known he belonged to someone else the moment he said the word “fiancée.” I had already decided I would treasure the one night and never speak of it again.

I could survive this. I had survived worse.

Then he kept talking.

“I’d appreciate it if you would let my fiancée have the rest of the day off.”

Louise’s professional mask cracked. “Sir… your fiancée works here?”

“Yes.” He finally glanced at her, then back to me. The next words left his mouth like they were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Leah Byrne is my fiancée. I’d like to take her out for the rest of the day.”