The Billionaire's Beloved (Key to My Heart Book 4) (10 page)

Chapter Six

Mondays suck.

Especially this Monday, when I had to face Carlos again after he ditched me on our date. Nothing quite beats coming back from the bathroom and your date has mysteriously vanished.

I'd gotten to the office extra early, with the excuse of making sure everything was planned out for the week. In reality, I just wanted to make sure I didn't get trapped in the elevator with the sexy dark haired billionaire. That man could kiss the senses right out of me. I’d be drooling in his arms, gazing up into his gorgeous eyes in two seconds flat.

After I drew the curtains of my office halfway down so I could avoid accidental eye contact with Carlos, I set to work at my computer. I had emails to send and deadlines to double check, after all. And if I didn’t, then I would sure make them up.

For the first half of the day, all went according to plan. Even the interns left me alone for the most part. Occasionally, I could hear Carlos' voice as he spoke outside my door or the last tenor notes of his chuckle, but I ignored it as stoically as possible.

Now, though, it was nearing noon, and I had yet to refill my cup of coffee or my tummy. I waited and waited, hoping to see Carlos firm legs pass by as he left for lunch, but I didn't catch him passing the office. When I could take it no more, I hesitantly poked my head under the curtains, slowly casting a sly glance around the office. It seemed empty enough. A few dark heads sat in the cubicles still, trying to turn their article into a masterpiece that would single handedly save the magazine and win a Nobel Prize.

With a heavy sigh, I took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and opened my office door.

None other than Carlos stood in front of me, grinning, a bag of food outstretched in his hands.

"Let's have lunch." He said jovially, stepping into my office and closing the door behind him without letting me have a second to think, "We need to talk."

I groaned inwardly, putting on my most polite and civil, yet detached, smile on my lips before settling back into my seat.

"What do we need to talk about?" I asked, "Do you need me to read your last piece? Do you need a new topic?

We were going to be all business here.

"No." Carlos quipped as he lay out burrito bowls in front of both of us, "We need to talk about our dinner the other night."

"Ah." I hummed, "There's no need to talk about that." I took a big bite of my burrito to hide the glare that creased my brow.

"I would disagree." The tan man responded with an arched eyebrow, "It was quite rude of me. I would understand if you never allowed me to take you out again."

Carlos reached across my desk, grabbing my hand, tilting his head to try and catch my attention, "And I do wish deeply to take you out again."

I swallowed the large bite of burrito before I could spit it out in Carlos' handsome face in shock. I did my best to keep my face firm and unreadable, but it was a struggle.

"Will you allow me to explain, mi amor?" He whispered, "Can I tell you why I had to leave so suddenly?"

His eyes searched mine, his fingers burning a scorched trail over my hand. A shudder crawled down my back. The intensity of his gaze could not be denied.

"Alright." I mumbled quietly, "You have ten seconds."

Carlos smirked, slowly climbing to his feet. He meandered to my side of the desk, slowly sinking down to his knees before me. He leaned forward, his hands on my thighs.

"The reason I came to this magazine was to help you, Miranda." He began slowly, fingers massaging my thighs, making me tremble, "I've idolized you since your name first popped up when you began the magazine. A woman, making her way in the world, taking no prisoners. You're strong and courageous."

He paused, thinking, his eyes lingering over my body, "I wanted you. I want you. I've always had an eye on you. When I heard how the magazine was floundering, I knew I had to help."

The Latino billionaire had wanted me for so long?

I wasn't sure what to think. Was he lying? Was he playing a cruel prank on me, or perhaps he only wanted to get back on his boss’s good side? I wanted to question him, but my tongue felt as though it were weighted down by concrete. I was frozen, unable to say anything. Was I really that strong, if I couldn't even find the words to say right now?

"I thought, at first, that just writing for you would be enough to pull the magazine from its slump. At the same time, I hoped just writing for you would catch your attention, that you would see me, that you would want me too." He frowned, his hands moving upwards now, resting on my hips. Carlos leaned forward so his body rested between my parted knees. I was glad I'd chosen a pantsuit for the day.

"But, you didn't see me, did you? You never even noticed I worked so hard for your attention." Carlos was still frowning, a stark contrast to his usual cocky smirk.

Had I noticed the sexy Latino? Surely, I had, but I'd always assumed he was way out of my league. An already established editor, his talent was so well known, his face so very handsome, his pockets so utterly full. There was no way that he could have been after my attention for all this time.

"That's not true." I finally managed to gasp, shivering under his fingers as they tapped against my hips, rolling up and down my ribs. His touch lit me on fire, every inch of my body exploding with goose bumps and dizzy tingles.

"I believe I can save the magazine." Carlos finally said as he inched closer, one of his hands sweeping up to graze my chin, "Will you let me help you, Miranda? I know that you're independent, that you want to figure this out for yourself. I know that you are fully capable of doing so, just as you have done in the past. But let me take some of your burden. Let me show you that I can be helpful, that I can come to your aid when you need it most."

I stared into his deep, almost black eyes, desperately searching for any hint of sincerity. There it was, of course, swirling in his depths.

"Why do you want to help so badly?" I asked. There was no way it could be just because he felt like it, from the goodness of his heart, "Is there something you need as well?"

A smile slowly spread over his tan cheeks, perfect red lips parting over pearly teeth, "I'm afraid there is, Miranda. There is something that I want quite badly in return for my help." He paused, leaning forward to press his hungry lips against mine as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer against him.

For a moment, I almost forgot that he was about to give me a stipulation.

When he pulled away, my head spun so rapidly I was almost incapable of focusing on his handsome face.

"Marry me, Miranda. I want you to marry me, and I will personally pay for the magazine to continue its run."

Chapter Seven

For the rest of the day, I stared at my desk at the very spot that Carlos had been sitting not moments prior. After his ludicrous proposal, he'd intoxicated me with more tastes of his warm lips and burning touches of his tan fingers before smirking at me, telling me we'd speak about it later, and vanishing.

Not long after that, he'd left the building, off to perhaps propose to more women, I don't know. Had it really happened?

Every few minutes, I pinched myself, waiting to wake up.

Did I want to be married?

Honestly, I'd never even thought about it. I was much too wrapped up in my work to consider silly luxuries like a family or a marriage or a vacation. I didn't date, in fact, it could be argued that I have zero fun at all.

This proposal may be the only one I ever get. Did I want to waste it? If I said no now, I may never be held in the arms of a man who wanted me as clearly as Carlos did. Carlos was quite the catch too. Sexy, smart, and rich, there was little more that a woman could aspire for.

I was glad he'd given me space to think about everything, to process what exactly had happened, though that process was taking its sweet, sweet time rendering in my mind.

For once in my life, I decided to leave the office early. The only other time I could remember ever doing this, I was puking in a bucket behind my desk all day thanks to food poisoning due to an old can of tuna. I was so dehydrated by the end of the afternoon I had no choice but to leave on my own or leave on a stretcher at the end of the night.

This was something I needed the help of a big old bottle of wine with. That sweet crimson liquid always helped clarify things for me.

As I wandered down the road, hands deep in my pockets, head way up in the sky, I realized this wasn't just about me. This wasn't just about whether or not I wanted to get married or what my own plans were.

This was about the magazine. This was about the future of my staff, this was about my name being tarnished by the failure that bankruptcy would lend.

I couldn't deny Carlos. I had no choice in the matter to marry him to save my magazine. I'd been trying for months to turn sales around, I've tried everything, done everything, and yet there was no turn in the trend. Carlos, with all of his money, with all of his connections, with all of his knowledge, he would be able to fix the problem in no time. Then, we could all breathe a little easier around the office. The staff wouldn't have to worry constantly about whether they were going to get paid, I may actually be able to move out of my dinky little apartment.

Actually, I guess, I would have to, if Carlos and I really married.

I winced, tongue going dry at the thought of being married. I enjoyed Carlos' company. I enjoyed tasting him, feeling his touch, his kiss. But for the rest of forever? Wasn't that a bit much? I barely knew him personally. All that I really knew about him was from papers that he'd written. Sure, his internal voice shined through his works, but that is not a substitution for really getting to know someone.

How quickly did Carlos want to tie the knot? Would we do it tomorrow? This weekend? Next year?

Black dots began swimming in the corners of my vision, my lungs struggling to drag dry air inside as my heart beat faster and faster. I staggered, trying to stay on my swaying feet as anxiety and panic overwhelmed me.

When I could take no more, I felt my body sway heavily to the right, then to the left, finally collapsing backwards.

Before my head could crack against the rough pavement of the sidewalk, strong arms swooped under me, saving me from a severe headache.

In the briefest of moments before blackness stole my vision, Paul Harris' worried eyes shone above my own.

It was quiet.

So quiet, so peaceful.

But I was cold and everything was dark. I definitely wasn't in the field of my dreams any longer. Shivers ran up and down my arms, suddenly warmth wrapped around me as my eyes tried their best to part.

A sterile white ceiling stared back at me, eyes darting around as a soft beep resounded somewhere behind my head. Beside me sat Paul, quietly watching me, a thick blanket freshly wrapped around my body.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered, grasping my hand, "Are you alright?"

"Where am I?" I asked worried, trying to jerk up into a sitting position.

Paul grasped me, getting me to lay back once more, "At the hospital. They said they'll discharge you after taking one more look. They said you had a panic attack."

A panic attack.

The thought of marrying Carlos freaked me out so much that I'd almost died of anxiety, or at least that's how it felt.

"You were so pale." Paul mumbled, running a hand over his forehead, "So freaking pale, I thought you were dying."

That makes two of us, I added internally.

"Miranda." he abruptly said, grabbing my hand in his and staring at me, "Miranda." He repeated, like he was stuck on a loop, his next words just barely clinging to his tongue but refusing to spout.

I'd never seen him like this before, I'd never seen him so visibly shaken, so raw. He was usually so calm.

"When you were laying in my arms, all I could think about was how I missed so much by leaving you. I thought about you ever day I was gone. I wrote hundreds of letters and was never brave enough to send a single one, I bought plane tickets to come sweep you away and got too nervous, I called and hung up at the sound of your voice..."

I stared at him, frowning, "I'm alright, Paul." I said gently, "I'm fine. It was just a panic attack. I don't have cancer, I'm not dying, I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to say all of these things."

It was too late now, anyways. I was going to marry Carlos, I was going to save my magazine. All that Paul's words gave me was a dull ache in my heart.

"No. I do need to say these things." He said, jaw clenching visibly as he dug into his pocket, "There was one more thing that I got, Miranda, there was one more thing I need to give you."

From his pocket he withdrew a small red velvet box, popping it open for me. On a small cushion sat a beautiful glimmering diamond ring, set in platinum and dripping in diamonds.

I gasped in shock, turning to look at Paul once more.

"Marry me, Miranda." He whispered, "I can't stand the thought of being without you for a single day longer. We can turn your magazine around together, we can be together now. I'll never leave you behind again."

As the engagement ring glittered excitedly at me, my world went completely blank once more.