Liam’s Proposal (An Unlikely Romance #3)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

LIAM

N ot My Finest Hour.

That could be the title of my personal TV Reality show, but it’s not a show. This is what my life has come to, all because of one simple mistake.

It could happen to anyone, but it didn’t. It happened to me, Liam Graham, the future Chief Executive Officer of Graham Land Development and Commercial Finance Company.

One mistake was all it took to set gossipy tongues wagging and real estate developers in Eugene, Oregon, to question the integrity of my family’s business, which has been part of the community for fifty years.

Perhaps calling it a simple mistake is a bit of an undersell.

If I’m being fully transparent, then I have to admit it was a royal screw-up. As a result, I have become a disappointment to my parents, my grandmother, the Board of Directors at Graham Land Development, and Santa Claus. I added the jolly man in the red suit and white beard to ensure I’m casting a wide enough net to include all the people currently disappointed in me.

Maybe full transparency is overrated.

But I’ll let you be the judge.

…Two weeks ago at the annual Spring Gala

“Welcome, Liam, glad you could make it,” Sam Helm offers me his hand in greeting. I shake it, squeezing a fraction tighter than he does mine. The man is well-known in real estate and land development circles–liked by some, despised by others. Personally, I neither like nor despise him. I tolerate him. He’s just one of a handful of business owners who have been part of the local landscape for the past twenty years.

I lift an unimpressed shoulder, “I never miss an opportunity to schmooze and rub shoulders with the competition. I understand you opened a new branch in Salem. How’s that working out?”

“There are always a few growing pains at the onset. It’s to be expected. What about you? Is that old man of yours finally open to the idea of expanding the family business?”

I can’t help but chuckle at this. Sam Helm and my father have been business colleagues and competitors for as long as I can remember, but my father has always kept Sam and his lackeys at arm's length. Sam is fishing. “Oh, you know how it is. Nothing’s ever off the table if you want to succeed in this industry.”

Sam pats me on the shoulder and gives me a pretentious grin. “Maybe when you take over as CEO you can bring the business into the twenty-first century, hmm?” He allows his question to dangle in the air between us, but this particular fish isn’t biting, because what happens in Leland Graham’s boardroom is none of Sam Helm’s business, and he knows it.

Changing the subject, I direct Sam’s attention to my date. “Excuse me, Sam, where are my manners? This is Sandra, my date for the evening. Sandra, this is Sam Helm, the CEO of Helm Enterprises. They’re the ones hosting tonight’s gala.”

Sandra extends her hand to Sam. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Helm,” Sandra says.

“The pleasure’s all mine, but please,” he shakes his head dismissively, “none of this Mr. Helm business. Everyone calls me Sam.” He leans forward slightly, “I don’t think I caught your last name.”

Sandra’s eyes dart quickly to mine and then back to Sam. “Mortensen.”

Mortensen. Right. I knew it was something with an M and an O in it. I repeat it a few times in my head so I won’t forget it again this evening, because judging from the tightness in Sandra’s jaw, she’s well aware of my lapse in memory.

This does not bode well for me. Although, in my defense, Sandra and I met only a couple of weeks ago.

Mortensen. Mortensen. Mortensen. I repeat her last name again in my mind.

“Mortensen…Hmm” Sam squints his eyes as if he’s memorizing every detail of Sandra’s face, and I notice he has not released her hand yet. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Alfred Mortensen, would you? The golfer?”

Sandra smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “He’s my uncle. How do you know him?” Sandra extricates her hand from Sam’s and wraps it around my arm.

“We played the Senior Amateur Championship together a few years ago. He’s got an impressive game.”

Lifting a nonchalant shoulder, Sandra says, “So I’m told.”

“What’s the old boy up to, anyway? Still golfing, I presume?”

Sandra gives her head a slight shake. “I couldn’t say. We’re not particularly close with that branch of the family.”

Sam nods sympathetically. “Oh, that’s a shame.”

“Excuse us, Sam.” I thread my fingers through Sandra’s. “There’s someone else I want to introduce my date to.”

“Yes, of course, by all means.” He gestures to the room. “Enjoy yourselves. ”

As soon as we’re beyond earshot of Sam, I bend my head toward Sandra’s. “I take it you and your uncle don’t get along?”

Sandra scoffs. “Understatement. My uncle’s a sleazy, dirty-minded creeper.”

I cock an amused eyebrow at her. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

Grinning, I lean closer and brush a kiss to her neck. “I love a good challenge, you know. Especially when it involves unlocking a beautiful woman’s secrets.”

Sandra turns her head so her lips graze my ear. “By all means, Mr. Future CEO, give it your best shot.” She scrapes the bottom of my earlobe with her teeth, and I respond with another kiss on her neck, this one not quite as innocent as the first.

Straightening, I begin leading Sandra in the direction of the bar, when I notice an attractive woman approaching, and she does not look happy. She looks like a woman on a warpath.

A sick sense of foreboding settles in the pit of my stomach as inklings of my one, and only, conversation with her begin to ricochet around in my mind.

She stops in front of Sandra and me, and ignoring me, extends her hand to Sandra. “Hi, I’m Jenna.” She raises her voice just loud enough to attract the attention of the people around us. “I’m Liam’s date for the evening.” She cuts her gaze to me, and then quickly returns it to Sandra with a knowing grin.

This is not good. This is so very NOT good. This is the absolute opposite of good.

Sandra’s eyes widen and she turns her head slowly to face me. “Oh really,” she deadpans, then skewers me with her icy glare. “You don’t say.” She returns her attention to Jenna and offers a conspiratorial smile. “It seems like you and I have something in common. I’m Sandra, by the way. Also Liam’s date for the evening.”

Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear Jenna’s grin relaxes, as though she realizes she’s discovered an ally in Sandra. I swallow, and resisting the urge to roll my lips, I give the two women a weak smile. It’s obvious they find my discomfort entertaining.

Still holding Sandra’s hand, Jenna leads her a few steps to the side, and the two women put their heads together in conversation.

There’s no way this ends well for me. I’m as good as dead.

The small matter of Jenna being the niece of Graham Development’s most influential board member has me wishing I could teleport myself to somewhere else right now–anywhere else–like maybe the South Pole, for instance.

A waiter strolls by pushing a silver cart carrying several stemless wine glasses, some filled with Chardonnay, the rest with a deep crimson Cabernet. Jenna and Sandra each take a glass of the red wine, which is interesting since I had Sandra pegged as a white wine kind of woman. Hmm. The waiter pauses in front of me, but I wave my hand and offer a polite, “No thank you.”

The two women turn back to face me. Sandra cocks an eyebrow at Jenna, and it’s as if they’re communicating in some sort of weird female telepathy, because the next thing I know, Sandra tosses her glass of wine at my face. Though she manages to hit her intended target, most of the liquid ends up in my hair and dripping onto my shirt and suit jacket. I’m so shocked by her impressive (and very public) display of displeasure, that I don’t register Jenna’s actions until it’s too late.

Jenna, sweet pumpkin that she is, has pulled on the waistband of my trousers and is pouring the very red contents of her wine glass down the front of my pants. Gravity quickly takes over and the liquid flows past my underwear and slides down my legs where it’s absorbed into my socks. The two women give each other conspiratorial nods and bump each other’s fists. Then they link arms and scuttle off together, leaving me stranded in the middle of the room looking every bit like the idiot tail-end of a donkey that I am.

Wretched females.

At one time, I might have applauded their antics and found the entire exchange funny, perhaps even cheering the women on, but when my eyes scan the surrounding group of onlookers, I realize no one is laughing. Not Sam Helm, not Jenna’s uncle, and certainly not my mom and dad, who must have arrived just in time to witness the show. The scathing glower on my father’s face, paired with the embarrassment on my mother’s makes me wish for a quick escape. It’s the expression in my grandmother’s eyes, however, that makes me want to slink away, crawl under the nearest boulder, and cease to exist.

My grandmother, Grams as I call her, is my favorite person in the world. She’s always adored me, always taken my side, and always defended me to my mom and dad, even when she and I both knew I didn’t deserve it. But there’s no defense for what she just witnessed. The worst part of the entire debacle is the disappointment I see in her eyes and knowing I am to blame.

In a nervous effort at self-preservation, I try making light of the situation by playing it all off as a joke and laughing about it. I excuse myself and make my way to the men’s room where I clean myself up as best I can. When I return to the party, I paste a wide, playful grin on my face, grab a flute of champagne, and then hit on the first pretty face I see.

Thankfully, said pretty face didn’t come with a date.

“A word, please,” a low voice rumbles from behind me. I turn around to find Jenna’s uncle standing with his arms folded across his chest. I give him a curt nod and whisper to the woman beside me that I’ll be right back.

Please don’t ask me her name.

I follow Jenna’s uncle down a hallway and into a private room.

“I’ll be quick and to the point,” he says without preamble. “ Your actions this evening are not the actions of a CEO. If I had my way, you’d be demoted from your position as vice president. It’s only my respect for your father and grandmother that will keep me from recommending your employment be terminated.” His nostrils flare and I register the way the vein at his neck bulges. “Your actions are an embarrassment to the company and tarnish the stellar reputation your father, and grandfather before him, spent their lives building. It would be bad enough if this was an isolated incident, but we both know it’s not. Your track record as a womanizing philanderer will no longer be tolerated by the members of the board. I’ll make sure of it. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”

His words have the same effect as a slap to my face.

“You better think long and hard about your actions, Liam, because if you don’t shape up and grow up, your career with Graham Development will be a short-lived one.”

With that, he turns and heads for the exit. Before leaving, he turns back to execute a final blow. “Until you’re willing to stop your childish shenanigans and demonstrate you’re serious about your future, you can kiss that stipend you’ve been counting on goodbye.” He leaves, letting the door behind him slam shut.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, staring at the blank wall in front of me before a soft knock sounds at the door. Closing my eyes, I inhale a sharp breath and release it with a sigh. The door opens and my mom enters.

“I know, Mom, I get it. I screwed up.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she says, her voice softer than I might have expected. “Liam, do you ever stop to think about how your actions impact the people around you?”

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I shake my head. “This was an accident, Mom.”

“It always is, isn’t it?”

“That’s not fair, Mom. ”

“You know what’s not fair, Liam?” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. “You, acting like a thirty-three-year-old fool. Everything’s a game to you. Well, this time you’ve gone too far.”

I look up, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s time for you to grow up. Settle down, like your friends have. Show your father and me you’re serious about your future with our company.”

“Mom, I made a mistake. I admit it. But it could happen to anyone.”

“But it didn’t happen to anyone, Liam. It happened to you,” she points her finger at me, “the future CEO of our company–a company which has always had an outstanding reputation in our community. A company founded on family values, and high standards of professionalism and moral ethics.”

I exhale sharply. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to think seriously about your future. To find one decent woman to date–someone who will support your career.” Her expression softens slightly. “There are several young ladies among our circle of friends, women who understand the demands placed on a CEO. The women you date are a dime a dozen, Liam.”

“Really, Mom? And what gives you the right to judge the character of the women I choose to date?”

“I’m not judging their character. How can I? You don’t date any of them long enough for me to get to know them. But based on what I’ve seen and heard, I doubt you’re dating the kind of women who are interested in settling down.”

I roll my eyes and begin massaging my temples. “I’m the one who’s not interested in settling down, Mom. You know this about me. I don’t need a wife and children to prove I’m capable of being a CEO. My work performance should speak for itself.”

“Being a CEO requires more than being good at your job. The CEO should be a role model for our employees, and someone whose reputation is above reproach.”

Leaning back in my chair, I push my hands through my hair, stiff from where the wine has dried, and tug at the ends. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry I messed up tonight, but right now, I’m tired, my clothes are wet and sticky, and all I want to do is go home and call it a night. Consider me adequately chastised, okay?”

My mom shakes her head. “Oh, trust me, Liam. You are a far cry from adequately chastised. Your father is too angry to speak to you right now but rest assured, he will have plenty to say on this subject, so you might as well brace yourself. In the meantime, you may want to make a plan for how you intend to fix this mess.”

I take a deep breath and stand. “Consider me warned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”

“Very well,” my mom says resolutely. “But this is not over.”

I give her a two-finger salute and take my leave. Once in the hall, I head for the back door and don’t look back.