Then, Logan cleared his throat. “I read about what you did with the Cannon Networks. Sold for a billion?”

“Bill point two,” Rob said.

Logan grunted. “And you gave it all to charity?”

“Three charities, actually. One got the majority, but yeah. Two sister charities got an equal share.” He shrugged, and Marjorie knew he was pretending an ease he didn’t feel.

“Why?” Logan’s question was succinct. “You never struck me as the charitable type.”

“Because Marjorie hated who I was,” Rob told him. “And I wanted to become someone that she could be proud of. That seemed like the logical first step.”

“So you gave away a billion dollars for Marjorie?”

“More or less.”

Well, this was getting awkward. She could feel her cheeks heating uncomfortably.

Logan grunted. He leaned back. “It takes stones to do something like that.”

“You’d do it for your wife,” Rob shot back.

“I would,” Logan agreed.

The table was silent for a long moment.

“Well,” Logan said, picking up the conversation again. “I have to admire a guy that goes all in for something he wants. You ever feel like talking business, you let me know. We can start fresh.”

Rob’s smile returned, and Marjorie felt like falling to the floor in relief. “Thanks, man, but I’m holding off for now. I’ve got a few ideas up my sleeve for future endeavors, but right now my entire focus is on one thing.” He lifted Marjorie’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “This woman right here.”

And Marjorie couldn’t stop smiling.

Epilogue

“Quit cussing,” Marjorie teased Rob, tucking her chin against his shoulder. “You’re scaring people.”

“I’m not fucking scaring anyone,” Rob growled, staring straight ahead at the card in his hand. “I’m just . . . fucking . . . pissed.” He punched a number on the screen of the test unit he was trying out. “They’re not calling my fucking number on purpose!”

She rolled her eyes. The man was terribly impatient. “We’re here to test the cards. That’s all. And it’s not like you need the money!”

“Bingo!” someone called behind Rob.

He tossed down his electric card in disgust. “That’s it. I’m done. It’s rigged.”

Marjorie giggled. Such a poor loser, her Rob. “It’s not rigged.”

“Rigged,” he repeated.

“They’re your cards,” she told him, and couldn’t stop giggling. “Your prototypes. You brought them. If anyone rigged it, it should be you.”

“Smith, you’re fired,” Rob called out, stretching an arm behind Marjorie’s folding chair and dragging her against him so he could nibble on her ear. That was one of the wonderful things about dating Rob, Marjorie decided: he didn’t care where they were. If he felt like being affectionate, he’d be affectionate. Be it nursing home or restaurant, Rob wasn’t shy about showing the world that he adored Marjorie . . . and it did wonders for her shaky ego. She loved the attention he lavished on her.

From behind the bingo caller’s station, Smith rolled her eyes. “If you fire me, you have no assistants left, sir.”

“Hmmm. You’re right. Never mind.”

“You could always re-hire Gortham and Cresson,” Marjorie suggested teasingly. “I’m sure they’d be happy to work for you again.”

“Hell no,” Rob told her. “Those two were completely and utterly useless. Like tits on a chicken.”

Marjorie snorted. “That’s an interesting mental image.”

“It’s because you have such a dirty mind.” His hand slid up her thigh.

She pushed it away, smiling. “Do me a favor? Save the molesting for until after we leave the nursing home?”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, and she handed him his card again. He pressed the Reset button on it and the card lit up, beeped, and then cleared the screen.

“Next game is postage stamp,” Smith called over the microphone. “Everyone, please hit the Reset button on your electronic card.”

A chorus of beeps filled the nursing home. Someone called out, “My card’s not responding.”

Rob groaned softly.

Marjorie tweaked his arm, grinning. “You hush. That’s why we’re testing things out here. You knew things wouldn’t be perfect the first time around. That’s why you test things out.”

They were at the nursing home precisely because Marjorie had suggested it as a wonderful place to test out Rob’s bingo card prototypes. His newest obsession was a form of remote bingo in which the cards were synced up to a computerized caller. He had plans to launch a bingo network at some point, but, of course, the prototypes had to work first.

There were still a few kinks to be worked out, Marjorie mused. And really, if buggy cards were their biggest problem, they had it made.

Life had been nothing short of wondrous the last few months. Rob’s apartment had been completely redecorated, and they’d picked out furniture together and made the penthouse their own. She’d moved in with him and had taken the oversized closet for her ever-growing pile of expensive shoes. Rob loved to buy her tall heels, and she was happy to wear them.

Usually, a new pair of shoes ended up in bed before she got a chance to wear them out, though, she thought with a blush. Rob liked it when she wore heels—and nothing else—at bedtime.

Work life was great, too. She and Brontë were closer than ever, the book club was a success. They’d even set up a central location as a meeting place for all kinds, and it was constantly busy with patrons and book clubs. They’d even opened it up for public meetings, and it seemed the place was hopping with one group or another at all times, which made both women pleased.

The men were getting along, too. Oh, they still bickered, but now it was over football scores and the stock market. They weren’t friends, not quite. But Logan and Rob had gone to play poker together one night. They’d gone for drinks another. They weren’t doing business together . . . yet. But Logan was interested in Rob’s projects, and she suspected they might go in on one together in the future.

“Oh dear,” Smith said over the microphone. “I think this ball is stuck in the hopper.” She prodded at the machine. “Sir?”

Rob stared at his card intently. “Marjorie, sweetheart, can you help her? I want to see how the card reacts when she hits the reset.”

“Of course.” Marjorie got out of her seat and headed to the front of the room, where Smith was manning the caller’s station. She leaned over and peered at Rob’s assistant and the spread before her. “What seems to be the problem?”

“There’s something stuck in the hopper,” Smith said, and gestured at the machine.

The bingo machine had all seventy-five white numbered balls bouncing around in the glass case under the electronic calling board. One by one, each ball would fly up the chute and pop out for the caller to take. But for some reason, there was something else stuck in the chute. Something blue.

Marjorie leaned forward and frowned. “What did you stick . . . in . . . there.” She gasped.

The object in the chute was a small velvet ring box, wedged in place of where a numbered ball would go.

Eyes wide, Marjorie looked out at the audience, where Rob was seated. He was pointedly staring at his card, but grinning like a loon. She made an undignified noise that might have been a cross between a protest and a squeal, and snatched up the box. With trembling hands, she flipped it open.

And stared.

An enormous square cut diamond surrounded by a cluster of smaller diamonds stared out at her. It was an engagement ring.

“Rob,” she said weakly. “How much did this cost?”

“That is not an appropriate answer,” he called back, amused. “The appropriate answer is either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ You don’t get to ask how much your engagement ring costs.”