Excitement pulsed through his veins as he passed his secretary’s empty desk. She must be at lunch, he decided, and noted that the flowers had arrived. That was good. In his hand, he clutched the bouquet of stargazer lilies he’d picked up on the way back from his meeting. They said Drea like roses never could. Roses were bland and overbred; lilies were wild and sensual.

He couldn’t wait to give them to her. He wanted to see her face light up. He wanted to know she was as over-the-moon happy as he was. He wanted her to see that he saw her, Andrea Dawson, and loved every phenomenal atom for no other reason than that they existed.

Except when he stepped into his office, the place was deserted. He crinkled his forehead wondering where on earth Andy could be. His note had been clear that they’d have lunch together. She must be in the bathroom. Freshening up or whatever it was that women did in there.

Blake unbuttoned his jacket and started toward his desk when he heard someone come in behind him. He turned, expecting Andrea, but instead came face-to-face with his latest Sarah.

“Mr. Donovan, I’m back from my meeting.”

Blake nodded. He’d forgotten it was the monthly secretaries lunch day. Whatever that was about. Gossip about him, he assumed. “Good session?”

“Some of it. Nothing worth sharing. Did you get you my message about dinner?”

It took him a second to recall that he’d asked her to make his reservations. “I just got back myself. Haven’t even looked at my desk.”

“Well, you’re all set for seven sharp at Menton. You’re lucky the manager is one of our clients. Do you know how hard it is to get into that place?”

Of course he knew. It was one of the best restaurants in town. He ignored the ridiculous question. “Please get Jane Osborne on the line for me, will you? Her number is…” He pulled the paper he’d written her information on that morning from his pocket. “Here. And I’ll need that back.” He’d noted her address there, too, so he knew where to meet her for his brush-off.

“Got it, Mr. Donovan.” She took the sheet and hurried out.

When he was alone, Blake headed to his desk. On his chair he found a small silver bag. Inside was the box with the ring he’d chosen for Drea. He took it out and shoved it in his inside pocket, at once relieved and anxious. Relieved because it had arrived safely—he’d had to leave it to be sized, agreeing only if it were delivered as soon as possible. That it had made it was a load off his shoulders.

On the other hand, he’d requested it be left only with him. It had a forty-thousand-dollar price tag, after all, and shouldn’t be left lying around. Also, what if Drea had seen it? That would make for a poor proposal surprise.

He tensed as he explored that idea further. Had she seen it? Was that why she wasn’t here now? Had she gotten overwhelmed? Freaked out? Did she not want to marry him? Oh, God, what if he wasn’t as good a read as he always considered himself?

The dread building in his chest was interrupted by the buzz of his intercom. “I have Ms. Osborne on the line, Mr. Donovan.”

He’d have to wonder about the ring later. He pushed the worry down with the TALK button. “Send her back.” Blake removed his jacket and put it on the back of his chair while he waited for the call to come through. After letting it ring twice, he picked it up. “Jane? It’s Blake Donovan.”

He paused to let her respond, but also because he wasn’t really sure what to say next.

“Blake. How nice to hear from you. Also, quite a surprise. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not.” But he understood why she’d ask since he’d never bothered to call before. “Actually, Jane, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you about tonight’s plans.”

“Are we still on for seven? I expected to hear from Andy earlier today about where to meet.”

“About that. Are you free earlier? Five thirty, perhaps?” His eye caught on a note folded on his desk in front of him. It was addressed simply Blake, but he recognized the handwriting.

Jane hmm’d as though she was looking at her calendar. “I have an errand to run at four, but I could probably meet you somewhere by five. If we could do something…”

He’d meant to tell her he’d meet her at her house. Safer than a breakup in public. But that plan disappeared along with everything the woman was saying—he was too engrossed in the letter in his hand.

This serves as my official notice of resignation. I apologize for not giving more notice, but I believe I’m no longer needed in the capacity I was hired. You may forward my final check to my house. Please do not contact me again.

Andrea Dawson

It was short and to the point, yet it took him three times through before he registered its meaning. Andrea had left him. Left him, left him. Not just quit her job, but asked him not to contact her again. Everything in his body seemed to deflate at once. His lungs, his shoulders, his rib cage, his heart—sinking, sinking, sinking. Where had he gone wrong? Had she realized he was about to propose after all? Was she really only there for the sex and the money?

The idea disgusted him. Sickened him. He could barely sit with it without losing the contents of his stomach.

“Blake? Are you still there?”

He didn’t know how long Jane had been calling to him before he registered it. “Just a minute, please, Jane.” He placed the phone on hold and set the receiver down so he could think.

Andrea had left him.

He could call her. Or go to her house. If they talked, maybe they could work something out.

Except she’d asked for him not to contact her, and she hated it when he was a headstrong dick—her words, not his. Employing a tactic she despised wasn’t a way to score points. Besides, if she’d walked away so easily, would he really be able to do anything to change her mind? He’d probably end up begging, and begging was never attractive.

So he was left with this—a note and no Andrea.

The disappointment was so great he knew there had to be another term for it. Heartache, maybe. He felt literally broken. He’d planned to ask her to marry him. Planned to spend his life with her. It was one thing if the night before hadn’t meant as much to her as it had to him, but the way she’d left showed that it meant nothing to her. Absolutely nothing.

Whether she knew about his plans to propose or not, she’d left him. Either way, thank God she’d quit before he proposed. She likely would have laughed in his face. At least he’d come out of this with his dignity somewhat intact, even if it was at the cost of his heart.

His heart! For heaven’s sake, he’d barely registered he owned one before Andrea had shown up out of nowhere. She’d found it, infiltrated it, become one with it, and then shattered it from the inside out.

So what did he do now? He was practically paralyzed. Blake Donovan never didn’t know what to do. Or say. But right now—he was an ice statue, not just frozen, but unable to achieve motion. All he could hope for was a fast melt, not to prolong the suffering.

The phone beeped reminding him that he had a call on hold. Oh, right. Jane. If he’d stuck to his original plan and never broken the rules with his hired help, then he’d probably be proposing to Jane about now. He’d have the life he always intended. Now he had nothing.

Though he did still have the “ideal” woman waiting on the phone for him. Maybe he shouldn’t break up with Jane. If Drea didn’t want him, he might as well go to plan B. Or plan A, rather, since Jane Osborne—or someone like her—had been what he’d originally intended to end up with. He could keep seeing her. It might keep his mind off his horrid despair, anyway. If only the churning in his guts would listen to his mind.

With as much energy as he could muster, he picked up the receiver and depressed the HOLD button. “Sorry. I had a business situation come up.” True enough. Ish. True-enough-ish. That was a thing, right? Andy would think it was a thing. “I’m back now.”