I seemed to find myself in Grant's office more often than I liked, and the news I was about to break was no small matter.
"You what?!"
"Don't be so dramatic. It's what she wants. She wants to get married."
Grant's brow furrowed.
"I advised you to take this time to figure out why you're so reserved around women—not to marry one. And certainly not Marcie."
I bit my tongue. Is that a jab at me?
"Are you saying Marcie's too good for me?"
"Oh my gosh—no. Wait—how did she react?"
My mind replayed the chaos of last night.
"She . . . started sniffing me."
Grant blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Ha! She thought you were drunk."
"Well, that explains why she slammed the door on me. But I wasn't drunk."
Grant found it so funny he doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed toward the floor.
"It's not that funny," I muttered.
"Yes, it is. I believe Ms. Marcie simply doesn't want to marry you with a reaction like that."
I left him with his terrible sense of humor and returned to my office. Marcie wasn't at her desk—she'd been sent to a meeting with the designers. Instead, Ms. Fallon was waiting just inside.
"Hello, would you like another cup of—"
"Ms. Fallon, bring up a new suit for my meeting."
I still couldn't shake the thought of Marcie's bizarre behavior.
She must have been drunk. No woman has ever reacted that way to me. More likely, she was in such shock she forgot to accept. That was it. I'll simply propose again—when she isn't wearing pajamas.
Ms. Fallon reappeared with two suit options, and I picked the one on the left without much thought.
"Ms. Fallon," I said, adjusting my tie, "have you ever been proposed to?"
She froze.
"Sir?"
"Proposals. Do you know anything about them? Where do couples usually go?"
"I'm not too sure, but I can do some research and—"
"Perfect. Draft up some ideas and have them on my desk before this afternoon's meeting. Speak nothing of this."