Inappropriate - Vi Keeland Page 0,45

had been three weeks since Lily’s proposal, and a few days ago she’d gone to her first appointment with a therapist. Surprisingly, she’d come home and said she liked the doctor a lot. Yet even though everything was perfect, my palms were sweating like a bitch as the gallery owner slipped out so we could be alone.

“I can’t believe you did all this.”

“Anything for my girl.”

We walked around hand in hand, taking our time in front of each painting like Lily loved to do. The day I’d come into the gallery to talk to the owner, I’d walked around and looked at all of the artwork. One in particular caught my eye and solidified that I’d made the right choice to propose. Two canvases away was a piece titled Promises. It was an abstract of a woman standing at the altar. Only the back of her wedding dress showed, but the focus of the piece was all the flower petals on a white runner along the church aisle. While everything else was black and white, the flower petals were colorful and vibrant. The minute I’d seen it that day, it reminded me of Lily—she was those petals on the floor to me. I knew it was the perfect spot to propose.

I took a deep breath as we walked over in front of the painting. Lily’s face lit up when she saw it. And just like always, I smiled seeing her smile. While she admired the art, I bent down on one knee.

She screeched and covered her mouth when she noticed. “Yes!”

I chuckled. “I didn’t ask anything yet, babe.”

She knelt so we were both on one knee. “Grant.”

“Yeah?”

“I have a surprise for you, too.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 17

* * *

Grant

I’d taken to recording the morning news and watching it at my desk.

I had a pile of work stacked up, a shitload of emails waiting for responses, and yet here I was, sitting at my desk on a Saturday watching yesterday morning’s show for the second time. Ireland looked good in turquoise. It brought out the color in her eyes. Though I didn’t get a good look at the full dress because she was always behind that desk. Maybe I should suggest the anchors get up at some point in the show, change things up a bit.

Jesus Christ. Was this really what I was doing? Analyzing a woman’s wardrobe choices to decide what outfit complements her eyes more? And debating calling down to the director of broadcasting to demand that the anchor stand so I can get a better look at her body? I needed my head fucking examined.

Blowing out a stream of hot air, I forced myself to X out of the video recording. I had work to do. Shitloads of it. Before Ireland Saint James, I couldn’t have even told you the name of the station we owned, much less what anyone wore. To say the woman had me distracted would be an understatement.

I picked up a file and started to go through a prospective investment that had been sitting on my desk since last week. But two pages into it, my phone buzzed, and though I’d normally ignore it while working, I dug it out of my pocket.

Ireland: Thank you for the flowers. I had a good time last night, too. Especially the end part up against my car.

She’d included a little winky face at the end of her text. Normally, people who used emojis in their texts pissed me off. Yet I found myself smiling at the little yellow face. I texted back.

Grant: Dinner tonight?

Ireland: Can’t. I have plans.

Since I had plans on Sunday, I texted back suggesting next weekend, but she was busy then, too. An hour later, the text exchange was still bugging me.

She has plans.

Did she have a date? I’d had drinks with her once, so her having dinner with someone else wasn’t exactly off limits. Yet the idea of her going out with another man made me crazy.

I forced myself back to work and tried to ignore thoughts of her out with some other guy tonight. But I reread the same page three times and still had no idea what the words said. So I tossed the file aside and picked my phone back up.

Grant: Are your plans tonight a date?

The little dots started to jump around and then stopped and started a few times.

Ireland: Would that upset you?

Answering a question with a question was right up there next to how much I disliked emojis.