The Billionaire's Proposal

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for...”

A drumroll accentuated his every word, creating a huge windup for the big finale.

“Allow me to present, for the first time in history, heavyweight champion Frankie McConnell versus Orlando Forester!”

It took me a second to understand, then two enormous men walked out from separate corners and knocked hands together in the center of the ring.

“...boxing?”

I turned to Nick in genuine surprise. Organized fighting wasn’t really his thing. Nor could I imagine it held much interest for the rest of the people in the room. High society tended not to involve themselves with activities that involved mouth guards and profuse amounts of sweat. They tended to stick to things like polo and the opera instead.

“You wanted to take me...to a boxing game?”

Nick pursed his lips, stifling a smile.

“A match, Abby. It’s a boxing match.”

I’m sorry, I never saw Cinderella Man...

And no,” he stuck his hands in his pockets, gazing out toward where the two men had started circling each other in the ring, “I don’t give a shit about boxing.”

“Well then—”

Nick spun me to face him, putting his hands on my shoulders.

“These two men are champions who have never fought each other before,” he said in a low voice. “That means that while it might not necessarily be interesting, it is rare. And in my world, rare means exclusive.”

His eyes flickered out over the room, at the crowd of people sparkling like little dolled up mannequins before him.

“Tickets for tonight were twenty thousand dollars each. But you don’t come for the match. You come to get drunk, and get seen. And that, my dear, is why we’re here.”

No sooner had he finished talking, then the Mayor of New York tapped him on the shoulder. He spun gracefully around, lacing his arm through mine to pull me with him.

“George,” they shook hands warmly, smiling like old friends, “good to see you.”

George. Of course he called the mayor by his first name.

“And you, Nick! You know my wife, Evelyn.”

“Of course.” Nick released me temporarily to kiss the woman on both cheeks. “How’s the redecorating coming along? Did you give Bernardo a call like I told you?”

The woman tilted back her head with a tinkling laugh.

“Oh bless your heart—you remembered!”

“Evelyn is in the process of converting her back parlor into what can best be described as a prohibition-style speakeasy,” Nick whispered conspiratorially into my ear. “Not easy to get all the necessary permits for that. Trust me—I’ve tried.”

She laughed again, patting George indulgently on the chest.

“Well it helps when you’ve got some political connections.”

“I’ll bet.”

“But never mind about me,” she abandoned the men completely, and stepped forward to take my hand, “who is this beautiful creature?”

I blushed as pink as her dress, trying to keep myself together.

“This is Abigail Wilder,” Nick answered, pushing me casually forward. “The woman I’ve been seeing.”