Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(71)

Then I realize it’s me. I’m crying.

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s too soon,” Matt continues. “Don’t tell me we’ve just started dating, because that’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Very romantic,” Kennedy mutters from behind me, and I let out a little laugh, because it’s so us. Only Matt’s proposal would include profanity. Only his proposal to me.

And yet . . .

“You don’t want to marry me, Matt,” I whisper. “You don’t believe in love.”

He flicks the wrist holding the ring box in the general vicinity of the ground. “I’m kneeling on the floor in a tux, Cross. I’m pretty sure I want to get married.”

Not good enough. I lift my chin defiantly, wanting it all. “Why?”

Matt smiles confidently, but before he can answer, another man in a tuxedo appears in our periphery.

“Hey, Lanham.” Matt doesn’t even look his way as he says it, all his attention on me.

I glance nervously toward Jarod, expecting him to be irate, but there’s an almost triumphant look on his face as he takes in the scene in front of him.

“Not sure your proposing to my date is the best way to get my business,” Jarod says, crossing his arms.

“I don’t want your business,” Matt says without hesitation.

“What?” I ask, my gaze swinging back to Matt.

Jarod says nothing.

“Kennedy will take you on.” Matt says in an indifferent tone.

“Damn coin toss,” I hear Ian mutter. Lara rubs his shoulder soothingly.

I shake my head in confusion. “You’re giving up a multibillion-dollar account—”

“I’d give up everything for you. Every client, every last dollar.”

“Matt,” I whisper. “You’ve always wanted—”

“You. I’ve always wanted you. That much I’ve known for a long time, but what I didn’t know until this week was that I loved you. I love you, Sabrina. Please, for the love of God, tell me it’s not too late.”

My tears are falling in earnest now. Kate sneaks forward to stuff a tissue into my hand before quickly scooting back.

I dab at my eyes, trying to clean up the worst of the mascara mess. “Will you please stand up? You look ridiculous.”

He does as I ask, closing the distance between us and slipping his free hand around my back. “Say yes,” he whispers in my ear. “Please say yes.”

Like there was ever a choice. There’s never been any choice but him.

I hold out my left hand. “Put that ring on my finger.”

He lets out a little laugh, his head falling forward in relief. When his head lifts again, his eyes are darker blue and shining with unshed tears. “You still want me?” he asks roughly.

I smile and wiggle my finger.

“Sabrina.” His voice is urgent now. Nearly begging.

I smile and kiss his chin. “Hell yes, I want you. I love you, Matt Cannon.”

He pulls the ring out of the box, and the second he slides it onto my finger, he kisses me, hard and fast and completely unapologetic for the fact that we’re basically making out in public.

I kiss him back, wonderfully aware of the weight of the ring on my finger, the applause of our friends in the background, but mostly aware of him.

“You know what I think?” he whispers, pulling back.

“Hmm?” I ask happily.

He smiles. “We’re going to rock the hell out of this happily-ever-after business.”

I pull his head down for another kiss. Count on it.





EPILOGUE

SABRINA

Three Months Later, January

“Four babies. Final offer.”

I drop olives into my martini and add a twist to Matt’s. “You do realize you’re negotiating with yourself, right? I haven’t issued a single counteroffer.”

He comes up beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist as he lifts his cocktail. “Three babies.”

I tap his chest with a fingernail. “Maybe you should wait until we’ve been married more than three weeks before suggesting three babies.”

“Actually, I take it back,” he muses. “I’m going back to four. Four kids.”

I laugh. “How about enjoying cocktails as newlyweds before we skip straight to the procreation bit?”

“Deal,” he says, brushing a kiss against my lips.

I wind my free arm around his back, kissing him with every ounce of besotted newlywed passion coursing through my body.

Which is a lot.

Despite my suggestion that we let Ian and Lara tie the knot first, Matt declared me too much of a flight risk.

We were married on New Year’s Eve in a quiet ceremony at the place where it all began . . . sort of.

Las Vegas.

This time there were no strippers, no lurking journalists. Just close friends. Matt’s parents were there as well, plus Felicia. And though Matt rolled his eyes, I don’t think the atypical family showing bothered him as much as it might have a few months ago.

If we’ve taught each other anything, it’s that we’re both too stubborn and strong-willed to let other people’s bad choices dictate our lives any longer.

I’d invited my mother. She hadn’t come, and I was relieved. So, I wasn’t blessed with a great mom. Or even a good one. It doesn’t matter anymore. I have Ian. I have Lara and Kate, and even Kennedy, in his crusty old way. I have a dozen other good friends who I know I can call whenever I need anything.