Accidentally Yours

The Wrong Ring

The ring box burned a hole in Maya's designer handbag – the same way James's lipstick-stained collar was burning through her last shred of dignity. She stood frozen in his office doorway, watching her boyfriend of three years arch over his assistant like some twisted Valentine's Day sculpture.

"James?" Her voice came out smaller than intended.

The next few minutes blurred into a cliché: James jumping up, Sophia scrambling to button her blouse, desperate explanations flung at Maya's back as she fled toward the elevator.

"Maya, wait! It's not what you think—"

She jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, grateful when the doors closed on his voice. The carefully planned proposal, the surprise Maldives tickets tucked in her purse – all of it seemed like a cruel joke now.

Three hours and two martinis later, Maya stumbled through the financial district, gripping the ring she'd spent six months' savings on. The same ring that was supposed to be on James's finger while they toasted their engagement over champagne next week.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered, yanking the ring from its velvet nest. A gust of winter wind caught her off balance. She lurched forward, colliding with something solid and warm.

"Careful there." Strong hands steadied her shoulders. Maya looked up into dark eyes that crinkled at the corners, set in a face that probably graced business magazines. His charcoal suit probably cost more than her car.

Maybe it was the martinis. Maybe it was the way he smiled down at her – not lecherous like James, but amused and somehow kind. Or maybe it was just that the proposal speech she'd rehearsed a hundred times was stuck in her throat, demanding to be set free.

She dropped to one knee, barely registering the wet sidewalk soaking through her stockings. The ring glinted in her outstretched hand.

"I had this whole speech," she said, voice wobbling. "About love and trust and building a future together. Funny how that all seems like bullshit now. So here's the truth: I'm a mess, this is probably the worst decision of my life, but would you maybe want to—"

"I do."

Maya blinked. "What?"

"Harrison! Mr. Harrison!" James's voice cut through her alcohol-induced haze. She turned to see him running toward them, face ashen. "Sir, I can explain—"

Maya's head spun. The stranger – Harrison? – helped her to her feet, his hand warm against her lower back.

"Well," he said, sliding the ring onto his finger with deliberate slowness. "This is certainly not how I expected my Valentine's Day to go." He turned to James, whose face had gone from ashen to green. "I take it you two know each other?"

James stammered, "Mr. Harrison, she's my... we're..."

"His girlfriend," Maya cut in, then winced. "Ex-girlfriend. As of about three hours ago. When I found him with his assistant."

Something flickered in Ethan Harrison's eyes – interest, perhaps, or mischief. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. The expensive wool of his suit brushed against her cheek, and she caught a whiff of something that smelled expensive and masculine.

"Shall we discuss the terms of this... arrangement over dinner, fiancée?"

Maya's head was spinning, partly from the martinis and partly from the absurdity of the situation. She should say no. She should explain this was all a terrible mistake. She should run away and never show her face in the financial district again.

Instead, she found herself looking up into those dark, amused eyes and saying, "I'd like that."

James made a choking sound. "Maya, you can't be serious—"

"I believe," Ethan Harrison said smoothly, "that ship has sailed." He checked his watch – a timepiece that probably cost more than Maya's annual salary. "Shall we say eight o'clock? I know a discrete place where we can... get to know each other better."

As he guided her toward a waiting town car, Maya caught a glimpse of their reflection in a*****e window. She looked disheveled, slightly drunk, and completely out of place next to this polished stranger. But something about the way he held her – protective, possessive even – made her heart skip.

What had she just gotten herself into?

"By the way," he murmured as the driver held the door open, "I'm Ethan. And I have a feeling this is going to be a very interesting Valentine's Day indeed.