Chapter 5: Bureaucracy and Ghostly Proposals

A mysterious force bounced me away.

When I came to, I was back in Grant’s bedroom.

Dawn was just breaking.

Grant was already awake, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving.

Clearly, he hadn’t recovered from the shock of that dream.

I stood by his bed.

Knowing he couldn’t see me, but still not sure what to do with my hands.

The object of my nemesis’s erotic dreams turned out to be me.

Is that right?

A wave of heat rushed to my head.

I suddenly covered my face and wailed.

If I’d known, I wouldn’t have lifted the covers.

Jamie, who’d been waiting outside all night, came over. “Boss, did you clear up the misunderstanding?”

I froze for a second, then slapped my forehead.

Right, I came here to clear things up.

Now the misunderstanding is worse than ever, and the situation’s a mess.

What should I do?

I didn’t visit Grant for a whole week.

Jamie was as anxious as a squirrel on espresso. “Boss, how can you not go? If he dies, what about my promotion?”

But Grant was very calm.

He worked quietly, had meetings, went home, ate, slept.

I knew he wouldn’t die.

Because he couldn’t become a ghost and look me in the eye.

Let’s just leave it at that.

Not meeting is probably best for both of us.

But of course, what you fear always comes.

Saint Peter suddenly called me in: “Go give Grant Miller a dream.”

I put on my best pout: “Boss, I’m not going. Jamie’s efficient, let him do it—”

Jamie excitedly dropped to his knees, hands together: “Thank you, boss! Thank you, boss!”

Saint Peter was so mad he threw his phone: “Thank who? I want her to marry Grant Miller in the afterlife. What are you going for? To make him gay?”

I was dumbfounded. “Why arrange a ghost marriage?”

Saint Peter peered over his computer, pushing up his glasses:

“He was fated to have a wife, but she just died recently, so help me fill the gap. Anyway, he’s alive, you can talk to eight versions of him down here and it won’t matter. If he dies, just a stroke on the life-and-death register and the marriage is void, won’t affect you.”

How big is Grant Miller’s face? Not even dead and already assigned a wife in the afterlife.

But I couldn’t refuse.

After all, the afterlife’s records are a mess after thousands of years—mismatches happen all the time.

Like Old Lady Jenkins next door, who after three hundred years got paired with an eighteen-year-old from the mortal world last month.

Just routine business.

I dragged my feet for a few days.

Just before Saint Peter could blow his top, I finally slipped into Grant’s dream.

Still the familiar office.

Grant sat by the window, lashes trembling, not looking up.

Seeing his prim, proper face, I couldn’t help but recall that night’s dream.

Awkward.

But Grant should be even more embarrassed than me.

I walked over, bent down, and tilted my head up at him. “What are you doing?”

Grant instantly drew back, shooting me a frosty look. “Miss Taylor, have some self-respect.”

What did I do that needs self-respect?

“Did you want something?”

Grant got up, put distance between us, and calmly sipped his water.

“Oh, I want to marry you.”

Pfft—

Grant choked, his cup clattering to the ground and rolling away.

He looked at me like he wanted to skin me alive.

“Natalie Taylor, you’re the one barging into my dream. You can’t…”

“Can’t what?”

Grant stared at me, a trace of humiliation in his eyes. “You can’t humiliate me like this. I won’t marry you.”

How novel!

“How am I humiliating you?”

Grant turned away.

I circled around to block him. “Explain clearly—how am I humiliating you?”

Grant pressed his lips together, silent.

I clapped my hands, suddenly enlightened. “Oh, you mean using me as material for your X-rated dream? You’re afraid I’ll laugh at you?”

“Isn’t that it?”

Grant lowered his eyes, cold and distant.

“You’ve found my weakness. Are you satisfied? What do you want to call me? Pervert? Delusional? Out of your league?”

What is this guy mumbling about?

I want to kiss him.

I leaned in, grinning. “Grant Miller, can you focus on the main point? I’m asking if you’ll marry me—how is that humiliating you?”

A struggle flashed in Grant’s eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.

“My house is too small to fit a superstar like you.”

Fine, time to play my trump card.

“Everyone in the afterlife knows you slept with me!”

Grant froze.

I slammed the table, furious. “It’s all over the afterlife! I’m a maiden, and you used me as dream material. And that’s just what I caught—who knows how many times you’ve done it behind my back—”

Grant suddenly turned and clamped a hand over my mouth, his ears turning pink.

“Shut up! Who told you to say that? How dare you—”

I pried his hand off, looking at him eagerly.

Grant kept a stern face, wanting to say more.

I smacked a kiss on him.

Nice, the world finally went quiet.

“So, are you marrying me or not?”

Grant pressed his lips together, finally giving in: “Marry…”

I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt. Sometimes, you just have to go for it—dead or alive.