Page 22 of Love so Hot

"Spit it out," I snap. My gaze fixates on the embers dancing in the fireplace.

"An engagement," she declares triumphantly.

I choke on my own incredulity. "An en—what?" I sputter. "Are you trying to give me a coronary?"

"Listen," she soothes, or attempts to. "We drop the charges against Willow in exchange for a fake engagement. It's perfect. You go from 'big bad playboy' to 'reformed family man' overnight. The public eats up a love story, especially if it's wrapped in a bow of environmental consciousness."

"Emily," I say, voice laced with the sarcasm of a thousand eye rolls, "you've officially lost it. This seems a little extreme.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, Lawrence. But unfortunately your playboy reputation mixed with your legendary temper is threatening the viability of this project.”

I find myself gritting my teeth, trying to keep said-temper in check. “This pipeline is bigger than just me. It’s going to completely change the energy grid for the better. Which means new jobs, growth, and everything that goes with it.”

“I know that,” Emily says. “But, the public doesn’t. All they see if some wannabe Bruce Wayne trying to tear up the Earth for monetary gain.”

“Okay. So, who cares what the public thinks? We’ve got all the permits and cash we need to get started. I’m tired of coddling to people.” I seriously wish I had a stress ball right now because instead I’m digging my fingers into my palms. The fact that I have the even consider public perception grates on me. It’s not like the public has ever considered me or what I wanted in life.

“Sure, Lawrence. We have the permits to break ground and the money to do it. But, this is a big project. It’s going to take years to build. There are other permits we will need further down the road. More money too.”

“Yeah? So, we’ll get that when we need it.”

“Not if the public drives a wedge into your project by then,” Emily says coolly. “Permits are granted by public servants. Public servants who will be going up for re-election by the time they need to grant our next set of approvals. If you don’t turn this narrative around, we’re going to be in trouble.”

I let out a growl, because I know what she’s going to say next.

“And if investors get wind that we’re not going to get our next set of approvals, they’ll pull all their money out and we’ll be dead in the water.”

“Fine,” I grunt. “Let’s assume that me pretending to play family man will fix all this, which is debatable. Your plans still got one little problem.”

“What’s that?” Emily asks, her tone amused.

“There's no way Willow Harper, queen of the eco-warriors, is going to say yes to marrying the enemy."

"Ah, but there's more to it than you think." Emily's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Willow's got a rap sheet of protests longer than a CVS receipt. This charge? It's her third strike. She could be facing serious jail time."

"Great, so not only do we want her to agree to this insane plan, but we're also banking on her fear of prison to seal thedeal?" I ask, massaging my temples as if that could squeeze out a better solution.

"Exactly," Emily says, as if she's just explained the theory of relativity and expects me to applaud. "She might take the bait to avoid a mandatory minimum sentence."

"That's some good intel, Em," I concede begrudgingly. "But there's no way I'm parading around with a fake fiancée."

"Actually, you will," she retorts coolly, "if you want this pipeline to go through without any more hitches. Consider it damage control with a side of romance."

"Fake romance," I correct her, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Temporary," she assures me. "Once the pipeline is fully approved and funded, we can dissolve the engagement quietly. No one will be the wiser."

"Except for my pride," I mutter under my breath. The line goes quiet for a beat, and I know she's letting the idea simmer, giving me time to realize it's the only way out of this mess.

"Fine," I finally say, "I'll think about it." But who am I kidding? Emily's strategies have steered me right more times than I care to admit. Even if the thought of playing house with Willow Harper makes my blood simmer—partly from irritation, partly from something else I refuse to acknowledge.

"Good," Emily says, satisfaction lacing her tone. "Sleep on it."

"Sure," I reply, though sleep is the last thing on my mind. I hang up, the weight of this ludicrous plan settling on my shoulders like a lead cloak.

In bed, I toss and turn, my sheets twisting into knots. Anger simmers in my chest—not just at the situation but at myself for being predictably malleable under Emily's guidance. What irks me more than anything is the realization that having Willow Harper as my fake fiancée isn't entirely unappealing. Thebenefits are obvious: softening my public image, sidestepping jail time for her, and smoothing the path for my pipeline project.

But there won't be heart-fluttering glances or tender kisses that make you forget your own name. No, our engagement will be as empty as my penthouse on a Saturday night. And for reasons I'm not ready to dissect, that knowledge leaves a hollow ache in my chest.

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