Page 52 of Imperfect Arrangement
When it’s just the two of us, Raymond closes the door, the click echoing in the now-quiet room. I brace myself, expecting him to throw sharp words my way for botching the presentation, but he just stands there, leaning against the door, watching me. His silence is unnerving, his steady gaze heavy enough to make my skin prickle.
“What?” I cross my arms, trying to shake off the unease crawling up my spine.
“There it is.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap, completely lost.
“That fire, Willow. The spark that always shows up whenever this land is on the line. You brought it to every damn meeting we’ve had. But today, when it matters most, you’re fading into the background like a wallflower. Where’s the Willow I’ve been battling for months?”
I stare at him, stunned, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Are you serious right now?” The words spill out faster than I can stop them.
But of course, he just lifts a brow, as if he’s waiting for me to catch up.
“For days, I’ve listened to your PR team tell me to change everything—my words, my style, even my personality—if I want to impress these people. So here I am today, dressed up like someone I barely recognize, trying not to make a fool of myself. And nowyouare asking me why I’m different?” The emotions I’ve been bottling up come pouring out, and to my horror, my voice cracks, laced with the anxiety and frustration I can’t hide.
Raymond doesn’t respond at first; he just watches me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. Then, out of nowhere, he throws his head back, running a hand through his hair and ruffling the perfection he usually keeps so tightly controlled. I hate how good he looks doing that.
He steps closer, his eyes locking with mine, and the intensity swirling in his gaze sends my heart into overdrive. It’s the same look he gave me that night under the pergola, full of something I can’t quite name.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” I snap, the sarcasm in my voice a poor defense against the way my pulse quickens with every step he takes toward me.
“That you were feeling like this.” He’s standing directly in front of me, so close I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “If I’d known, I would’ve put a stop to all that nonsense. I didn’t want them to change who you are, Willow. I just wanted them to brief you on the board members. You’re smart as hell and more than capable of running this project. I wouldn’t have offered this partnership if I didn’t believe in you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I’m not sure whether to believe him or cry. “Are you just saying this so I don’t completely tank the rest of the presentation?”
Raymond’s lips curl into a lopsided smile, one that’s too genuine for my comfort. He steps even closer, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist, sending a shockwave of warmth up my arm, and I’m suddenly very aware of every inch of him.
“No, not at all. I swear on Quill,” he says softly.
I blink at him, completely thrown.
Did he just swear on his daughter for me?
My brain stumbles over the sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his touch.
“While they’re out there stuffing their faces, let me give you a rundown on the rest of the board.” Raymond’s voice is smooth, as if he’s got this whole situation tied up in a neat little bow. “And remember, you play this your way, not theirs.”
I search his face, waiting for the punchline, but he’s dead serious. No teasing, no second-guessing. Just a look that says,I believe in you.
“You really think I should just…wing it?” I ask, hesitating.
“My dad told me something on my first day at work. ‘Whatever you do, big or small, do it with all your heart. Doubt is the killer of dreams.’ And I’m telling you, Willow—no doubt, just heart.”
I raise an eyebrow, still reeling from the fact thathe’sthe one giving me a pep talk. “You know, when we first met at La Bella Vita, you told me I was too emotional, too full of heart for this business.”
Instead of the guilty expression I’d expect, Raymond’s grin only widens. Typical.
“Willow,” he says, his tone softening as he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. Today, of all days, I’ve straightened the wild curls I usually wear into a bun. “There wasn’t a single thing you could’ve said to change my mind back then. I wasn’t there to listen to your proposal. Letting go of the Pershing land was never on my agenda.”
My mouth goes dry.
Wait…what? So all this time, all those meetings, all the back-and-forth—he was never planning to consider my proposal? Then why was he there?
“Don’t waste time overthinking it now,” he says, glancing at his watch. “Forget everything they drilled into you over the last few days. Just remember: this is your gramps’s land. This wedding estate isn’t just yours—it’s a shared dream. You and your family built this vision together.”
My heart pounds because this man, who I’d nicknamed a jerk up until a week ago, is quoting the exact words from the first slide of my initial presentation.
