Page 60 of Imperfect Arrangement
That’s true. When it comes to Raymond, I’m blank. Empty. Void of feelings. I’m?—
“Is that Raymond on the cover of theElite Gazette?” Violet tilts her phone toward me, showing off a black-and-white shot of Raymond in a perfectly tailored suit, with a dark cravat replacing his usual tie. And, for some reason, my heart chooses this moment to thump out of rhythm.
“Just so we’re clear, you feel nothing for this man?” Daisy raises a brow, watching me carefully.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the heat rising in my cheeks. One has to be blind not to find the man attractive. Yes. That’s it. Just attraction. Simple, basic attraction. Full stop.
THE BIGGER LOSER
WILLOW
My phone has my full attention as I stroll toward the pergola, a book tucked under my arm. It’s probably why I don’t notice right away that I’m not alone. The faint, smoky scent of tobacco hits me first, pulling me from my scrolling. I glance up—and my steps falter.
Raymond is sprawled on the couch, his suit jacket, which normally looks like it’s sewn to his shoulders, lies discarded on the cushion beside him. The top button of his shirt is undone beneath that gray waistcoat, and his legs are propped up on the coffee table. It’s the most undone I’ve ever seen the man.
His head is tilted back, exposing the sharp angles of his jaw, which has no right existing outside of a movie poster.
A cigar dangles between his fingers, the faint orange glow at its tip casting subtle light over his features. He looks like he stepped out of an ad for luxury watches, or maybe a Bond film. The setting only makes it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. Against the inky night sky, Raymond is illuminated by the soft glow of fairy lights that crisscross above the pergola. The warm, flickering hue plays against the hard planes of his face, making him look stupidly good—the kind of good that makes you question whether your vision’s playing tricks on you.
My grip tightens on my book, my thumb absently brushing the edges of the pages. Dinner at Violet’s must have scrambled my brain, because my fingers actually itch to grab my phone and snap a picture. This could be one of those photos that models spend hours trying to create—effortlessly candid.
My heart skips, traitorous as always, as I watch him. He’s too much. Too handsome. Too composed. Too everything. And yet, I can’t seem to look away.
After several beats, I finally take a cautious step back, hoping to disappear without interrupting whatever moment he’s got going on. Subtlety, however, has never been my strong suit, especially when it comes to this man. The soft shuffle of my foot on the gravel gives me away. Crap!
His head jerks toward me, catching me mid-sneak.
But Raymond doesn’t sit upright in surprise or try to smooth things over like most people would after being caught in what looks like a rare personal moment.
No, he just stays there, leaning back, his gaze locked on mine. It’s an unflinching stare—short enough to avoid being uncomfortable, but long enough to feel like he knows I was watching him and this is some kind of quiet payback.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here,” I say quickly, trying to fill the growing silence before it stretches into awkward territory.
He doesn’t rush to respond. Instead, he blinks slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, and then that damn grin appears, tugging at one side of his mouth and doing funny things to my pulse.
“Looks like we’re both after the same piece of real estate once again, Miss Pershing.”
This man.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” I’m already half turned and ready to bolt when his voice stops me in my tracks.
“I don’t think I’m any more disturbed than you are, Willow.”
My feet freeze mid-step, and I spin back to face him. There’s something in his tone—not mocking, not sharp, but something that feels heavy and real.
Realization slams into me. I’m not the only one whose life had a complete makeover this week. When Raymond invited me to pitch a business proposal to his shareholders, he probably didn’t expect to walk away from that meeting with both an investment and a fake fiancée.
And now the only way we can get through this is by doing what we’ve always done—being unapologetically ourselves. Even if this time, we’re on the same side.
“How was your evening with your friends?” he asks after a beat, as I settle onto the couch opposite him, pulling my shawl snugly around me, almost wrapping my upper body like a burrito.
I take a moment, meeting his eyes directly. “Interesting.”
As expected, the corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smirk. “Seems like ‘interesting’ is the word of the day.”
“It sure does. Do you believe in tarot, by the way?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Raymond’s response is immediate, no hesitation, and he shakes his head in a way I kind of expected. “Not at all. I don’t believe in predictions. I believe in going after what you want and not stopping until you have it.”
