Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 2 Lawrence

I step into the so-called "country club," and I can't help but snort. This place is about as much a country club as I am humble. The worn carpeting has seen better days, probably back when disco was still cool. Dim lighting flickers overhead, casting shadows on faded golf memorabilia that clings desperately to wood-paneled walls. The air is thick with the smell of stale beer and broken dreams.

As I survey the room, I spot Jason making his way towards me, his glasses perched precariously on his nose as always. I swear, one of these days, those things are going to slide right off and shatter on the floor. Maybe then he'll finally upgrade to something from this century.

"Lawrence," Jason greets me, his voice low and urgent. "Billy Hargraves is here."

My eyebrows shoot up. Well, well, well. Looks like our elusive friend has finally decided to grace us with his presence. But before I can even think about making my move, Jason's next words wipe the smirk off my face.

"River's here too, with a few journalist buddies. They're all chomping at the bit for a story."

Great. Just what I need. An eco-warrior with a chip on his shoulder and a pack of vultures circling for scraps. I can already feel a headache coming on.

Jason leans in closer, his breath smelling faintly of mint. Always the professional, even in this dump. "The moment you try to talk to Billy, River's going to pounce. He's itching to make a scene."

I roll my eyes. "Of course he is. Heaven forbid we have a quiet evening without someone trying to save the world one poorly written sign at a time."

As I scan the room again, I spot River holding court near the bar. His choppy blue-green hair stands out like a sore thumb against the sea of balding heads and bad dye jobs. The journalists around him are practically salivating, their phones and recorders at the ready.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Well, Jason, looks like we're in for an interesting evening. Any chance we can sneak Billy out the back without Captain Planet over there noticing?"

Jason's lips twitch, the closest he ever gets to a smile. "Not likely. River's got eyes like a hawk when it comes to anything pipeline-related."

"Fantastic," I mutter. "Well, then. Shall we dive into the lion's den?"

As we make our way across the room, I can't help but wonder how I ended up here, in this sorry excuse for a country club, about to face off with an environmental crusader who probably hugs trees in his spare time.

I pause mid-stride, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "Where's Willow?"

Jason shakes his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "She hasn't shown up. Odd, considering she's usually glued to River's side at these events."

I try to hide my disappointment, but Jason's too perceptive for his own good. He raises an eyebrow at me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Don't look so down, Lawrence. The fewer radical protesters we have tonight, the better. We might actually get something accomplished without her eco-warrior rhetoric derailing everything."

"Better for us," Jason says, sensing the shift in my tone.

"Guess so." My response comes out flat.

"And how do you plan to handle River?" Jason asks.

"Simple," I start, feeling the corners of my mouth tug upward in one of those smirks that have no business existing outside of a cartoon villain's face. "I'm going to give him the show he wants."

Jason's eyebrows knit together in a way that signals his disapproval before he even speaks. "That's not a good idea, Lawrence. Escalating things won't help?—"

"Relax, Jay," I cut in, dismissive. "It's all part of the dance. So, let's not keep our audience waiting, shall we?" I pat Jason on the shoulder, relishing the controlled chaos I'm about to step into. After all, what's life without a little drama to spice things up?

River's back is a beacon for confrontation, his eco-friendly jewelry clinking like a wind chime of defiance. The journalists circle around him like moths to an incandescent light bulb—only this bulb spits out quotes about corporate greed instead of lumens. As I saunter up, the sea of recorders and microphones parts, their lenses and silver grilles glistening in anticipation.

"Hey, Riv," I greet with a grin that is all teeth and no warmth, "glad you could make it."

"Lawrence," he returns, his voice taut like a guitar string about to snap. His piercing green eyes try to drill into mine, but I'm not in the mood to be tunneled through today.

"Hope you don't mind if I crash the pity party," I continue, leaning into the space reserved for serious conversation. The kind that usually ends with someone storming off. Spoiler alert: It won't be me.

"Your company's project is a disaster for the environment," River shoots back, not one to mince words. "We won't stand by while you?—"

"Destroy the world?" I interject with mock horror. "Come on, River, at least credit me with some creativity. If I wanted to play villain, I'd go for something less cliché."

His jaw clenches—and there it is, the telltale sign that my jab has landed. Oh, I am good. Too good.

"Your flippant attitude doesn't change the facts," he snaps, his fervor painting each word bright red.

"Maybe not," I retort, taking a casual step closer. "But unlike your protest signs, I deal in hard evidence. And the fact is, our pipeline is going to bring jobs to Greenwood Hollow and every town from here to Norfolk. Prosperity." I spread my hands wide as if presenting a gift. "I'm practically Santa Claus."

The reporters eat it up, scribbling furiously in their notepads. River looks like he has swallowed a bug—a big, crunchy one.

"Jobs built on environmental ruin are no cause for celebration," he hisses, the vein on his temple looking ready to audition for a role in a medical drama.

"Look," I sigh, feigning concern, "we're using the latest tech to minimize ecological impact. It's cleaner than most industries around here. Heck, we’re the good guys in this story, Riv."

"Good guys don't put profit over people," River counters, but his conviction is flickering like a candle in the wind.

"Profit? People?" I chuckle, shaking my head. "Why not both? They're not mutually exclusive, despite what your campfire kumbayas might say."

For a moment, River's stance wavers, his arguments deflating like a poorly made soufflé. I can almost hear his mental gears grinding against the inconvenient truth.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lawrence," he mutters, turning on his heel. His departure is hasty, leaving a scent of frustration in his wake.

"Always a pleasure, Riv," I call after him, my voice laced with a victory that feels as sweet as the mint juleps being served at the bar.

The journalists seem momentarily lost without their protagonist, but I leave them to figure out their next move.

I'm still riding the high of my verbal joust with River when I feel a pat on my shoulder, heavy enough to be laden with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I turn around, my chuckle giving way to a broad grin.

"Lawrence! How's the blood pressure?" booms Billy Hargraves, his robust hand swallowing mine in what can only be described as a bear trap disguised as a handshake.

"Only slightly above normal, Billy," I reply, matching his volume. "Been trying to see you about that meeting. My calendar’s as open as an all-night diner."

"Ah, been tied up with family stuff," Billy says, his voice lowering to what I assume he thinks is a whisper but could pass for a shout in any other circumstances. "Have your people buzz my office again, will ya? We'll get something on the books."

"Sure thing, Billy." I nod, knowing full well the man's schedule is likely as clogged as the town's gutters after autumn leaves have their way.

As Billy lumbers away, probably off to schmooze or knock back another drink that costs more than most people's weekly groceries, Jason and Emily sidle up to me, ready to strategize.

"Lawrence, what happened?" Emily's voice is the auditory equivalent of silk—smooth and cool. Her eyes are sharp, missing nothing, always calculating.

"River's tail is between his legs, and Billy's singing the same old tune: 'Call me maybe,'" I quip, leaning back with the casual air of someone who has just won a minor skirmish in an ongoing war.

Emily's brow furrows. "But we've already?—"

"I know, I know," I cut her off. "Jason, make another call to Billy's office tomorrow."

Jason's eyes widen slightly. "Lawrence, we've tried at least a thousand times already. His assistant probably has our number blocked by now."

I fix him with a stern look. "Then unblock it. Hack the mainframe. Send a carrier pigeon. I don't care how, but make it happen. We need Billy on our side, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

As Jason nods reluctantly, I can't help but feel a twinge of frustration. Why is everything in this town so damn difficult? Between eco-warriors and elusive billionaires, it's like swimming through molasses. But I didn't come this far to give up now. One way or another, I'm going to make this pipeline happen. Even if I have to charm every last tree-hugger and good ol' boy in West Virginia to do it.

Emily clears her throat, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Lawrence, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but after your little tête-à-tête with River, the protesters are likely to be even more... spirited in their opposition."

I can't help but chuckle. "Oh, Emily, always the worrier. Trust me, I'm not losing sleep over a bunch of sign-waving hippies."

"But—" she starts, but I wave her off.

"Besides," I add with a smirk, "their precious number two didn't even bother to show up today. Some united front they've got going on."

I notice Emily and Jason exchange a look. What's that about?

"Actually," Emily says slowly, "it is rather odd that Willow wasn't here. She and River are usually joined at the hip."

My ears perk up at this. "Oh?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "Are they... you know, an item?"

Emily shakes her head. "Not that I'm aware of, but they are quite close. It's rare to see one without the other at these events."

"Huh," I muse, my mind racing with possibilities. Could there be a rift in the Earth Defenders' leadership? And why do I care so much about Willow's absence?

Jason's voice cuts through my musings. "Why are you so interested in Willow, anyway?"

I feel a flush creeping up my neck. "Interested? Me? Please. I couldn't care less about some tree-hugging activist." The words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Anyway, I'm out of here. This place is giving me hives."

As I turn to leave, a thought strikes me. "Oh, Emily? Any idea where our green friends might be hanging out tomorrow? You know, just so I can avoid them."

Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my nonchalant act. "They're often around the flower shop downtown. But Lawrence, I really think?—"

"Great, thanks!" I call over my shoulder, already halfway to the door. As I step out into the cool night air, I can't shake the nagging feeling that tomorrow is going to be... interesting.