Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 12Lawrence

Chapter Twelve

Lawrence

Present

I pull up to the Greenwood Hollow jail, and it’s about as inviting as a bear trap. The old brick fa?ade is trying its hardest to look menacing with barred windows that haven’t seen a Windex wipe in what must be decades. It squats there at the edge of town like an afterthought, a place people prefer to forget unless they have to be here. I sure never pictured popping the question in a joint like this, but life's a comedian, and the punchline is always my plans.

"Here goes nothing," I mutter to myself, killing the engine.

I step out of the car, straighten my jacket – because appearances count even when you’re about to propose to a woman who probably wants to throw a pie at your face – and head inside. The door creaks like it's auditioning for a horror flick, and the wave of hot air inside suggests the AC's been on strike since the 90s.

"Good afternoon," I say smoothly to the officer on duty, flashing my most disarming grin. "I need to speak with Willow Harper."

"Are you family?" he asks, eyeing me like I might've just slipped out of one of these cells. I'm glad he doesn't recognize me.

"Close enough," I reply, my voice coated in charm. "Just a concerned... acquaintance."

He leads me through a maze of bleak hallways, the echo of my shoes against the linoleum playing back-up to the symphony of distant clanging and muffled voices. We arrive at a door with a small window at eye level, and he unlocks it with a jangle of keys that could double as a wind chime.

"Harper, you’ve got company," the officer announces, then turns to me with a raised eyebrow. "You sure you’ll be fine alone with her?"

"Absolutely. She may be feisty, but I'm pretty sure she won't bite." At least, not literally. Figuratively? Jury's still out on that one.

With a shrug that suggests he couldn't care less if I end up as hippie chow, the officer steps out, leaving us in privacy that feels more like a setup.

"Hey, Willow," I begin, leaning casually against the wall opposite her cell. "Fancy seeing you here."

She greets me with a glare that could curdle milk. But hey, it's progress. Last time we met, she wouldn’t even grant me that much.

"Come on, Willow. You can drop the act," I say, a hint of amusement flickering through my words. "There are no cameras here. No adoring fans or reporters to impress with your silent protest."

Her lips press into a thin line, and her aqua-green hair seems to bristle with indignation. She turns her gaze towards me, those green eyes blazing with a passion that could either start a wildfire or stop one dead in its tracks.

"This isn't an act, Sinclair," she retorts, her voice steady but charged with emotion. "I've sacrificed more than you can understand for what I believe in. And this—" she gestures to the stark cell around her "—is just another part of the fight."

"Save me the sob story," I shoot back, unable to suppress the edge in my voice. "It's not going to work on me. The pipeline is happening, sweetheart. I’ve got easement rights, permits to break ground, and enough funding to see me through early construction. That’s the end of it."

For a moment, there's a crack in her composure, a flash of hurt before she schools her features into an expression of cool indifference. She pivots away from me, her handcrafted hemp clothing whispering against the cold metal of the cot.

"Then why are you even here?" she asks, not bothering to look at me. There's a note of genuine curiosity mixed with disdain in her voice.

"Ah, well," I sigh, pushing off from the wall and taking a step closer. "I have a proposition for you. It's quite simple, really. Despite the inevitable construction of the pipeline, I'd rather not have my image tarnished."

Willow spins around to face me again, her eyes narrowing. "So, you're telling me you care more about your reputation than the environment?" Disbelief laces her tone, but there's a hint of a challenge there too, as if daring me to admit it.

I let out a laugh, short and devoid of any real humor. "Yes, actually." My response hangs in the air between us, unapologetic and raw. "Reputations are currency in my world, Willow. And mine needs to be... sterling."

She looks at me then, really looks at me, and I can almost hear the cogs turning in her head as she weighs my honesty. It's not the full truth, of course, but it's enough for now. Enough to make her think, to consider the game of chess we're both playing whether she likes it or not.

"Let's hear this offer of yours," she says at last, her voice low but not defeated.

"Thought you'd never ask." I lean in so our conversation remains just between us. "Your rap sheet's already decorated with a couple of misdemeanors. Now, add this stunt to your collection and you're looking at a mandatory minimum of five years." I let that number hang in the air for effect.

Willow's defiant posture falters for a fraction of a second before she regains her composure.

"Five years," she echoes flatly, as if trying on the weight of it.

"Yep, five long years," I confirm. "But—big but here—I can make all that go away. Poof! Just like magic." I wave my hand theatrically, knowing full well there's nothing magical about legal bribery. "All you have to do is slip into the role of my adoring fiancée."

"No." The word is immediate, sharp, a slap across my metaphorical face. But hey, I was expecting that.

"Really?" I arch an eyebrow, giving her my best 'you sure about that?' look. "You might want to mull it over. Because, sweetheart, I can sweeten the pot."

She hesitates, caught off guard, and I can tell I've got her attention. "I'm listening," she says grudgingly.

"Good choice." I nod approvingly. "If you agree to this little charade, I'll throw in some extra funds for... what is it? Earth Defenders? Sounds like a superhero group, but whatever floats your boat. You could use the money to properly fund an environmental cause of your choosing. Think about it, Willow. Real funding, real change."

Her eyes betray a war waging inside her—ideals versus pragmatism. She stares at the floor, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Think of the good you could do with proper funding," I prod, "rather than just trying to climb trees and chaining yourself to bulldozers."

"Proper funding..." she murmurs, almost to herself. Then, silence. It stretches out, and I let it, because I know how these things work. Give them enough silence and they'll fill it with their own doubts.

"Are you finished?" Willow finally asks, meeting my gaze again. There's a new calculation in those fiery green eyes, a reluctant acknowledgment of the power play at hand.

"That about sums it up."

"So," she starts, skepticism lacing her voice, "is this 'generous' donation of yours just another way to launder your dirty money?"

I chuckle, a low sound that reverberates through the cell. "Willow, please. My offer comes straight from my personal accounts. Clean as a whistle."

"Right," she says, drawing out the word. "Because everything about you screams transparency and ethical practices."

I ignore the jab, leaning forward with hands clasped together. "Believe what you want, but this is your get-out-of-jail-free card. Take it or leave it."

She chews on her bottom lip. I can tell she's trying to figure a way out of this without saying yes. But the only way out is through.

"Fine," she concedes with a heavy sigh, "but just so we're clear, it doesn’t feel like much of a choice."

"Choice," I muse, tilting my head slightly, "is a fiction in this world, Willow. We both know that."

"Philosophical and corrupt," she retorts, rolling her eyes. "What a combo."

"Stick around," I say, standing up. "You might learn a thing or two." My gaze holds hers for just a moment too long. "For now, sit tight. My lawyers will talk to the county attorney to drop the charges. You'll be out by this evening. I'll send a car to fetch you."

"Great," she mutters, "can't wait to breathe in all that free air again."

"Free?" I chuckle again. "Nothing's free. Remember that." I pause at the door, then turn back to her. "Actually, scratch the car service. I'll come and pick you up personally."

"Really? And here I thought I'd get at least a few hours without you hovering." The sarcasm drips from her tongue.

I smirk, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of leaving you unattended. Who knows what kind of tree-hugging shenanigans you might get into?"

"Ha, ha," she deadpans. "You're hilarious, really. How ever did you end up single?"

"Charm and good looks can only go so far," I quip, opening the door. "Apparently, some people prefer their fiancés to have a heart."

"Too bad you don't qualify then," she shoots back, but I'm already gone, leaving her to stew.