Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 22Willow

Chapter Twenty-Two

Willow

I swing open my closet door, ready to pick out the perfect "stick it to the man" outfit for my first official meeting with Larry. But instead of my carefully curated collection of hemp dresses and tie-dye shirts, I'm greeted by... nothing. Nada. Zip. It's emptier than an oil baron's conscience.

Not even the designer wardrobe he must have spent a fortune on is there.

My heart does a little somersault in my chest. Did I sleepwalk and decide to go full minimalist? No, that's ridiculous. I'm an environmental activist, not a Buddhist monk.

I dash downstairs, my bare feet slapping against the unforgiving floor. Just as I reach the bottom step, the front door swings open, and in walks Larry, looking annoyingly put-together in his crisp suit.

"Larry!" I blurt out, probably sounding more panicked than I'd like. "We've been robbed!"

He raises an eyebrow, looking more amused than concerned. "Oh? And what makes you think that, Willow?"

I wave my arms dramatically, nearly smacking a nearby vase. "My clothes! Your clothes! They're all gone! Poof! Vanished into thin air!"

Larry's lips twitch into a smirk. "Ah, I see. Well, I can assure you, we haven't been robbed."

I narrow my eyes, suddenly suspicious. "What do you mean, 'we haven't been robbed'? Did you hire a magician to make my wardrobe disappear?"

He chuckles, the sound both infuriating and oddly pleasant. "Not quite. I simply... removed those clothes."

My jaw drops. "You what?" I sputter, torn between disbelief and indignation. "You can't just... Who do you think you are, the fashion police?"

"Think of it as a wardrobe upgrade," Larry says smoothly, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. "Trust me, you'll thank me later."

I cross my arms, feeling exposed in my pajamas. "I highly doubt that, Larry. Those clothes were ethically sourced and locally made. They're a statement!"

"Oh, they made a statement alright," he mutters under his breath.

I'm about to launch into a tirade about sustainable fashion when a thought hits me. "Wait a minute. If you got rid of my clothes, what am I supposed to wear to our meeting?"

Lawrence's smile widens. "Don't worry, I have that covered. Now, shall we take a little drive?"

As I stare at him, a mix of curiosity and annoyance bubbling inside me, I can't help but wonder what exactly I've gotten myself into. One thing's for sure – this fake engagement is turning out to be way more complicated than I bargained for.

"You do realize I'm wearing pajamas, right? How am I supposed to go out into public without any clothes?"

He grins, and I know I set myself up for what he's about to say. "I wouldn't mind if you ditched them."

I decide to call his bluff. "Okay." I pretend to remove my shirt. "I'm sure the media will have a field day when they find out you're engaged to a nudist."

Larry sighs and puts up his hands. "Okay, okay. As much as it pains me to say this, and for the record, this is the first time I've ever said this to a woman, please keep your clothes on."

I give him a shit-eating grin.

"And, yes, you can wear," he waves a hand in my general direction, "this, to where we are going."

I reluctantly follow Larry to his eco-unfriendly car, my bare feet padding across the driveway. As I slide into the passenger seat, the leather interior practically screams 'overcompensation.'

"You know," I say, buckling up, "this car probably has the carbon footprint of a small country."

Larry just smirks, revving the engine. "Probably. But it gets us where we need to go in style."

As we pull out of the driveway, I turn to him, my curiosity getting the better of me. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going? Or why you decided to play dress-up dictator with my wardrobe?"

"Patience, Willow," he says, his eyes fixed on the road. "All will be revealed soon enough."

I roll my eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a terrible tour guide? 'Soon enough' isn't exactly a helpful answer."

He chuckles, a sound that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "I prefer to think of myself as a man of mystery."

"More like a man of annoyance," I mutter, watching the scenery of Greenwood Hollow blur past us.

As we drive into town, I notice we're heading towards a small, nondescript building I remember being empty for years. What could Larry possibly want to show me here?

He parks the car, and before I can ask any more questions, he's out and opening my door. "After you, my dear fiancée," he says with a theatrical bow.

I step out, my bare feet touching the cool pavement. "This better not be some weird public humiliation stunt."

Larry just winks and guides me towards the building's entrance. As he pushes open the door, I'm hit with a wave of anticipation and dread. What on earth has he done now?

The moment I step inside, my jaw drops. The once-empty space has been completely transformed. Racks of dresses line the walls, and professional lighting equipment is set up throughout the room. In the center stands a backdrop, creating a makeshift photo studio.

I blink, trying to process what I'm seeing. "Larry," I say slowly, "what exactly is all this?"

As I'm about to demand answers, a familiar figure emerges from behind a rack of couture gowns, and my heart skips a beat.

"Marco Bellini?" I gasp, my eyes darting between the renowned designer and Larry. "What in the name of sustainably sourced hemp is going on here?"

Marco, looking impeccable as always in his tailored suit—which, unlike Larry's, I know is ethically sourced—beams at me. "Ah, bella Willow! Your fiancé here was very... persuasive in arranging this little rendezvous." He gestures dramatically at the studio setup. "And may I say, you are absolutely perfect for the camera, even in those... charming pajamas."

I feel my cheeks flush, suddenly very aware of my mismatched sleepwear and messy green hair. "I don't understand," I stammer, looking to Larry for explanation.

He grins, that infuriatingly charming smile of his making an appearance. "Well, darling, I thought it was time for a little upgrade to your wardrobe. Something befitting the future Mrs. Sinclair."

I narrow my eyes at him. "And my missing clothes?"

"Donated to a wonderful charity," he says smoothly.

Marco takes my hands, still beaming at me. "Bellissima," he exclaims. "I would have done this gratuito."

"In that case, let's talk about getting my fifty grand back..." Larry quirks an eyebrow at Marco.

The designer waves his hand dismissively. "Bah! Consider it an investment in art, Lorenzo. Now, Willow, let's get you fitted for your new exclusive wardrobe. We're going to photograph the entire process for a fabulous magazine feature!"

My head is spinning. "Wait, what? Magazine feature? I can't... I mean, I'm an activist, not a model!"

But before I can protest further, I'm whisked away behind a screen, assistants materializing out of nowhere with an array of stunning dresses. As I'm poked, prodded, and draped in silk and chiffon, I catch glimpses of Larry lounging in a chair, sipping espresso and watching the chaos unfold with a satisfied smirk.

I want to be furious with him, but a small part of me is thrilled by the unexpected turn of events. Still, I can't help but wonder: what's his angle in all of this?