Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 23Lawrence

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lawrence

As I adjust my tie for the hundredth time, I catch Willow's reflection in the mirror. I turn to face her, clearing my throat.

"Alright, Willow, let's go over this one more time. Mr. Rothburg is a key player in getting this pipeline approved. We need to?—"

"Impress him with our well-rounded approach and commitment to responsible development," Willow finishes, her voice dripping with barely concealed sarcasm. "I've got it, Larry. You've only told me about fifty times in the last hour."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I know this isn't exactly your idea of a fun night out, but?—"

"But nothing," she interrupts, her green eyes flashing. "I agreed to this charade, didn't I? I'll play nice with the big bad oil tycoon."

I can't help but chuckle. "Natural gas tycoon, actually. And he's not that bad. Just... set in his ways."

Willow rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Right. Because that makes it so much better."

As we step out of the car at the restaurant, I'm struck by how different Willow looks. She looks stunning in one of Marco's creations. It's hard to even explain the dress. Suffice to say it transforms her, draping her in an elegance that both highlights her natural beauty and contrasts sharply with her usual rugged attire. Her usual wild mane is tamed into an elegant updo, with a few strands framing her face.

I realize I'm staring when Willow raises an eyebrow at me. "What? Is there spinach in my teeth or something?"

I shake my head, feeling a bit flustered. "No, you just... you clean up nice, Harper."

She smirks, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't sound so surprised. Even us tree-huggers know how to dress up when the occasion calls for it."

As we walk towards the restaurant entrance, I can't help but notice the confidence radiating off her. It's almost magnetic, drawing the eyes of several passersby. I find myself wondering if this whole fake fiancée thing might be more challenging than I initially thought.

Clearing my throat, I lean in close as we reach the door. "Remember, smooth and professional. We're here to charm, not lecture."

Willow's smile is sweet, but there's steel in her eyes that makes me nervous. "Don't worry, Larry. I'll be on my best behavior."

Why do I have a feeling this dinner is going to be anything but smooth?

As we step into the restaurant, the ma?tre d' leads us to a secluded corner where Mr. Rothburg and his team are already seated. I plaster on my most charming smile, feeling Willow's hand slip into mine. It's warm and surprisingly soft for someone who spends so much time scaling trees.

"Mr. Rothburg," I greet, extending my free hand. "Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Willow Harper."

Mr. Rothburg's eyebrows shoot up so fast I'm worried they might fly off his forehead. "Fiancée? Well, I'll be damned, Sinclair. I didn't know you were engaged."

I chuckle, giving Willow's hand a squeeze. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises. But we haven't formally announced it yet. That's forthcoming."

As we take our seats, I launch into my pitch. "Willow here is an environmental expert. Her insights have been invaluable to our project planning."

I'm not lying – her insights have been invaluable. Just not in the way I'm implying. But hey, what Mr. Rothburg doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

As the appetizers arrive, Willow chimes in. "The pipeline's routing through the Appalachian region presents unique challenges," she says, her voice smooth and professional. "The varying elevations and soil compositions require specialized engineering solutions."

I blink, surprised. Where did she learn all this?

Mr. Rothburg leans forward, clearly intrigued. "Go on, Ms. Harper. What kind of solutions are we looking at?"

As Willow delves into a detailed explanation of pressure regulation systems and erosion control measures, I can't help but feel a mix of admiration and unease. She's good. Too good.

I take a sip of water, trying to quell the nagging feeling in my gut. This is what we wanted, isn't it? To impress them? So why do I feel like I'm losing control of the situation?

Suddenly, Willow's tone shifts. Her eyes spark with that familiar fire I've come to both admire and dread. "However," she says, her voice taking on a passionate edge, "we can't ignore the potential ecological risks."

Oh no. Here we go.

"The pipeline's path intersects with several delicate ecosystems," Willow continues, her hands moving animatedly. "There's the matter of habitat fragmentation for local wildlife, particularly the endangered Virginia big-eared bat."

I glance around the table, noticing the executives' faces tightening. Mr. Rothburg's smile has become fixed, his eyebrows drawing together slightly.

Willow, oblivious to the changing atmosphere, presses on. "Not to mention the potential for groundwater contamination. The karst topography in this region makes it particularly vulnerable to?—"

I clear my throat, hoping to derail this runaway train of environmental concerns. "Willow, darling, perhaps we should?—"

But she's on a roll now, her dark green hair catching the light as she leans forward, eyes blazing. "We're talking about irreversible damage to ancient forest ecosystems. The carbon footprint alone?—"

The CFO's fork clatters against his plate, making me wince. Mr. Rothburg's lips have thinned to a barely visible line.

I'm torn between admiration for Willow's passion and sheer panic. Part of me wants to high-five her for speaking truth to power. The other part wants to crawl under the table and hide.

Instead, I plaster on my best corporate smile and reach for the wine. Something tells me we're going to need it.

As I refill my glass, I catch Mr. Rothburg's eye. His expression is a mix of polite interest and growing discomfort. Great. Just great.

Willow's voice rises with enthusiasm. "And let's not forget the impact on local communities. The noise pollution alone during construction?—"

That's it. I can't let this go on. My career, my company, this entire deal is circling the drain with every impassioned word from my fake fiancée's mouth.

I set down my glass with a bit more force than necessary. "I think what my lovely fiancée is trying to say," I interject, my tone dripping with false sweetness, "is that we're committed to a thorough environmental review process. Isn't that right, honey?"

Willow turns to me, her green eyes widening in surprise. "Well, actually?—"

"Of course it is," I plow on, not giving her a chance to speak. "We all know how important these considerations are. Now, about those profit projections for Q3..."

I can feel Willow's glare burning into the side of my head. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under, pushing up environmentally friendly daisies. But the executives visibly relax, nodding along as I steer the conversation back to safer waters.

Sorry, Mother Nature. You'll have to take one for the team tonight.

The rest of the dinner drags on like a particularly tedious root canal. Willow sits beside me, a statue carved from ice. Her earlier enthusiasm has been replaced by a silence so cold it could probably reverse global warming single-handedly. Every now and then, I catch her stabbing her salad with unnecessary vigor. Poor lettuce. What did it ever do to deserve such wrath?

I keep the conversation flowing, discussing profit margins and expansion plans with a forced cheerfulness that's starting to make my face hurt. All the while, my irritation simmers just below the surface. This whole fake fiancée thing was supposed to make my life easier, not torpedo my biggest deal yet.

As we finally—finally!—say our goodbyes, I'm practically vibrating with pent-up frustration. The drive back to the house is silent, but not the comfortable kind. This is the kind of silence that has teeth.

The moment we're through the front door, Willow whirls on me, her green hair practically crackling with electricity. "How dare you!" she explodes, her usual calm demeanor shattered. "You humiliated me in front of everyone!"

I scoff, tossing my keys onto the side table with more force than necessary. "Humiliated you? I saved that meeting from becoming an impromptu Greenpeace rally!"

"Those people needed to hear the truth about what this pipeline will do!" Willow's voice rises, her hands gesticulating wildly. "You can't just ignore the environmental impact?—"

"And you can't just derail a multi-million dollar deal because you're feeling preachy!" I shoot back, loosening my tie in frustration. “This isn't some hippie drum circle, Willow. There are real stakes here!"

She steps closer, her green eyes flashing. "Oh, I'm well aware of the stakes. Unlike you, I actually care about more than just lining my pockets!"

I run a hand through my hair, exasperated. "You think I don't care? I'm trying to build something here, something that could benefit a lot of people. But I can't do that if you're determined to sabotage every meeting!"

The tension between us is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Or maybe a chainsaw. Yeah, definitely a chainsaw.

As I stare at Willow's flushed face, her chest heaving with indignation, a traitorous thought flits through my mind: she looks kind of beautiful when she's angry. I push that thought away immediately. This is not the time for... whatever that was.

Instead, I'm left wondering how the hell we're going to move past this. And more importantly, how I'm going to salvage this deal with my fake fiancée on a one-woman crusade to save the world.