Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 25Lawrence

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lawrence

The first light of dawn trickles in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow on the oak table where I sit with my coffee. I hear her before I see her; the soft thud of bare feet against the stairs. Willow descends like a storm cloud, green strands framing her face in disarray. The remnants of our heated exchange from last night hang between us, an invisible barrier.

I felt like shit for leaving her after, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how to process what I was feeling at that moment, and being around her, seeing her, feeling her, it was just too much. So, I did what everyone else in my life does to me, and I left.

"Morning," I mutter without looking up from my plate.

"Morning?" she echoes, voice laced with that calm-before-the-storm quality she has. "Feels more like a prison sentence."

I glance up at her then, taking in the determined set of her jaw. Her green eyes are bright, but not with the tears that threatened to fall when I left—no, they're ablaze with that fiery spirit of hers.

"Freedom isn't measured by how early you can leave the house, Willow," I say, trying to keep things light, hoping to steer clear of another argument.

"Easy for you to say," she shoots back, folding her arms over her chest. Her handmade hemp shirt wrinkles at the motion, the emblem of Earth Defenders just visible beneath her open cardigan. She must have hid the damn thing under her mattress because I was sure to tell my staff to get rid of all her "originals."

"You're not the one being kept here like some... some caged bird."

"Come on, it's not that bad." I push my half-eaten toast aside, suddenly not hungry. The sound of birds chirping outside seems almost mocking now. "We have this whole place," I gesture vaguely to the surrounding walls of my home in Greenwood Hollow, "Nature right at our doorstep. Isn’t this your kind of scene?"

"Being surrounded by nature isn’t the same as being free to enjoy it," she retorts. "I need to move, to breathe, not just stare out the window at what I could be doing."

I take a sip of my cooling coffee, buying time. I know I've got to give a little here, bend so we don't break. But damn, it's hard when every instinct tells me she can't be trusted.

"Alright, spit it out. What do you really want?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and fixing her with a look that's meant to be patient but probably comes off more as barely restrained frustration.

She takes a breath, the kind that makes me brace for impact. "I want a car," Willow says, her green eyes steady on mine.

A car. Of all the?—

"No." The word is out of my mouth before I can dress it up in something softer. The potential risks flash through my mind like warning signs. Accidents. Paparazzi. Protests. Any number of things could go wrong if she has wheels at her disposal.

"Seriously? Just like that?" She throws her hands up, exasperation clear in her every move.

"Because you're a magnet for trouble, Willow," I snap, my pulse ticking up with every word. "You'll hop into that car and head straight for the nearest protest. You’ll get caught in some debacle that'll plaster your face—and mine—across every news outlet. We can't afford that kind of mess right now."

She crosses her arms. Her jaw sets, that familiar fire igniting behind those verdant eyes. "I promise that won't happen," she says.

I scoff. "Right. Like I can take you at your word for yesterday. You promised to behave yourself then, too. Remember?"

Her eyes flash with anger. "And what about your promises, huh? You said you'd back my initiative if I played the doting fiancée. But here we are. I haven't seen a cent, but I'm caged in this..." Her gaze sweeps the kitchen of our secluded Hollow home, "paradise." I'm pretty sure she's being sarcastic.

"You're right," I concede. "I haven't given you any money. But, how do I know you're not just going to funnel money into stopping the pipeline?"

"Maybe because I'm not a liar?" The calm precision in her voice slices through the tension. "Look, you need me to keep up appearances, and I need to make real change. That was the deal."

I let out a low breath, the edge of the granite countertop biting into my palms. She's got me there. We made an agreement, and I've been dragging my feet. Damn it.

"Fine. We'll sort out your funding today."

"And a car," she repeats, a spark of victory in her tone. "If I'm going to be running a non-profit, I need to be able to run it."

"Okay, okay, you'll get your car," I grumble, my appetite gone and my breakfast thoroughly ruined.

"Really?" Willow's eyes widen, the green of her hair catching the sun in a peculiar, almost mesmerizing way. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious." I push my plate away, crossing my arms. Anything to keep this peace treaty from unraveling.

"I want something sensible," she says. "Nothing flashy. It needs to be eco-friendly. A hybrid at least, or better yet, a plug-in Prius."

"Right, because driving around in a Prius will save the planet." The words tumble out before I can stop them, laced with sarcasm. "Never mind the environmental cost of mining lithium, huh?"

Willow's brows knit together, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don't have to mock what you don't understand, Larry. It's still the lesser of two evils."

"Lesser evil," I mutter, realizing too late that my attempt at humor has hit a nerve. I clear my throat, trying to recover some ground. "Fine. A Prius, then. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she replies dryly, but the tension eases slightly. "Thank you."

"Anything for my fiancée." I stand up, ready to leave the battlefield of breakfast behind. Whatever it takes to keep the investors happy and her out of handcuffs and off the evening news.

I grab my keys from the counter, feeling the weight of Willow's gaze on me. "I've got to head to the office."

"Fine," she says, turning around to make herself a cup of coffee.

I pause at the door, fighting the urge to cross the room and pull her into my arms. Instead, I shake off the thought and step out into the crisp morning air. The drive to my makeshift office in this sleepy town is a blur, my mind stuck back at the house with her.

When I push through the doors of Sinclair Shipping, Jason is waiting with a furrowed brow.

"Morning, Jay," I greet him, trying to focus on the tasks ahead.

"Lawrence," he nods, leading me to his meticulously organized office.

"Let's talk about this weekend," he starts, tapping a pen against a stack of papers. "The charity event guest list needs your approval."

"Right." I scan the names, signing off where needed. "And heads up, I'm bringing my fiancée."

Jason's pen halts mid-tap, his sharp blue eyes shooting up to meet mine. "Fiancée?"

"Long story," I reply, giving nothing away. "You'll meet her soon enough."

"Alright," he says slowly, clearly filing away that piece of information for later scrutiny.

"Make any headway with Hargraves yet?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Same old story every time I call."

"Keep calling," I say. "Until he says 'no,' don't stop."

"Good lessons for business and dating," Jason says, chuckling at his own joke.

"Excuse me for a sec," I say, sensing my phone vibrating in my pocket. I step out, leaving Jason with his spreadsheets and his twisted humor.