Page 6 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

The meeting doesn’t seem to be going too well. Even outside, I can hear a full-blown shouting match going on. It makes me hesitate. I didn’t exactly envision an angry mob when I made the decision to crash this party.

Suck it up, Orson. You’ve dealt with million-dollar deals and faced CEOs running companies the same size as your own. This is a town meeting of country people. Get a grip!

It’s far more complicated than that, and I know it. But standing out here on the sidewalk is not going to get the job done. Placing my hand on the door, I push it open and venture inside.

Above my head, a light tinkle reaches my ears, and I glance up, noticing the little bell. It evokes even more old memories, though it’s barely audible over the racket. Four or five people are all talking at once, and then I hear one distinct voice.

“The town is lost, and that’s the end of it.”

My time to cut in.

“No, it isn’t,” I say, my voice loud and confident.

Like they’ve been struck by some affliction, the entire room falls silent, and I move forward to the front of the room. Feeling a chill as their stares follow me, my sights land on Lily Harper. It’s been a long time, and while I shouldn’t be so surprised—she was always a pretty girl—I am a little taken aback.

She’s tall and slender, with more curves, but in all the right places. Her dark brown hair is long, hanging down the front of her shoulders, and from a beautiful face, her green eyes are locked on mine. She’s surprised, but trying not to show it.

“Miss Harper,” I say.

“Mr. Donovan,” she replies.

There’s a woman in her forties standing behind her, looking me up and down. I can’t tell if she wants to eat me or beat me, but I smile at her, anyway. She rewards me with a huge smile, showing sparkling white teeth that shine against her brown skin.

Eventually, I turn toward my scowling audience. I’ve been in front of worse, but this is different. In this room, I’m facing people who ruined my childhood with their taunts, day in and day out.

I swallow my anxiety, pin on my smoothest smile, and begin.

“I know there are plenty of rumors flying around about Donovan Enterprises. But I’m here to put those rumors to bed. Rumor number one being that we are going to railroad Willow Creek and put up shopping malls, fast-food restaurants, and a drive-thru.”

I see some eyes lower, some surprised expressions, and some doubtful faces. My scouts are not only good, they’re the best. And they should be. I pay them enough. I’ve been told every single overheard conversation, every fear, every worry, every assumption these people have jumped to.

“I’m not here to rip this town from the roots. I’m here to help. You don’t need me to tell you that Willow Creek has had its troubles over the last five years. Sales have dropped, and local businesses have been forced to close or move on,” I continue. “The commercial side of this town has plummeted. In fact, I’m shocked at how many empty buildings I passed on my way here.

“Jobs became scarce, and naturally, people have left the town to find work elsewhere, which hasn’t helped you at all. The vibrant town that Willow Creek once was has faded into a quiet struggle for survival. But I’m here to turn that around.”

I’m surprised I haven’t been heckled yet, but there’s still time. Currently, I have their attention. I can see the sadness in their eyes, and for the first time since my grandfather handed me this project, I actually feel sorry for them.

“Willow Creek holds a special place in my heart. It’s the town I grew up in. The town I loved. The town that made me the man I am today,” I lie. “In fact, I begged to be given this project. That’s how much this town means to me.”

They’re drinking it all in. All the bull and the flowery reminiscence of a childhood I never had.

“I’m here to turn things around. Donovan Enterprises is here to help. This town gave a great deal to me. Now, it’s time for me to give back.”

Afterward, there are a hundred different questions that I deflect with phrases like, “We’re still in the planning phase,” “that’s on the agenda,” and “it’s a long and complicated process.”

“Are we going to have any say in what goes on?” This question comes from Cindy Caldwell. I remember her well. Once a cheerleader and one of the popular crowd, she was an instigator in making my life miserable. The girls were worse than the boys, and she relished the torture. I find myself a little distracted by memories and falter in my answer, but then I hear Lily Harper speaking from behind me.

“I’m sure Mr. Donovan will sit down with each and every one of us at some point to go through the process properly, Cindy.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I nod at her diplomatic answer. As tactful as it was, I definitely heard some gusto behind it. I also know it was Lily who organized this meeting, thanks to my spies. She is certainly a feisty one.

I answer a few more questions, and then Lily says, “I think that’s enough for one night, folks. It’s getting late, and I still have to fix my tables.” She laughs lightly.

It’s a soft laugh, and pleasant to the ear.

Her comment elicits a few chuckles from the group, and then people start getting up from their chairs. No one comes near me, which is no surprise. Putting their minds at ease is going to take more than one meeting. Slowly, they leave the bakery, until eventually, there is only me, Lily, and the woman who has been standing by her side since I arrived.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I say to her. I don’t recognize her at all, and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t living here when I was.

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