Page 89 of Love so Hot

My stomach drops. Of all the low blows, he had to go for that one. I grip the phone tighter, knuckles turning white. "You leave my family out of this," I hiss, memories of gilded cages and suffocating expectations flashing through my mind.

"Why?" River's voice is razor-sharp. "Isn't that what this is all about? You, running back to your privileged roots? Bet those fancy galas are a lot more comfortable than sleeping in tents and dodging security guards, huh?"

I close my eyes, willing away the hot tears threatening to spill. River's words are arrows, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The worst part? A tiny voice in my head wonders if he might be right.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I'm not going to let River's accusations go unanswered.

"You don't understand, River," I say, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "I'm doing this to make a difference. Larry is offering funding for other causes that can help so many communities."

I can practically hear River's eye roll through the phone. "Oh, please. Lawrence Sinclair? The guy's about as environmentally friendly as a coal-powered chainsaw. What, did he promise to plant a tree for every mile of pipeline?"

I bite back a sarcastic retort. Now's not the time for my usual snark. "It's more than that," I insist. "We're talking aboutreal change here. Clean water initiatives, sustainable energy projects?—"

"Save it for your press release, Willow," River cuts me off, his voice dripping with disdain. "You know what this is? This is you selling out. Trading our ideals for a fat check and a seat at the big boys' table."

His words hit me like a sucker punch, leaving me breathless. I want to argue, to defend myself, but the accusation hangs heavy in the air between us. Am I really selling out? The doubt creeps in, insidious and unwelcome.

I stare out the window at the lush greenery of Greenwood Hollow, the very landscape we've been fighting to protect. The irony isn't lost on me. Here I am, in the heart of what we're trying to save, considering a deal with the very people threatening it.

"River, I—" I start, but the words die in my throat. What can I say to make him understand? How can I explain that sometimes, to win the war, you have to lose a few battles?

The line goes dead with a sudden click, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence of my room. River's words echo in my mind like a broken record, each repetition more accusatory than the last.

"Selling out... fat check... big boys' table..."

I flop back onto my bed, the springs creaking in protest as if even they're judging me. The ceiling fan whirs lazily above, its monotonous rhythm doing nothing to calm the storm in my head.

"Great job, Willow," I mutter to myself. "You've managed to piss off your best friend and probably tank years of activism in one fell swoop. Gold star for you."

I roll over, burying my face in my pillow. It smells faintly of lavender and guilt. The scent reminds me of the wildflower fieldsback home, the very ones we're trying to protect. Or were trying to protect. God, when did everything get so complicated?

Chapter Forty-One

Willow

I'mspeed-walking down the hall, the plush carpet doing nothing to calm my racing heart. I need to tell Larry about River's plans before anyone gets hurt. This could change everything—our fake little love affair, the company's future, the works.

As I reach his door, all dark wood and power vibes, I hear muffled voices. I freeze, ear cocked. That's him. Larry is in there, alright. His voice carries, even through the solid oak, smooth as silk but with a bite that can make grown men cry. I can't help but roll my eyes. Typical Larry, always laying it on thick.

"Now, if you have actual work to talk about, Jay, I'll hear it," he says. That tone he takes when he's about to lay down the law, it seeps through the cracks.

I press my back against the door, biting my lip. I should've known he'd be on a call with Jay—the guy's like his shadow, all numbers and no nonsense. The way he looked at me at the wine festival, it just never sat right with me.

Pressing against the cool wood of Larry's office door, I strain to pick up the fragmented murmurs of his conversation, and that's when my name slices through the air like a cold blade.

"Willow... causing more harm than good," Jason says, voice laced with exasperation. My breath hitches in my chest. Harm?

I expect Larry to come to my defense. Say something to tell Jason to back down, because it's just not true.

I press my ear closer, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. His words are a sucker punch, knocking the wind straight out of me.

"She’s just part of the strategy. Alright? It’s not like this is permanent," he emphasizes, and I can almost hear the tight smile in his tone, that master-of-the-universe confidence. Strategy? Like I'm some unruly project, not a person?

The anger starts as a spark, igniting deep within my belly. It spreads fast, a wildfire consuming all the tender moments we've shared. Those lingering glances across the dinner table, the soft laughter fading into the night, the way he'd look at me like maybe, just maybe, I was more than this arrangement. All lies, then.

"Idiot," I mutter to myself, self-loathing gnawing at my insides for ever thinking this engagement was more than just a PR stunt. For believing that behind those piercing hazel eyes and that charismatic mask, there might be something genuine.

"This really was just business for you, wasn't it, Larry?" The words are a whisper lost in the empty hallway, but they echo loud in my mind.

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