Page 3 of Love so Hot

I stepinto the so-called "country club," and I can't help but snort. This place is about as much a country club as I am humble. The worn carpeting has seen better days, probably back when disco was still cool. Dim lighting flickers overhead, casting shadows on faded golf memorabilia that clings desperately to wood-paneled walls. The air is thick with the smell of stale beer and broken dreams.

As I survey the room, I spot Jason making his way towards me, his glasses perched precariously on his nose as always. I swear, one of these days, those things are going to slide right off and shatter on the floor. Maybe then he'll finally upgrade to something from this century.

"Lawrence," Jason greets me, his voice low and urgent. "Billy Hargraves is here."

My eyebrows shoot up. Well, well, well. Looks like our elusive friend has finally decided to grace us with his presence. But before I can even think about making my move, Jason's next words wipe the smirk off my face.

"River's here too, with a few journalist buddies. They're all chomping at the bit for a story."

Great. Just what I need. An eco-warrior with a chip on his shoulder and a pack of vultures circling for scraps. I can already feel a headache coming on.

Jason leans in closer, his breath smelling faintly of mint. Always the professional, even in this dump. "The moment you try to talk to Billy, River's going to pounce. He's itching to make a scene."

I roll my eyes. "Of course he is. Heaven forbid we have a quiet evening without someone trying to save the world one poorly written sign at a time."

As I scan the room again, I spot River holding court near the bar. His choppy blue-green hair stands out like a sore thumb against the sea of balding heads and bad dye jobs. The journalists around him are practically salivating, their phones and recorders at the ready.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Well, Jason, looks like we're in for an interesting evening. Any chance we can sneak Billy out the back without Captain Planet over there noticing?"

Jason's lips twitch, the closest he ever gets to a smile. "Not likely. River's got eyes like a hawk when it comes to anything pipeline-related."

"Fantastic," I mutter. "Well, then. Shall we dive into the lion's den?"

As we make our way across the room, I can't help but wonder how I ended up here, in this sorry excuse for a country club, about to face off with an environmental crusader who probably hugs trees in his spare time.

I pause mid-stride, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "Where's Willow?"

Jason shakes his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "She hasn't shown up. Odd, considering she's usually glued to River's side at these events."

I try to hide my disappointment, but Jason's too perceptive for his own good. He raises an eyebrow at me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Don't look so down, Lawrence. The fewer radical protesters we have tonight, the better. We might actually get something accomplished without her eco-warrior rhetoric derailing everything."

"Better for us," Jason says, sensing the shift in my tone.

"Guess so." My response comes out flat.

"And how do you plan to handle River?" Jason asks.

"Simple," I start, feeling the corners of my mouth tug upward in one of those smirks that have no business existing outside of a cartoon villain's face. "I'm going to give him the show he wants."

Jason's eyebrows knit together in a way that signals his disapproval before he even speaks. "That's not a good idea, Lawrence. Escalating things won't help?—"

"Relax, Jay," I cut in, dismissive. "It's all part of the dance. So, let's not keep our audience waiting, shall we?" I pat Jason on the shoulder, relishing the controlled chaos I'm about to step into. After all, what's life without a little drama to spice things up?

River's back is a beacon for confrontation, his eco-friendly jewelry clinking like a wind chime of defiance. The journalists circle around him like moths to an incandescent light bulb—only this bulb spits out quotes about corporate greed instead of lumens. As I saunter up, the sea of recorders and microphones parts, their lenses and silver grilles glistening in anticipation.

"Hey, Riv," I greet with a grin that is all teeth and no warmth, "glad you could make it."

"Lawrence," he returns, his voice taut like a guitar string about to snap. His piercing green eyes try to drill into mine, but I'm not in the mood to be tunneled through today.

"Hope you don't mind if I crash the pity party," I continue, leaning into the space reserved for serious conversation. The kind that usually ends with someone storming off. Spoiler alert: It won't be me.

"Your company's project is a disaster for the environment," River shoots back, not one to mince words. "We won't stand by while you?—"

"Destroy the world?" I interject with mock horror. "Come on, River, at least credit me with some creativity. If I wanted to play villain, I'd go for something less cliché."

His jaw clenches—and there it is, the telltale sign that my jab has landed. Oh, I am good. Too good.

---