Page 7 of Love so Hot

Right on cue, as if summoned by our conversation about elusive nice guys, Lawrence Sinclair steps outside of his office building. His tailored suit and confident walk are the very definition of corporate charisma. Too bad charisma can't reforest clear-cut land or clean an oil spill.

"Speak of the devil," I mutter, watching him begin to walk across the street, a pang of annoyance souring my mood. "There goes the neighborhood, right?"

Mrs. Sullivan tsked, her eyes following my gaze. "Now, Willow, remember what we say about judging books by their covers."

"Unless the cover has 'Property of Lawrence Sinclair' stamped all over it," I quip, unable to resist the jab. "Then I'd say the book is probably not worth reading."

Chuckling, she stands, smoothing out her skirt. "Just be careful, dear. With angry men and with assumptions. Both can surprise you in ways you might not expect."

"Got it, loud and clear." I smile up at her, grateful for the concern wrapped in every word she speaks. Standing, I give her a quick hug, the scent of lavender and kindness enveloping me.

"Thanks, Mrs. S. For everything."

Chapter Four

Lawrence

I lean backin my creaky office chair, feet propped on the desk, staring out the tiny window that might as well be a porthole to hippie-ville. Directly across the street sits Mrs. Sullivan's flower shop, all quaint and charming with its pastel-painted facade and window boxes bursting with cheerful blooms. Give me a break.

Apparently, that place is like Mecca for the eco-hippies. I roll my eyes. Mrs. Sullivan, the so-called "oracle" of the Earth Defenders. Not officially one of them, but might as well be their spiritual guru or whatever. I can practically smell the patchouli from here.

But then I spot her through the window—Willow Harper. And suddenly, I'm sitting up straighter, squinting to get a better look. Damn, that girl's been stuck in my head ever since Jason showed me that picture of her. She's arranging a bouquet, her aqua-green hair falling in waves around her face, those piercing green eyes focused intently on her work.

She's pretty in a boho sort of way. Definitely not my usual type. I mean, the girls I typically go for are more... well, high-maintenance. Designer clothes, perfect hair, manicured nails. Willow looks like she just rolled out of a Volkswagen bus. And yet...

Maybe it's time to expand my palate. Just because I'm a steak guy doesn't mean I can't try a veggie burger once in a while, right?

I chuckle at my own joke, but my eyes are still fixed on Willow. There's something about her—a fire, a passion—that's undeniably intriguing. Plus, getting close to her could give me valuable intel on the Earth Defenders. Two birds, one stone.

My eyes narrow as I watch River walk into the shop. Despite what Emily tells me, it's obvious there's something between those two. I keep telling myself that my interest in Willow is motivated solely by trying to break up their little duo. If I break them up, then the likely outcome is to break up the Earth Defenders.

"Yeah, that's definitely the only reason," I mutter sarcastically to myself, rolling my eyes at my own lame justification.

I lean forward, peering through the window. River's animated gestures catch my eye immediately. His choppy, blue-tinted hair bounces as he waves his arms, face contorted in what looks like anger.

"Well, well, looks like trouble in hippie paradise," I smirk, feeling a surge of satisfaction.

But then my gaze shifts to Willow, and my smirk fades. She's hunched over, aqua-green hair falling forward to partially obscure her face. Even from here, I can see the sheen of tears in her eyes.

"Damn it," I growl, surprised by the twinge of... something... in my chest. "Why does she have to look so... so..."

I can't find the right word. Vulnerable? Hurt? Beautiful?

"Get it together, man," I chastise myself. "Remember the plan. This is about breaking up the Earth Defenders, not... whatever this is."

But as I watch Willow's shoulders shake slightly, I can't help but feel a nagging desire to march over there and... what? Comfort her? Punch River? Both?

"This is going to be more complicated than I thought," I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

Suddenly, River storms out of the shop, his face a mask of fury. He stomps down Main Street like a toddler having a tantrum. I can't help but snort.

"And they say I have anger issues," I mutter, tapping my fingers on the desk. At least I don't look like an overgrown chia pet when I'm pissed.

Inside the shop, Mrs. Sullivan emerges from the back, her silver hair gleaming under the soft lights. She approaches Willow, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. I can't hear what's being said, but the older woman's expression is gentle, motherly.

Probably filling her head with more tree-hugging nonsense. But there's less venom in the thought than usual.

After a few moments, Willow nods and stands up. She wipes her eyes and moves to a nearby display, starting to arrange a bouquet of wildflowers. Her movements are graceful, almost mesmerizing.

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