Page 1 of Imperfect Arrangement
AN “A” WORD
RAYMOND
“What is it that can’t be discussed over a call?” The words scrape against my tongue as I settle into my chair across from the woman who’s been my personal headache for the last six months.
Willow Pershing.
The fiery redhead with a death grip on the one piece of land that’s standing between me and the most ambitious project my company, Elixir Estates, has ever tackled. My dream hotel—a landmark that’ll not only put Cherrywood on the map but send our company’s portfolio skyrocketing.
But because of her, the project’s at a standstill.
She catches my eye and immediately rolls her lips into a line, a small scowl forming as if her face naturally molds itself into irritation whenever she sees me.
I shouldn’t find it attractive. But, inconveniently, I do.
Willow’s hair, that wild copper mess, is tied up in her signature bun, loose strands framing her face like she didn’t even bother fixing it up for me. For this meeting, I mean.
Yet she’s stunning, with that untamed look that’s entirely her own. Dark kohl lines her eyes, and auburn lashes fan across her freckled cheeks. Her lips are painted some shade that hovers between red and orange, with just enough shimmer to make them look distractingly fuller and, hell, kissable.
Dammit.
“Mr. Teager,” she interrupts my mental sidetrack, leaning back in her chair. We’re seated in the private area away from the lunch-hour clientele at La Bella Vita, the most overpriced Italian restaurant in town. I’m not sure why Willow picked this spot when she’s—of course—against all things extravagant.
Even after months of knowing each other, we still aren’t on a first-name basis.
And that’s fine with me. Being too close to this woman feels like playing with fire—something that would start slow but leave behind nothing but smoking ruin.
“I trust you have something important since you saw fit to harass my assistant for this meeting, Miss Pershing.” My voice drops to that controlled, borderline-indifferent tone I know will coax that adorable scowl back onto her face. It’s a dangerous game, but I’m becoming fond of her disdain toward me.
Willow Pershing hates me, and I’m supposed to feel the same way. We’re business enemies, after all.
I’m the buyer interested in her grandfather’s disputed land—the stretch of property I already promised to my shareholders. My jaw tightens as I recall the flood of texts and emails from the board, all demanding updates on a project that hasn’t moved in six months, all because of this stubborn, irritatingly beautiful woman sitting across from me.
“So The Shark pretends to care about his employees,” Willow mutters just loud enough for me to catch, and damn, my lips twitch on reflex.
I press my fingers against my mouth, trying to smother the grin creeping up. Normally, I’d hate the nickname the media slapped on me, but hearing it from her? It almost sounds like a compliment.
“Anyway,” she continues, clearly eager to get this over with. “Last week, I received confirmation from both my grandfather’s specialist and attending physician.”
She pauses, her eyes fixed on mine, waiting for a reaction. She’s not getting one, though, even if her deep gaze almost makes me squirm. Almost.
“The official documents clearly state that when he updated his will and named me the sole owner of his land, my grandfather was fully sane and knew exactly what he was doing.” She keeps her gaze locked on me, and despite myself, I can’t help but admire her grit.
Willow Pershing is a fighter. She’s been battling me for months, determined to hold on to what she believes is hers, even if she’s wrong.
Normally, getting someone to sell me a piece of land takes maybe two meetings, tops. But Willow? She’s been immune to every tactic I’ve thrown her way.
I offered her more money than most people would dream of—enough to buy an even bigger property right here in Cherrywood. That was met with flat-out rejection. Same with the job offer I dangled in front of her—a permanent position at any of my hotels, a salary high enough to make someone consider selling their soul. She didn’t just decline; she gasped like I’d offended her on a cosmic level, muttering a few choice words under her breath that I’m pretty sure were meant for me.
And then she reminded me, quite passionately, that she’s already a business owner, running her family B&B with her mother and nana just fine, thank you very much.
So here we are, at a deadlock. Neither of us willing to back down.
It’s frustrating, sure. But it’s also what makes her so damn interesting. I wasn’t expecting to be up against someone like her. Raised by a single mom, I’ve always had huge respect for women who fight for what’s theirs. But Willow Pershing? She’s practically the poster girl for female entrepreneurship. I’ve got to give her that much.
“This evidence would hold up in court, if that’s the road my cousin—and your best friend—wants to go down,” she says, looking smug like she’s already won this round. But she couldn’t be more off base.
Gio, her so-called cousin, is about as close to being my “best friend” as I am to considering his existence tolerable. I hate the guy almost as much as I admire her. Unlike Willow, he’s a spineless weasel. An opportunist who’d rather chase a payout than stand by family. If he’s got any use to me, it’s because he’s the legal owner of the property Willow claims to be hers.
