Page 22 of Imperfect Arrangement
Instead, everything is a mess. He doesn’t care about the land, not really. He just wants to flip it to the highest bidder, whether they plan to build a morgue or a taxidermy shop for roadkill.
But the worst part of it all? He’s winning.
Joanne’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I blink away the burn building behind my eyes. “I know this is hard, Willow, but I can’t wait forever. Plus, you’re not any closer to resolving this mess with the will and the land.”
“I’ve got enough documents to prove I’m the rightful owner.” My words come out sharper than I intended, but I can’t help it. This land is mine, and I’m sick of people acting like I’m the one stealing it from someone.
Joanne takes a slow sip of her coffee before setting the cup down with a delicate clink. She stabs her key lime pie with a fork, takes her time chewing, and finally says, “That’s not what I’ve heard. Word is, your cousin has the better claim.”
“That’s bullshit!” I snap, my frustration spilling over. “If you don’t believe me, ask anyone in this town. That land was always supposed to be mine.”
She looks at me with that pitying smile that makes my heart clench tighter. “I know, Willow. I’m a town local too. Butbelieveandsupposearen’t the best words in the court of law. The judge prefers proof, witnesses, and legal documents. And as far as I know, your cousin has got it all.”
My fists curl under the table, knuckles turning white. This was my one shot, my only chance to make my dream a reality, and it’s slipping through my fingers because of two jerks—Gio and Raymond Teager.
Joanne wipes her hands on a napkin, nodding toward Whispering Willow’s dining area. “Want my advice?” She doesn’t wait for my reply. “You’ve built something beautiful here. Your B and B is charming. Your guests rave about their stays. I’d suggest you focus on what you already have and grow this. The sad truth is, not every dream in life gets to come true.”
I clutch my coffee mug, the heat burning my palms as I swallow back the lump in my throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It hits differently when someone accuses you of being a failure right to your face, in your own damn place. That’s humiliation of the highest order.
She shrugs, missing—or maybe ignoring—the thinly veiled annoyance in my tone. “A wedding estate for high-end clientèle isn’t the same as a small B and B. If you can’t prove your claim on the land, how are you going to run something that big?”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t just say that!
Joanne continues. “I’m saying this because I care. Big business isn’t for everyone. Your competitors will be ruthless. You can’t just be the sweet, Goody Two-Shoes of Cherrywood.”
I blink, taken aback. For a second, I wonder how awkward it’d be to run into Joanne after having an argument, especially in a town where there’s no concept of privacy and secrecy. But then I decide to hell with future awkwardness. “And what exactly does that mean?”
She wrinkles her nose like I’m the one being difficult. “Your cousin wants to sell to Raymond Teager, right?”
I nod stiffly.
“I’m sure you know that Raymond’s not just any buyer. He’s one of the state’s top hoteliers. Did you know that last year, he was named one of the hottest bachelors? Page Three practically drools over him.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. I’d rather eat dirt than read gossip about him. “I don’t read gossip columns.” Moreover, I have Violet to keep me up-to-date, but Joanne doesn’t need to know this.
“If our roles were switched, I’d have already been knocking on the man’s door, doing whatever it took—begging, flirting, hell, maybe even sleeping with him. I’d have made him my investor and pushed you out of the game.”
My jaw hits the floor, and Joanne smirks like she’s said the most normal thing in the world.
“That’s what I mean, Willow. You don’t have that killer instinct, that business acumen that says, ‘I’m going to do anything for my dream, to hell with it all.’”
Her words slice through me like a knife, leaving a sting I feel deep in my bones. My irritation fizzles, replaced by a heavy weight pressing on my chest.
It’s not that I believe Joanne or Gio or even Raymond. At least I don’t think I do.
But when every plan you’ve made starts crumbling around you, it’s hard not to let those doubts sink in. There’s that annoying little voice that starts echoing every crappy thing people have ever said, and lately, it’s been working overtime in my head.
Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
Maybe I should stick to what I know and leave the big risks to people with sharp elbows, killer instincts, and zero conscience.
What the heck, Wills?
You don’t need to play dirty to make your dreams come true.
Yeah, I’ll fight for what’s mine—fight like hell and do it my way. No compromises, no shortcuts. I’ll even wear a damn T-shirt that says “Ms. Goody Two-Shoes” and rock it all the way to the top.
