Page 26 of Imperfect Arrangement

Unknown Number: It’s my dad.

Unknown Number: And he’s not doing this of his own free will.

Oh, God. I flop back on the bed, my heart doing this weird mix of dread and amusement.

Me: Is this from Quill or her dad?

Unknown Number: Her dad, of course. And he’d like to meet you tomorrow for breakfast.

Me: Can you tell him I don’t give a damn what he’d like?

Unknown Number: It’s about Quill.

Me: You seriously have no shame using your daughter as bait?

Unknown Number: Okay, it’s about Quill, me, and you. And your property. I think I’ve found a way we can both get what we want.

Me: I know a way—drop your partnership with my cousin, and I’ll get exactly what I want! If you can’t do that, see you in court, Mr. Teager.

Unknown Number: I’ll be waiting for you at La Bella Vita, 9 a.m. tomorrow. This isn’t a joke, Willow. I’m serious.

Me: Then you must know La Bella Vita doesn’t open until 12. So where are we going to talk, on the sidewalk?

Unknown Number: At the risk of you hating me more than you already do, every business can open any hour of the day. You just have to know the right price. And before you accuse me of flaunting my wealth, I only reserved it because I thought you like that place.

I stare at my phone, a weird mix of nerves and confusion running through me.

What the hell doesthismean?

NOT YOUR SOUL. NOT YOUR LIMB. JUST YOU

RAYMOND

Ifind myself back at the same damn table at La Bella Vita, but this time, the power dynamic has flipped. I’m the one waiting for Willow Pershing, and I’m the one who wants to have an amicable conversation. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I glance at my watch. For the first time, she’s late to a meeting—completely intentional, no doubt.

Should I be impressed? Annoyed? Maybe a little bit of both.

The waitress glides past me again, batting her lashes so fast I’m half worried she’ll lose her ability to see.

“Still nothing for you?” she asks, with a voice too sweet for my current mood.

“No, thanks.” My irritation’s bubbling under the surface, but my mom raised me right. Always be respectful to women. Of course, if you ask Willow, she’d probably laugh in my face and tell Mom I was “disrespectful” just for breathing in her general direction.

Yeah, somehow we bring out the toddler in each other.

There’s something about this woman that makes me forget every bit of training I’ve had on how to keep my cool. It’s like she knows where the buttons are, and she doesn’t just press them—she leans on them with all her weight.

I unlock my phone screen and scroll through our last text conversation, wondering if I should’ve handled it differently. Probably.

“So, what is it you want to talk about?” Her voice snaps me out of my head.

Willow’s standing there, her ever-present giant tote bag making a loud clunk as she sets it down on the table. For all I know, she’s brought a set of knives just in case she needs to use them against me.

“Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll talk?” I say, keeping it calm.

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you say what you have to say, and I’ll be on my way?”