Page 42 of Imperfect Arrangement

“He saves up all his energy for chaos at least once a week.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Once a week?”

“Don’t worry,” I say with a playful grin, leaning into the rare moment of having the upper hand. “I don’t make a habit of flashing random men who happen to loiter around my room.”

He presses his lips together, smirking. “Point taken.” Then he nudges the wooden tray toward me, waiting for me to take the first sip before even touching his own mug.

“So, do I pass?” he asks, as I take a slow, deliberate sip of the cocoa.

I drag out the moment, making a big show of sipping before finally giving in. “Hmm. Not bad.”

Raymond chuckles, shaking his head. He knows it’s more than “not bad.” The cocoa has a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon—definitely not your average instant mix. I might not know my way around a kitchen, but I grew up with a mom who can cook circles around the best chefs.

“Unfortunately, there’s no booze in the house,” Raymond says, breaking through my cocoa-induced trance.

“Wait…why?”

“Quill doesn’t like the smell of alcohol,” he replies, as if that explanation alone makes any sense.

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, but it never comes.

“So…what do you do? Run to a bar every time you feel like a drink?”

He shrugs. “I don’t drink.”

“You don’t drink? Like…at all?”

“Yup. Haven’t touched a drop in six months. Not since Quill came into my life.”

My jaw practically hits the floor.

Six months?

Admiration creeps in before I can stop it, mingling with surprise. I mean, I walked into this house expecting an arrogant, cutthroat businessman—and yeah,that guyis still here. But there’s also this other side— a dad willing to give up something as simple as a drink because his daughter doesn’t like the smell. And it hits me right in the feels.

Earlier, when I stomped into that shower, I was fuming, convinced Ray was a colossal jerk trying to make me feel like an outsider in his own home. But once the steam cleared and my brain caught up, I remembered the look on his face—agitated, frustrated, and maybe a little scared.

The man who takes down business titans is also a dad, terrified of losing his little girl.

And now, I’m curious. What other sacrifices has he made for his daughter? Beyond giving up alcohol and inviting the one person he once despised—and maybe still does—into his home?

“So, what I wanted to say was…I’m sorry,” Raymond begins, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard. “For everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I think you meant some of it.” I’m not about to let him wiggle out of this that easily.

My feelings toward this man are like a carnival ride—one moment I’m glaring at him, and the next, I’m admiring him. The back-and-forth is exhausting.

He lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping, and runs a hand through his dark hair, tousling it in that irritatingly perfect way. “Alright, maybe I meant a little of it.”

I nod, giving him space to continue.

“But when it comes to Quill, I just…I’m…”

“Protective?” I offer, sensing his struggle to find the right word.

He nods, his eyes softening. “Yeah, protective.”

Raymond stands up, turning his back to me and looking out into the night sky, as if it might help him find the right words. His tall frame is silhouetted against the glow of the fairy lights, and for once, he looks so vulnerable.