Page 64 of Imperfect Arrangement

Forever. Forever.

Oh, for the love of caffeine.Shut up, brain.

“Okay, this isn’t great for my ego,” Raymond says, drawing my attention back to him. His eyes flick to my death grip on the blanket, my knuckles white like it’s a lifeline. “I didn’t realize seeing my face first thing in the morning would be this stressful.”

If only he knew the truth—that seeing his ridiculously handsome face first thing in the morning is short-circuiting my brain. But of course, I can’t admit that.

“I think your ego’s just fine,” I mutter, finally accepting the coffee because I’m sure wasting it would be a crime punishable by death somewhere in the world.

While I try to calm my heartbeat, Raymond casually grabs the stool from the vanity and sits down, as if this is totally normal. But it’s not.This whole scene—him in my room, bringing me coffee, sitting close enough to count freckles—is dangerously intimate. And my poor, unsuspecting heart is so not prepared for this.

“W-what are you doing?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended, like I’m accusing him of trespassing in his own damn house.

His lips curl into that signature tilt, the one that used to drive me insane. Except now I know it’s just his natural smile. And damn if it doesn’t make my heart trip over itself. Then, instead of addressing my very valid question, he asks, “How’s the coffee?”

“Did you make it?” My voice comes out higher than I’d like.

If he says yes, I might actually cry. Sweet, considerate Raymond is not something I’m prepared to deal with before nine a.m.

“Relax,” he replies, shaking his head slowly. “I had the house staff make it. But my mom always said it’s good to start the day with something sweet.” His expression darkens slightly. “And the news I’m about to share is definitely not sweet.”

I take a big gulp of the coffee, bracing myself. “Hit me. I’m ready.”

His brows lift in surprise. “I’ve never seen anyone so eager to hear bad news.”

What he doesn’t know is that I’d rather face whatever bomb he’s about to drop than deal with the stampede of butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach right now.

Raymond sets his iPad on my lap, his hand brushing the blanket over my thigh just enough to scatter my thoughts like leaves in a windstorm. I’m too distracted to process what’s happening until he points to the screen.

Oh my God!

My stomach lurches, and the coffee I barely sipped gurgles ominously. I’m about to bolt upright when Raymond calmly takes the cup from my hand before I spill the contents all over myself and his precious tech.

“W-what is this?” My voice wobbles as I stare at the tabloid headline in obnoxious bold letters—CHERRYWOOD’S NEWEST LIAISON—plastered across a photoshopped monstrosity of me and Raymond.

It’s not even agoodphoto! I’m squinting into the sun with my forehead and nose all scrunched up and one hand shielding my face. Meanwhile, Raymond looks like a damn cover model. We look so unmatched, so imperfect.

“Rowan is working on getting the article pulled,” Raymond says, his lips flattening into a hard line. “But I can’t say who on your side might’ve seen it.”

Panic sets in as I grab my phone.

Forty-six texts. Fifty-seven calls.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“How did this even happen?” My voice wobbles as I scroll through the chaos.

“There was a town banquet last night. Plenty of our shareholders were there. Apparently, discretion wasn’t on the menu.” Raymond exhales, that beautiful jaw tightening a bit, while I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I’m on a newspaper for every-freaking-one to see.

“How bad is it?” His brow arches as he gestures toward my phone.

“Horrible,” I mutter, which feels like an understatement. I have texts from Nana, Mom, my friends, the staff at Whispering Willow, and even my ex-investor, Joanne.

I scroll straight to Violet’s message, the safest territory.

Violet: I thought this engagement thing was a big secret! If you’d have told me you were going to be on the local news, I could’ve picked a better picture.

Before I can muster the courage to dive into the rest of the messages, my phone buzzes. Nana’s name flashes across the screen, and the device slips from my grasp and lands in my lap with a thud.