Page 82 of Imperfect Arrangement

“Yeah.” I shrug, pretending not to notice the disbelief in her voice. “Why is that so surprising?”

“How is it not surprising that Raymond Teager, real estate and hotel tycoon, and Alexander Teager, one of the richest businessmen in the country, spend their free time mentoring kids?”

“People do charity all the time, Willow.” I keep my tone even, but the word charity feels wrong and hollow.

She crosses her arms over her chest, and the way she’s staring at me makes me feel both exposed and seen. “Charity is writing a check or sponsoring a teacher. What you’re doing is personal. I’m not that naïve, Raymond.”

I rub my hand down my face, not because I hate her prodding—it’s the opposite. I find myself wanting to share this part of my life with her. Hell, I want to share everything with her. But instead of diving headfirst into my messy backstory, I default to humor. “Are you sure you want to push this? I can still taste you on my tongue, and this conversation is dangerously close to ruining that.”

Her cheeks flame under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The faint sheen of sweat on her skin makes her look like she’s glowing, her hair clinging to her forehead in messy, irresistible strands. “I want to know,” she says, her voice quieter now. “But only if you don’t mind sharing.”

I shift, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Alex and I know what it feels like to have someone care about you when no one else does. To be taken in, loved unconditionally, even when there’s no blood tying you to them.”

Willow’s brows knit together, confusion clouding her features. “I…I don’t understand, Ray.”

I glance at the alarm clock, debating whether now is the time for this conversation. “Are you sure you want to get into this now? You’ll wake up with a headache if you don’t get enough sleep.”

“If you stop now,” she replies, unwavering, “I’ll spend the whole night replaying your cryptic words in my head.”

I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair. “Alex was adopted by Uncle Zander and Aunt Rose.”

She nods. “Chloe mentioned it once during a girls’ night.”

That tracks. Chloe is the only person who will never forget that fact.

“But what does that have to do with you?” Willow asks, her brows drawing together again.

“I’m not my dad’s biological son,” I admit, my voice low. “I was six when my mom married him.”

Her jaw drops. “What? How does no one know this?”

“Because my dad is damn good at keeping his personal life private,” I say with a dry chuckle. “To him—and to our family—it doesn’t matter. But for me? I can’t forget it. My life could’ve been completely different if he hadn’t walked into it.”

Willow stares at me like she’s trying to reconcile the image she’s built of me with this new revelation. “But you and your dad…look so much alike.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “That resemblance is pure coincidence. But it’s part of what helped us bond. We connected in a way I don’t think anyone expected.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. And for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft hum of the night.

“Enough about my life.” I reach out to brush her hair back from her face. “Now get some sleep, Firefly.”

As she settles back against the pillows, her face still painted with quiet surprise, I let myself think, just for a moment, about what it might be like to let this woman into all of it, including the things I haven’t been able to share with my family.

A HOT DISTRACTION

RAYMOND

“So, what’s going on with you today?” Alex nudges my sneaker with his, dragging me out of my thoughts.

“What do you mean?” I deflect, leaning back on my hands against the concrete bench. My eyes remain fixed on the group of boys crowding around the drink table as one of the staff members cuts the cake Willow and I made.

I close my eyes for a brief second, and there she is again. Willow. That woman has taken up permanent residence in my mind, and after last night, I’m not sure I’d want it any other way.

“Look at yourself,” Alex says, pushing my shoulder. “Smiling like a lunatic for no damn reason. And let’s not forget your stellar performance on the field today. Even the kids were trying not to laugh at your pathetic attempts. Is this all because of the hot nanny-slash-fake fiancée, or is there something else?”

Hot. Yeah, she’s hot as hell. But that word barely scratches the surface. Stunning, yes. Gorgeous, absolutely. Strong, fiery, and somehow soft all at once. Then there’s her heart.

I still cannot believe she thought of making a homemade cake for my daughter, knowing full well she can’t bake to save her life.