15. I Like You Jittery
I LIKE YOU JITTERY
WILLO
R aymond’s gaze trails down from my face to my neck, then to my arms, lingering just long enough to make me hyperaware of every inch of my skin. I picked the most professional outfit I own, but by the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I showed up in a potato sack.
“What?” The irritation slips out before I can stop it.
“Nothing. Let’s go. The meeting’s about to start.”
I thought we were making progress, that maybe we weren’t constantly at each other’s throats anymore, but now…
What the hell happened during my walk from the parking lot to his office?
I follow him down the long lobby, trying to ignore how annoyingly perfect he looks in that navy suit. It’s tailored to perfection, with subtle lines you wouldn’t even notice unless you were standing too close—which, unfortunately, I am. His watch catches the light—a quick glint of silver against the pastel blue of his shirt cuffs.
The man knows how to dress, I’ll give him that.
We stop outside a sleek black door, and Raymond turns, giving me a quick once-over. “Good luck.”
The butterflies in my stomach morph into full-blown vultures. I’m so out of place here—in this dress, in this entire situation. My gaze drops, but before I can let my mind race off the edge, Raymond’s hands rest firmly on my shoulders, pulling my attention back up.
“Listen, Willow.” His voice is low, steady, and commanding. “The men in there? They’re pros at making you feel like you don’t belong. But no one in that room knows this land or cares about your wedding estate more than you do. Not a single one. Don’t let them see a flicker of doubt, hesitation, or nerves. You walk in there like you own that damn room. Because, Firefly, you do.”
I take a shaky breath, trying to absorb some of his unshakable confidence. “I’ve never done this before.”
He leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my ear. “You have. With me. From our very first meeting, I knew you weren’t going to let that land go without a fight. I’ve never had to work so hard to close a deal. And if today proves anything, it’s that you’ve won. So now, let’s finish this.”
My heart thuds in my chest, racing for reasons that have nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the way his finger brushes lightly against my cheek.
“You’ve got this, Firefly. Trust your gut. It’s never steered you wrong.”
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting at his casual use of that ridiculous nickname—and the way my body reacts to his touch.
I almost gasp. “What did you just do?”
“Distracted you.” He grins, that infuriatingly cocky smirk that both annoys and unsettles me, while the fluttering in my chest threatens to burst.
“By making me more nervous?” My voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched.
“Does being close to me make you nervous, Miss Pershing?” His eyebrow quirks, and I have the sudden urge to stomp on his foot like a petulant child—so I do.
“Don’t get cute with me, Teager.”
He barely releases an umph before chuckling, the sound low and entirely too attractive for its own good. “Ah, there’s my girl. Now, let’s go knock this out of the park. Just follow your gut.”
But that’s the thing—my gut is screaming that everything about this day is…off. I don’t quite belong here, not like this.
We step into the room, and the first thing I notice is the sea of identical black suits. If it weren’t for the different colored ties, I’d swear they all shopped at the same store. The room smells like cologne and testosterone.
Archer, Raymond’s cousin, begins introducing everyone, but their names barely register. Nerves twist in my stomach, and it’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“And this is Willow Pershing,” Archer says, gesturing to me. “Owner of the Whispering Willow, a family-run B and B nestled right next to the property we’re discussing today. Elixir Estates is partnering with Miss Pershing to build the largest wedding estate in the state—cozy, rustic, yet luxurious.”
“Wedding estate?” one of the suits interrupts, barely letting Archer finish. “Wasn’t the original plan a luxury hotel, Raymond?”
“I know, Jack, but trust me, this pivot will be worth it.”
“Why the change? Was there an issue with the original idea?”
I wasn’t expecting questions so soon, and they throw me off-balance. Meanwhile, Raymond stands beside me, looking completely unbothered.
“Jack, how about we let Willow explain?” Raymond says calmly while I do my best to keep my composure.
“But that’s what I don’t get,” Jack persists, ignoring Raymond. “What’s Miss Pershing’s involvement here?”
“Willow will be leading the project,” Raymond replies, his voice steady and unfazed. “I’ll be more of a silent partner, getting involved as often as I’m needed. Gentlemen, give us a chance to show you what’s on the table.”
I clear my throat and step forward. The first slide lights up the screen—a detailed rendering of the wedding estate I’ve spent countless hours perfecting with Elixir Estates’ design team. Seeing it displayed like this feels like a lifeline in a sea of doubt.
“So…” I start, then mentally kick myself.
Sound confident, Willow. No more so’s or um’s, I hear Raymond’s PR-manager voice echo in my mind.
“Our plan is to create the largest wedding estate—one that preserves Cherrywood’s unique charm while also?—”
“Miss Pershing, what’s your interest in this land?” Jack interrupts.
“I inherited it from my grandfather,” I say, steadying my voice.
“Ah, I see,” he mutters, barely looking up as he types furiously on his phone, as if whatever’s on his screen is more important than my presentation.
I pause, heart pounding, scrambling to pick up where I left off. “When celebrities come to Cherrywood for a destination wedding, they’re probably not looking for—” I gulp, my throat dry. “I mean, they’re definitely not looking for anything flashy. They want that small-town charm, and that’s what we try to give—” I stop, catching myself again. “I mean, that’s what we will give them.”
The second I say it, I cringe inside. Everything feels off—too wordy, too uncertain, like I’m contradicting myself. I try to shake off the nerves, but they cling to me like static. My hands are clammy, and I haven’t made eye contact with a single person since I started. Instead, I’ve been fixated on a potted plant in the far corner of the room—at least it doesn’t look like it’s judging me.
When I finally sneak a glance at the men around the table, all I catch is their blank, bored stares, and I know I’ve lost them. My stomach sinks, and the familiar tightness in my throat returns, making it hard to swallow.
But before I can dig myself deeper into this hole, Raymond steps forward. “How about a short break? I’ve arranged a spread from Cakes for All with their famous lattes,” he announces.
Suddenly, the room that felt like a funeral for enthusiasm lights up. Suits shuffle, conversations pick up, and the energy shifts from stiff to relaxed as everyone filters out.
Archer, the last to leave, pauses in the doorway, eyebrows raised, looking as puzzled as I feel by this unscheduled intermission. He glances between Raymond and me, a silent question hanging in the air, before heading out.
When it’s just the two of us, Raymond closes the door, the click echoing in the now-quiet room. I brace myself, expecting him to throw sharp words my way for botching the presentation, but he just stands there, leaning against the door, watching me. His silence is unnerving, his steady gaze heavy enough to make my skin prickle.
“What?” I cross my arms, trying to shake off the unease crawling up my spine.
“There it is.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap, completely lost.
“That fire, Willow. The spark that always shows up whenever this land is on the line. You brought it to every damn meeting we’ve had. But today, when it matters most, you’re fading into the background like a wallflower. Where’s the Willow I’ve been battling for months?”
I stare at him, stunned, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Are you serious right now?” The words spill out faster than I can stop them.
But of course, he just lifts a brow, as if he’s waiting for me to catch up.
“For days, I’ve listened to your PR team tell me to change everything—my words, my style, even my personality—if I want to impress these people. So here I am today, dressed up like someone I barely recognize, trying not to make a fool of myself. And now you are asking me why I’m different?” The emotions I’ve been bottling up come pouring out, and to my horror, my voice cracks, laced with the anxiety and frustration I can’t hide.
Raymond doesn’t respond at first; he just watches me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. Then, out of nowhere, he throws his head back, running a hand through his hair and ruffling the perfection he usually keeps so tightly controlled. I hate how good he looks doing that.
He steps closer, his eyes locking with mine, and the intensity swirling in his gaze sends my heart into overdrive. It’s the same look he gave me that night under the pergola, full of something I can’t quite name.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” I snap, the sarcasm in my voice a poor defense against the way my pulse quickens with every step he takes toward me.
“That you were feeling like this.” He’s standing directly in front of me, so close I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “If I’d known, I would’ve put a stop to all that nonsense. I didn’t want them to change who you are, Willow. I just wanted them to brief you on the board members. You’re smart as hell and more than capable of running this project. I wouldn’t have offered this partnership if I didn’t believe in you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I’m not sure whether to believe him or cry. “Are you just saying this so I don’t completely tank the rest of the presentation?”
Raymond’s lips curl into a lopsided smile, one that’s too genuine for my comfort. He steps even closer, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist, sending a shockwave of warmth up my arm, and I’m suddenly very aware of every inch of him.
“No, not at all. I swear on Quill,” he says softly.
I blink at him, completely thrown.
Did he just swear on his daughter for me?
My brain stumbles over the sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his touch.
“While they’re out there stuffing their faces, let me give you a rundown on the rest of the board.” Raymond’s voice is smooth, as if he’s got this whole situation tied up in a neat little bow. “And remember, you play this your way, not theirs.”
I search his face, waiting for the punchline, but he’s dead serious. No teasing, no second-guessing. Just a look that says, I believe in you .
“You really think I should just…wing it?” I ask, hesitating.
“My dad told me something on my first day at work. ‘Whatever you do, big or small, do it with all your heart. Doubt is the killer of dreams.’ And I’m telling you, Willow—no doubt, just heart.”
I raise an eyebrow, still reeling from the fact that he’s the one giving me a pep talk. “You know, when we first met at La Bella Vita, you told me I was too emotional, too full of heart for this business.”
Instead of the guilty expression I’d expect, Raymond’s grin only widens. Typical.
“Willow,” he says, his tone softening as he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. Today, of all days, I’ve straightened the wild curls I usually wear into a bun. “There wasn’t a single thing you could’ve said to change my mind back then. I wasn’t there to listen to your proposal. Letting go of the Pershing land was never on my agenda.”
My mouth goes dry.
Wait…what? So all this time, all those meetings, all the back-and-forth—he was never planning to consider my proposal? Then why was he there?
“Don’t waste time overthinking it now,” he says, glancing at his watch. “Forget everything they drilled into you over the last few days. Just remember: this is your gramps’s land. This wedding estate isn’t just yours—it’s a shared dream. You and your family built this vision together.”
My heart pounds because this man, who I’d nicknamed a jerk up until a week ago, is quoting the exact words from the first slide of my initial presentation.
“You…you’re trying to calm me down, but you repeating my words is making me even more jittery!”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Jittery is good. I’d take you jittery over the cardboard cutout you were a few minutes ago. Just channel all that pent-up frustration you have for me.” His hand still holding my wrist presses a little. “I can’t get the board members to wear masks with my face on them, but you can use your imagination, Firefly.”
Firefly. The nickname he tossed out earlier now feels like a lifeline.
I snort—a full-on, unladylike snort—and suddenly, I feel a little less like a mess.
“I’ll keep them out for a bit longer. Give you a minute to breathe.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, meaning it more than he probably realizes.
“It’s the least I can do for my business partner.” His hand slides from my wrist, leaving a warmth that lingers as he turns to leave.
But when I glance down, I notice the smudged concealer on my skin, revealing the tiny broken-heart tattoo I got after Gramps passed. Half of the heart floats in a little black-cloud bubble—one of my favorites, though it’s always hidden under my bangles.
Of all my tattoos, he had to reveal this one, the one that matters most, especially today?
When I look up, Raymond is standing at the door, watching me like he knows this was exactly what I needed. And in that instant, with the way he’s looking at me, like he sees everything, I feel it. This weird twist in my chest.
A slow, quiet realization settles over me. I don’t hate Raymond Teager anymore.
Hell, I might even like him. A bit.
And it’s only been three days.
Crap!