18. The Bigger Loser
THE BIGGER LOSER
WILLOW
M y phone has my full attention as I stroll toward the pergola, a book tucked under my arm. It’s probably why I don’t notice right away that I’m not alone. The faint, smoky scent of tobacco hits me first, pulling me from my scrolling. I glance up—and my steps falter.
Raymond is sprawled on the couch, his suit jacket, which normally looks like it’s sewn to his shoulders, lies discarded on the cushion beside him. The top button of his shirt is undone beneath that gray waistcoat, and his legs are propped up on the coffee table. It’s the most undone I’ve ever seen the man.
His head is tilted back, exposing the sharp angles of his jaw, which has no right existing outside of a movie poster.
A cigar dangles between his fingers, the faint orange glow at its tip casting subtle light over his features. He looks like he stepped out of an ad for luxury watches, or maybe a Bond film. The setting only makes it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. Against the inky night sky, Raymond is illuminated by the soft glow of fairy lights that crisscross above the pergola. The warm, flickering hue plays against the hard planes of his face, making him look stupidly good—the kind of good that makes you question whether your vision’s playing tricks on you.
My grip tightens on my book, my thumb absently brushing the edges of the pages. Dinner at Violet’s must have scrambled my brain, because my fingers actually itch to grab my phone and snap a picture. This could be one of those photos that models spend hours trying to create—effortlessly candid.
My heart skips, traitorous as always, as I watch him. He’s too much. Too handsome. Too composed. Too everything. And yet, I can’t seem to look away.
After several beats, I finally take a cautious step back, hoping to disappear without interrupting whatever moment he’s got going on. Subtlety, however, has never been my strong suit, especially when it comes to this man. The soft shuffle of my foot on the gravel gives me away. Crap!
His head jerks toward me, catching me mid-sneak.
But Raymond doesn’t sit upright in surprise or try to smooth things over like most people would after being caught in what looks like a rare personal moment.
No, he just stays there, leaning back, his gaze locked on mine. It’s an unflinching stare—short enough to avoid being uncomfortable, but long enough to feel like he knows I was watching him and this is some kind of quiet payback.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here,” I say quickly, trying to fill the growing silence before it stretches into awkward territory.
He doesn’t rush to respond. Instead, he blinks slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, and then that damn grin appears, tugging at one side of his mouth and doing funny things to my pulse.
“Looks like we’re both after the same piece of real estate once again, Miss Pershing.”
This man.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” I’m already half turned and ready to bolt when his voice stops me in my tracks.
“I don’t think I’m any more disturbed than you are, Willow.”
My feet freeze mid-step, and I spin back to face him. There’s something in his tone—not mocking, not sharp, but something that feels heavy and real.
Realization slams into me. I’m not the only one whose life had a complete makeover this week. When Raymond invited me to pitch a business proposal to his shareholders, he probably didn’t expect to walk away from that meeting with both an investment and a fake fiancée.
And now the only way we can get through this is by doing what we’ve always done—being unapologetically ourselves. Even if this time, we’re on the same side.
“How was your evening with your friends?” he asks after a beat, as I settle onto the couch opposite him, pulling my shawl snugly around me, almost wrapping my upper body like a burrito.
I take a moment, meeting his eyes directly. “Interesting.”
As expected, the corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smirk. “Seems like ‘interesting’ is the word of the day.”
“It sure does. Do you believe in tarot, by the way?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Raymond’s response is immediate, no hesitation, and he shakes his head in a way I kind of expected. “Not at all. I don’t believe in predictions. I believe in going after what you want and not stopping until you have it.”
I snort, unladylike and completely unfiltered. “That’s such a guy thing to say.”
His grin deepens. “Clichés aren’t always bad, Firefly.”
I freeze for a second. I thought that nickname was temporary, but it rolls off his tongue like it belongs there. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing it in the voice of the man who’s far from a cliché. He’s an arrogant businessman alright, but he’s also an amazing dad. Those two sides shouldn’t work, but somehow, they do for him.
And now, I can’t help but wonder…what kind of fiancé would he make?
“But why the sudden interest in tarot?” he presses, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts.
“Violet invited someone tonight.”
“And what did they say?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are sharp, focused on my face like he’s ready to dissect every word.
Dammit. Yes, I’m that girl who clearly enjoys digging herself into awkward conversational pits. Now, there’s no way I can tell him that Nori claimed he —Raymond Teager, my fake fiancé—would somehow fill the lonely void in my heart.
Her words, not mine.
“She said a lot of things,” I hedge. “Some true. Some, well, meh.” I gesture vaguely.
“Meh?” he repeats, and there’s something in his tone—amusement, maybe—that makes my cheeks heat. He’s enjoying this way too much. “So did she tell you that agreeing to be my fake fiancée was the biggest mistake of your life?” His words hit me like a slap.
Is that how he sees this?
Rejection stings no matter how you dress it up, even when it’s about something you never asked for in the first place. I wasn’t expecting him to be thrilled about our little arrangement, but hearing him call it the biggest mistake hurts in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Is that how you see today?” It takes every ounce of willpower not to let the crack in my chest leak into my words. “One of the biggest mistakes of your life?”
His brows knit together, and he looks genuinely taken aback. He sits up straighter, stubbing out his cigar in an ashtray I’m certain wasn’t here before. He drags a hand down his face, the weight of whatever he’s about to say pressing into the space between us.
“The mistake,” he starts, voice rough, “was not realizing what bringing you into that meeting would mean. When I asked you to do the presentation, it was because I wanted the board to see what I see. Your passion, your vision, the way you’ve carried this dream forward. No one else, not even me, can do a better job at this project than you. As I expected, you nailed the presentation. But I screwed up by not protecting you from everything that came after. And that’s my mistake, Willow.”
I blink, thrown off by the raw honesty in his voice and the sincerity etched in every line of his face. My chest tightens, the weight of his words settling deep in my gut. “I’m not a little girl, Raymond,” I say quietly.
His green eyes meet mine, unwavering. “I never said you were. But we’re in this together. You’re my partner, and it’s my job to protect you.”
“Who’s protecting you?” The words slip out, barely audible, but they hang in the air between us.
He leans forward, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “I’m hoping you are. That’s what partners do, right?”
The word partner lingers, like he’s trying to carve it into my soul, to remind me we’re equals in this arrangement, something I’m having a hard time believing.
“Ever since I accepted your offer, I can’t shake this feeling that all of this—everything happening right now—is just…luck. Like destiny took one look at me fumbling through life and realized I’m too much of a screwup to make Gramps’s dream come true on my own. So now, it’s doing the heavy lifting for me, and I’m…you know…a loser.” My cheeks burn hot enough to light up the pergola. I duck my head so low I might as well burrow into the ground.
Who would’ve thought I’d be confessing my biggest insecurity to the man I once called my mortal enemy? Life sure has a twisted sense of humor.
I hear the subtle shift of fabric and the soft creak of the chair as Raymond rises, but I don’t dare look up until his ridiculously polished Tom Ford loafers plant themselves directly in front of me.
“Willow.” His voice is low, softer than I’ve ever heard it. The kind of tone that makes you want to lean in to catch every word. He doesn’t say anything else right away, just stands there like he’s waiting for me to lift my head. When I finally do, I’m startled by the expression on his face. He’s smiling, but it’s not the sharp, self-assured grin I’ve grown used to. This one is…different. Gentle. Maybe even a little uncertain. It throws me off-balance.
“If there’s a loser in this house tonight, it’s definitely not you. You’re someone brave enough to chase a dream, knowing you’ll have to put your life on pause, uproot everything you know. That takes guts, Firefly. But me?” He gives a humorless laugh. “I’m the guy whose own daughter won’t even speak to him. And instead of admitting I’ve failed her, I invited a stranger into my home—a place I’ve guarded like a fortress—because I’m desperate enough to hope I can hear my Quill through you.” His words land like a punch to the gut, raw and unfiltered.
Suddenly, all the reasons I had for disliking Raymond Teager seem…small. Insignificant. Because sitting here now, looking at this man who’s putting himself out there in a way I never expected, I feel so many emotions for him at once.
My pulse flutters at the raw edge in his voice, and it takes everything I’ve got to drag my gaze away from his face. His features are alive with emotions I’ve never seen on him before—vulnerability, honesty, maybe even a flicker of regret.
“But it’s not just that.” His voice softens further, like he’s peeling back the last layer of armor. “I agreed to this fake engagement, when marriage isn’t something I’ve ever seen for myself. So, if there’s a loser tonight, you’re looking at that person.”
My breath catches. Raymond Teager, the man who exudes so much control it feels like he dictates the rotation of the earth, can be so…bare and vulnerable. And as much as I’ve spent time crafting elaborate mental takedowns of him, I’m realizing something I wasn’t prepared for. I prefer his cocky, insufferable side to this version of him—this is too real.
Desperate to steer the moment back to something safer, I gesture toward the ashtray. “Was there something in that?” I ask, my tone light, casual, a lifeline to drag us both out of emotional quicksand.
His lips twitch, like he’s caught off guard but also a little relieved by the shift. “It’s a once-in-a-while thing,” he admits, voice quiet. “I don’t usually smoke, but some days?—”
“You don’t have to explain,” I cut in quickly. “It’s your home, Raymond. You don’t owe me anything.” And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s already handed me more of himself than anyone else ever has.
“It’s yours too, for the time being,” he replies without missing a beat, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Thank you…for saying that.”
“I mean it,” he adds, his tone steady. “I don’t want you to feel like a guest here. I’ve already taken more than I bargained for with this arrangement. So, if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, let me know.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard those words in this house. Grandpa Will has been endlessly hospitable since day one. But hearing it from Raymond? It hits different.
“Don’t go all sweet on me, Teager,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Or have you forgotten? I consider you a villain in my life’s story.”
He chuckles, the warm sound rolling over me like a blanket I didn’t ask for but suddenly want. “In that case, let me see if this can compensate for all my past villainous activities. I’ve got something for you.”
He reaches for the jacket draped over the armrest. His hand disappears into the pocket, and when it reemerges, he’s holding a small blue velvet box, which he slides across the table toward me.
“What the heck is this, Raymond?” My voice barely makes it above a whisper, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
“It’s not a bomb, Willow.” He leans back, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to wear it all the time,” he explains, his tone calm but measured, like he’s working through a script in his head. “But you’ll be meeting the board for project updates, and I’d rather not add another layer of lies about my fiancée not having a ring because it’s at the jewelers for fitting. So…” His eyes lock on mine, waiting.
My head feels like it’s going to split open from the mental gymnastics.
He’s offering me an engagement ring so we don’t have to lie! What in the fresh hell is this?
I stay frozen, my hands refusing to move, and he sighs and continues. “If you don’t like it, I can exchange it. I told the owner of Hart Jewelers that my fiancée might like to change it.”
Fiancée .
He says the word so effortlessly, like it’s a natural part of his vocabulary. Meanwhile, it feels like a foreign object is lodged in my throat.
“You…you bought it yourself?” I manage to ask.
He nods, his expression unreadable, and I don’t know what else to say. My hands tremble as I reach for the box—not because I want the ring, but because I can’t stop myself from wondering what kind of ring Raymond Teager, with all his meticulous control and precision, would choose for his fiancée.
Not me, the fake one. But the real one. The woman he might one day actually love.
I flip the box open, and the world tilts for a moment.
Nestled inside is a pear-shaped moss-green sapphire cradled by a delicate gold band shaped like a feathered leaf. This isn’t a standard ring some jeweler pulled out of a display case.
No, this ring screams thoughtfulness.
It’s like Raymond didn’t just buy this—he chose it. For me, for Quill, for this insane arrangement we’ve thrown ourselves into.
“The night of the Ferris wheel, Quill mentioned how nature is the best therapy,” he said. “I’m guessing she was quoting her favorite human.”
My fingers graze the ring, tracing the intricate detail on the band. “It’s beautiful, Raymond. I…I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He hesitates before adding, “Want to try it on? To check the size?”
My heart stumbles, but I slide the ring onto my finger. It’s snug—a fraction too tight—but it feels…right. “It’s fine. Maybe a little tight, but it’s not like I’ll be wearing it every day.”
The words tumble out, more for my sake than his. Because letting myself get used to this ring, this house, this man isn’t an option. I force myself to ignore how good it feels to have someone else taking care of me and thinking about the tiny details.
Wake up, Willow. This ring is meant to sit in a box, not live on your hand like it belongs there.
“Good.” Raymond exhales deeply, like this exchange has been as unnerving for him as it was for me.
I glance down at the ring again, the gemstone catching the soft light. “I still can’t believe you bought me a ring,” I whisper, mostly to myself.
“I told you, Willow.” His smile is slow and easy, a weapon he wields without realizing its power on me. “I’m not as bad as you think.”
With that, he turns toward the house, leaving me in this quiet, dimly lit pergola, which has somehow become the stage for our changing relationship and shifting emotions.
Does he feel it too?
As if he can hear my silent question, Raymond glances over his shoulder, his green eyes catching mine. “Good night, Firefly.”
My heart starts thudding louder than it has any right to. And for once, I let the moment linger, let myself feel the chaos this man is causing. The quiet thrum of uncertainty, the growing confusion, the way my pulse speeds up whenever he’s near.
My friends’ words about that thin line between love and hate echo in my head, and a tiny, traitorous part of me admits—just for a second—that the line feels dangerously blurred.
Crap! I’m doomed.