It turns out that being the new Libby Bennet is way morecomplicated than I thought. Kept her cool during an infuriating conversation? Check. That’s the new me. Still impulsive? Check. I slap a hand over my face.
What should I do?
My only hope now is convincing Jordan Atkinson that marrying me is a good business decision.
CHAPTER 6
JORDAN
Libby
Can we meet up to talk? There’s been some … developments.
My insides automatically clench at Libby’s text, but I convince myself to relax. Libby has already made it clear that no matter what happens, the ten million dollars belongs to Redhaven, so short of her suddenly going bankrupt, the money is safe.
Butdevelopmentsdoes sound ominous.
Jordan
Yeah. Want to get dinner or something?
Libby
Can you come over? I think this conversation would be best with no possible eavesdroppers.
That also sounds ominous, but given Libby’s background, I’m not surprised at her caution.
I tell her I’m happy to meet at her house, and we set a time for this evening. I spend the couple hours between her text and when I get to her house convincing myself that things are fine.The money is already being distributed. Libby can’t take it back—but what doesdevelopmentsmean?
Her building is fancy, with a doorman who buzzes me up and everything. Libby opens her front door with a cautious smile and holds it wide. I follow her into the apartment. The entry hallway is as luxurious as I expected Libby to live in. The floor is a light hardwood with a long, colorful rug that runs the length of it. There’s a small table on one side with a potted plant and a picture of Libby’s family. Unlike our last family picture, which my uncle snapped at a reunion a couple summers ago, Libby and her family are all wearing formalwear, even the children in the picture, in shades of gray, white, and black. There’s nothing in this entryway that makes it seem like this is a place Libby actually lives—no shoes or bags tossed aside, no keys or pocket litter on the table, not even a jacket on the tall, wrought-iron coat rack. It’s projecting a clean, sophisticated image, just like Libby herself.
“Thank you for coming over on short notice.” She closes the door behind me. Her expression is taut, which worries me, but I’d do anything to ease it.
I pull out my charm, which always works on women at the fundraisers. Well, on women I meet in general. I wink at her, which makes pink rise in her cheeks. “I’m at your beck and call, Miss Bennet,” I say warmly. “That ten million buys you extra-special service.”
She grimaces. “Oof, don’t say that.”
“Um?”
She waves me off. “Sorry. You’ll understand when I tell you what I’ve done.”
I freeze, even though she’s already started to lead me through the hallway to the living area, which is decorated in the same high-end minimalism as her entryway. “We’ve already begun paying some of the Redhaven residents,” I say. She can’t actually try to take the money back, can she? Her shoulders are tense as well.
She whirls, and when she sees my expression, she shakes her head. “Oh, no, no, no. This has nothing to do with the money. That stays with the Redhaven Foundation, no matter what happens now. I told you that.”
I blow out a breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” I make my feet move forward again.
She sighs. “That’s my fault. I was vague, and I can see where you might worry. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?” She motions to one of the couches in her living room. They are soft-looking, at least. There are more pictures on the side tables, the walls, and the low shelves below her mounted TV, but like the one in the entryway, they’re all meticulously posed. Even the crocheted throw over the back of the couch looks like it was folded perfectly.
I sit down—more like perch—on one of the couches and lean forward. “I think we’d better get to the point, if that’s okay.”
She nods. “Absolutely.” She takes a seat in a chair kitty-corner to the couch and chews on her lip. “I had a meeting with the governing board for the league today,” she says. She presses her hands together and stares at the floor as she says it. “For them to give the go-ahead on the purchase. Well, that’s what I thought.”
I furrow my brows. “They’re backing out?”
She looks up, fire in her eyes. “They tried to.” She clenches her jaw and shakes her head. “And I made some rash promises to seal the deal back up.”
I squint at her, wondering where I come in. Is she telling me that she doesn’t need me anymore? Maybe she had to accept someone else to come on as her consultant. “Okay,” I say, drawing it out and using my tone to encourage her to go on.
