Page 4 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"Ethan!" Richard Sterling emerged from the back office, his silver hair thinner than I remembered but his handshake as firm as ever. At seventy-two, Richard moved with the dignity of a man who'd earned every one of his years. "Right on time."

I managed to smile. Richard Sterling was one of three people on this island who'd seen me at my worst and still believed I could be better. The old lawyer deserved respect, even if this assignment made my skin crawl.

"Come in, come in. Coffee?" Richard gestured toward his office.

"Please."

The office was exactly as I remembered: floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with legal texts, a mahogany desk that had probably been here since the seventies, and windowsoverlooking the street. Richard had practiced law in this same office for forty-five years. He'd mentored me, helped me navigate college applications, written recommendation letters that opened doors I never thought I'd walk through.

And now I was here representing the kind of corporate interests Richard had spent his career fighting against.

The coffee was strong and bitter, which felt appropriate.

"So," Richard said, settling into his chair with the careful movements of a man whose back didn't forgive long days anymore. "Your firm's interested in Lopez Island. Development opportunities, your email said."

I set down my coffee, shifting into professional mode. This I could do. This was just business. "The investment group I'm consulting for specializes in identifying underperforming properties in high-potential areas. The San Juan Islands have seen significant tourism growth in the last decade, but many local businesses haven't capitalized on that opportunity."

"Underperforming properties." Richard's tone was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. "Translate that for an old man."

"Businesses that are struggling financially, properties with unclear ownership or permit issues, family operations that lack the capital to modernize." I pulled out my tablet, calling up the preliminary report. "The group identifies these opportunities, makes competitive offers, and revitalizes them with proper investment and management."

"And the families who've run these businesses for generations?"

"Are fairly compensated and relieved of unsustainable debt." The words came easily—I'd given this pitch a dozen times in the last year. "Many of these owners are ready to retire but can't afford to. We provide an exit strategy."

Richard was quiet for a long moment; his weathered hands wrapped around his coffee mug. "You sound like you believe that."

"I do." And I did, mostly. The investment group operated legally. They paid market rates. They weren't forcing anyone to sell. If family businesses couldn't compete in a changing economy, wasn't it better to sell to investors who could preserve the properties rather than watch them fail entirely?

It was logical. Sound. An argument that won in court.

So why did it feel like I was trying to convince myself?

"There's a community meeting tonight," Richard said, his voice carefully neutral. "The island council wanted to hear about development opportunities. I told them I'd invited a consultant who specializes in economic growth. You'll present the investment group's vision."

My stomach tightened. "A public meeting?"

"This is Lopez Island, Ethan. We don't make decisions behind closed doors." Richard's smile was gentle but firm. "People here care about their community. If your group wants to invest, they deserve to understand what that means."

"Of course." My mind was already racing through the presentation—keep it positive, emphasize job creation and economic growth, avoid specifics about which properties until I'd done more research. "What time?"

"Seven o'clock. The community center." Richard paused. "It'll be packed. This island doesn't take kindly to outsiders telling them how to run things, but they'll listen if you're honest."

"I'm always honest."

"Are you?" Richard's gaze was uncomfortably direct. "Because the Ethan I mentored cared about helping people, not helping investors maximize returns."

The words hit harder than they should have. I set down my coffee gently in an effort not to show my nerves. "I'm doing both. These investments help communities."

"Do they?" Richard stood, moving to the window. "There's a bakery on this island. Been here over 50 years. Portuguese family, traditional recipes, it feeds more than just hunger. They're having permit issues—nothing major, just bureaucratic tangles that happen when you're too busy running a business to navigate red tape."

My pulse quickened, though I kept my expression neutral. "Honey & Hearth."

"You remember." Richard's voice was soft.

How could I forget?

"Is it on the investment group's list?” I asked carefully.