Page 10 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

She wasn't a child anymore, and she wasn’t some small-town baker who didn't understand business. She was articulate, strategic, and clearly had the respect of this community. She'd just reframed my entire presentation in thirty seconds, and she'd knew exactly what she was doing.

My defensive instincts kicked in—the ones that had won me courtroom battles and closed difficult negotiations. "Ms. Romano, I appreciate your perspective, but perhaps if certain businesses maintained proper permits and addressed their legal issues proactively, they wouldn't be as vulnerable to market forces as they currently are."

The words came out harsher than I'd intended, sharper, with an edge that suggested she was the problem rather than the victim of circumstance.

The room went completely silent.

Maya's eyes flashed—not with tears, but with cold fury. She held my gaze for three full seconds, a power move that saidI'm not intimidated by you, and I felt the full weight of my mistake.

"You don't know anything about what we've been through," she said quietly, but somehow her voice carried to every corner of the room. "What we've fought through. What we've built."

Then she turned and walked out, her head high, her posture radiating dignity and controlled anger.

Half the room watched her go with sympathetic looks. The other half turned back to me with expressions ranging from skepticism to outright hostility.

I'd just lost every bit of goodwill Richard's introduction had earned me.

Worse, I'd done exactly what Richard had warned me not to do: I'd let emotion cloud my judgment. And that emotion had been a toxic mix of guilt, recognition, and the defensive instinct to protect myself from the accusation in Maya Romano's eyes.

She'd seen right through me. Through the expensive suit, through the polished presentation, through the corporate language, straight to the truth. I was here to take things from people who couldn't fight back.

And she'd called me on it in front of everyone.

I somehow made it through the rest of the presentation, though I could barely focus on my own words. People asked questions, pointed, suspicious questions now, colored by Maya's reframing of my pitch. I answered them as professionally as I could, but the damage was done.

When I finally wrapped up, the room emptied quickly. No one approached me to ask follow-up questions or express interest inlearning more about investment opportunities. They filed out in small clusters, their conversations low and intense.

I was packing up my laptop when Richard appeared beside me.

"That went well," the old lawyer said dryly.

"I shouldn't have said that. About the permits." I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead. "That was unprofessional."

"It was defensive. And inaccurate." Richard's voice was gentle but firm. "Maya Romano's permit issues aren't the result of poor management. They're the result of a neighboring landowner with financial ties to your investment group deliberately complicating a property boundary dispute."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"You didn't know?" Richard raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Your firm has been very thorough in creating the exact vulnerabilities you just described. Almost like they're manufacturing opportunities for acquisition."

The implication made my stomach turn. I pulled out my tablet, pulling up the Honey & Hearth file, scanning through documents I'd only skimmed before. There—property dispute filed six months ago by the neighboring landowner. Cross-reference with the investment group's local contacts and...

"Jesus," I muttered. The neighboring landowner was on the investment group's payroll as alocal consultant.The timing was too perfect to be coincidence.

“She told the truth, and you knew it,” Richard added. “That’s why you got defensive.” He walked away, leaving me alone in the empty community center with my laptop, my presentation notes, and the growing realization that I'd made a terrible mistake.

Not just tonight. But accepting this assignment in the first place.

Maya Romano's face burned in my memory—not the fourteen-year-old girl I'd barely let myself see back then, but the thirty-four-year-old woman who'd looked at me with fury and disappointment. Who'd seen exactly who I'd become and found me wanting.

She implied I was a corporate shark. And the worst part was, she was right.

I packed up my materials slowly, my mind racing. The neighboring landowner on the investment group's payroll. The manufactured permit issues. The timing of the acquisition push right as Maya was most vulnerable.

This wasn't just business. It was predation. And I'd walked into it, naive and all too willing to look the other way.

My phone buzzed. An email from my boss:"How'd the community meeting go? Any potential acquisitions worth fast-tracking?"

I stared at the message for a long moment.