Updated Apr 12, 2026 • ~9 min read
Chapter 16: The Pitch
Cole
The investor meeting is scheduled for week three of Quinn’s leave, and Cole’s nervous in a way he hasn’t been since presenting the original development plan two years ago.
Because this time, he’s not just presenting numbers and projections.
He’s presenting a complete redesign that reduces their expected revenue in exchange for environmental benefits his investors might not care about.
And he’s doing it with Quinn beside him, the environmental lawyer who was supposed to be their opponent now acting as co-presenter for a compromise plan.
“They’re going to hate this,” Cole mutters, reviewing the presentation slides for the tenth time.
“They’re going to love this,” Quinn counters, completely calm. “Because this plan eliminates lawsuit risk, provides better long-term stability, and positions Hartford Construction as a leader in sustainable development. That’s a marketing advantage worth more than the difference between ten and fifteen houses.”
“You’re very optimistic for someone whose firm is still technically suing us.”
“My firm is suing you. I’m on leave. Different thing.”
They’re in Cole’s office at the Hartford Construction headquarters—small building on the edge of town, conference room barely big enough for the six investors plus Cole and Quinn—and Cole’s aware that this meeting determines everything.
If the investors approve the revised plan, they can move forward with environmental permits and construction.
If they don’t, the original lawsuit proceeds and Quinn goes back to Seattle and this whole beautiful month becomes just a temporary interlude.
“You ready?” Quinn asks, straightening her blazer. She’s back in professional lawyer mode—suit, heels, hair in a sleek bun—and Cole’s struck by how she can be both this polished professional and the woman who wore his flannel and laughed at his jokes in a cabin.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The investors file in—three from Billings, two from Seattle, one from Denver—all of them looking skeptical about why they’re here for an “urgent project revision presentation.”
Cole starts with the basics: environmental lawsuit, wetland protection requirements, original plan’s fatal flaws.
Then Quinn takes over, and Cole watches her transform into the formidable lawyer he first met—confident, articulate, wielding environmental science like a weapon.
“The original plan creates three significant risks,” Quinn says, displaying hydrology maps. “First, flooding risk to Cedar Ridge that creates potential liability for property damage. Second, regulatory violation that guarantees lengthy court battles and possible project shutdown. Third, reputational risk that impacts Hartford Construction’s ability to secure future contracts.”
“And your revised plan eliminates these risks how?” asks James Chen, lead investor, clearly skeptical.
“By working WITH the environmental systems instead of against them.” Quinn clicks to the next slide. “Ten houses instead of fifteen, clustered on higher ground with preserved wetland buffers. Green infrastructure that manages runoff. Native restoration that actually improves ecosystem functions. Net result: no flooding risk, full regulatory compliance, positive environmental outcome that generates favorable press coverage.”
“But less revenue,” points out Sarah Brennan from Seattle.
“Less volume revenue,” Cole corrects, taking back the presentation. “But higher per-unit pricing. We market these as premium eco-luxury properties—mountain living with zero environmental guilt. Target environmentally-conscious buyers willing to pay a premium. Run the numbers—” He displays the financial projections. “Ten houses at premium pricing generates equivalent revenue to fifteen houses at standard pricing, with significantly lower risk profile.”
The investors study the numbers, and Cole can see them doing the mental math.
“This assumes you can actually command premium pricing,” James says.
“We can,” Quinn interjects. “The market for environmentally-responsible luxury development is growing rapidly. Buyers in Seattle, San Francisco, Portland—they want mountain properties but they also want to feel good about their environmental impact. This gives them both. And with formal environmental certification that I can help secure, these properties become flagship examples of sustainable development.”
“She makes a good point,” admits David Torres from Denver. “ESG investing is huge right now. Environmental certification adds value.”
They spend the next two hours going through every detail—construction timelines, permitting processes, marketing strategies, long-term financial projections—and Cole watches Quinn handle every objection with expertise and calm confidence.
Finally, James leans back. “You’re asking us to approve a significant deviation from our original agreement based on environmental benefits and theoretical premium pricing. That’s a substantial risk.”
“I’m asking you to approve a revision that eliminates litigation risk, provides regulatory certainty, and positions this project as a model for sustainable development,” Cole says. “Yes, it’s different from the original plan. But it’s better—environmentally, economically, and strategically.”
“And if we say no?” Sarah asks. “If we want to pursue the original plan despite the lawsuit?”
“Then the lawsuit proceeds,” Quinn says flatly. “My firm wins, the project gets shut down entirely, you lose your full investment, and Hartford Construction goes bankrupt fighting it. That’s your alternative to approving this revision.”
It’s harsh but true, and the investors know it.
“I need to discuss with my partners,” James says. “We’ll have a decision by end of week.”
After they leave, Cole collapses into a chair. “That was brutal.”
“That was necessary,” Quinn corrects. “They needed to understand that this isn’t optional—it’s the only viable path forward.”
“What if they say no?”
“They won’t. The numbers are too good and the alternative is too costly.” She sits beside him, taking his hand. “Trust me. They’re going to approve this.”
“Your confidence is both reassuring and slightly terrifying.”
“Welcome to working with me. I’m confident about everything even when I’m internally panicking.”
“Are you internally panicking now?”
“Absolutely. But externally I’m projecting calm competence, so it doesn’t matter.”
Cole laughs, pulling her into his lap. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Even when you’re second-guessing brilliant plans.”
“It’s your plan—”
“It’s our plan. We built it together. That’s the whole point.”
The investors approve the revised plan on Thursday, with conditions—quarterly progress reports, environmental certification within two years, premium pricing targets that need to be met—but they approve it.
Cole calls Quinn from the office. “They said yes.”
“I told you they would.”
“You were right. About everything. The plan, the marketing, the investors coming around.”
“Does this mean you’ll trust my judgment in the future?”
“Absolutely not. But I’ll appreciate when you turn out to be correct.”
Quinn laughs. “I’ll take it. Celebratory dinner tonight?”
“Celebratory dinner, celebratory wine, celebratory activities that are definitely not appropriate for a work phone call.”
“I like your celebration plans.”
That night, Margaret conveniently decides to visit her sister in Billings, leaving Cole and Quinn alone at the ranch, and they celebrate properly—champagne and takeout and making love in every room of the house like they’re christening their victory.
“We did it,” Quinn says later, both of them sprawled on the living room floor wrapped in blankets. “We actually found a solution that works.”
“You did it. I just provided the construction expertise.”
“We did it together. That’s the whole point.” She rolls to face him. “I’ve never had a professional partnership like this. Where we’re actually collaborating instead of competing. It’s—it’s really good, Cole.”
“Just good?”
“Amazing. Phenomenal. Everything I didn’t know I wanted in a career.”
“Speaking of which—” Cole traces her jaw. “You have one week left on your leave. Have you decided what happens after?”
Quinn’s quiet for a long moment. “I need to go back to Seattle. Wrap up my cases, talk to my firm, figure out the logistics of—of whatever I decide long-term.”
Cole’s stomach drops. “That sounds like you’re leaving.”
“I’m leaving for a week or two. To close out my professional obligations and pack my stuff. Then—” She meets his eyes. “Then I’m coming back. If you’ll have me.”
“If I’ll—Quinn, I’ve been trying to convince you to stay since week one. Of course I’ll have you.”
“I mean long-term. I mean permanently. I mean—” She takes a breath. “I want to move to Montana. Start an environmental consulting practice helping developers do what we just did—find sustainable solutions instead of just fighting court battles. Work with you. Build a life with you. All of it.”
Cole’s heart is pounding. “You’re serious.”
“Completely serious. I called a contact today about taking the Montana bar exam. And I’ve been looking at office spaces in Cedar Ridge for a consulting practice. And I maybe already asked Margaret if I could stay at the ranch while I figure out housing because I’m terrified of presuming but also pretty sure you want me here permanently?”
“I want you here permanently,” Cole confirms. “I want you here forever. I want—” He stops, makes a decision. “Wait here.”
He goes to his bedroom, opens the drawer where he’s been hiding something for the past week, and comes back holding a small velvet box.
Quinn’s eyes go wide. “Cole—”
“I know it’s fast. I know we’ve only known each other a month. But I also know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and waiting to ask seems stupid when I’m already certain.” He opens the box, revealing his grandmother’s ring—simple diamond on a gold band. “Quinn Fitzgerald, will you marry me?”
“You’re insane,” Quinn whispers.
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a yes, you’re insane, this is insane, we’re both insane, and yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Cole slides the ring onto her finger—perfect fit, like it was meant to be—and kisses her with everything he feels, all the love and relief and joy of having her say yes to forever.
“We’re really doing this,” Quinn says against his mouth. “Getting married after knowing each other five weeks.”
“We’re really doing this. Unless you want a long engagement—”
“Absolutely not. If we’re being insane let’s commit to the insanity. Small ceremony, family and friends, as soon as possible before I panic and overthink this.”
“You’re going to be my wife.”
“You’re going to be my husband. Oh god, my mother is going to have opinions—”
“Your mother can have all the opinions she wants. We’re doing this anyway.”
They make love again—slower this time, savoring it, both aware that they just committed to forever and it should feel terrifying but instead feels absolutely right.
And Cole thinks that sometimes the best decisions are the ones that look completely insane from the outside but feel inevitable when you’re inside them.
Like falling in love with your enemy.
Like proposing after one month.
Like building a life that nobody saw coming but makes perfect sense anyway.
Quinn Fitzgerald—soon to be Quinn Hartford—is the best terrible decision he’s ever made.
And he’s going to spend the rest of his life being grateful he made it.
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