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“Then do your wifely duties when needed, and that’s it. Don’t call him and don’t text him. Listen, Willa. You’re starting your own business, and that’s what you need to focus on. Curated Chaos is your livelihood, not Damien Blackwood. So, dry your tears, put your heart back together, and only focus on your business. This is your future, not some grumpy billionaire who can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
“You’re right,” I sniffled.
“I’m always right, darling.” He kissed the side of my head. “Come on. Let’s go make some breakup boxes.”
* * *
Damien
I stepped out of the elevator and set the box on the island in the kitchen.
“You’re home early,” Connie said.
“The office was chaotic today, and I can get more work done here. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“I’m on my way out now. What’s in the box?”
“Just some shit Willa sent to the office.”
“May I?” She pointed to the box.
“Go ahead.” I walked into the living room and poured a scotch.
“This stuff is adorable. She’s a very creative person.”
“She’s crazy.”
“Why is she crazy? Because she’s challenging you to explore a side of yourself you never have?” Her brow arched.
“No. She’s emotionally ambushing me, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“I’ve never seen you so bothered by a woman before.”
“She has a knack for getting under people’s skin.” I threw back my drink.
“From what I’ve seen, everyone who meets her loves her. You seem to be the only one fighting it. I have to get home. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” She grabbed her purse and her bag and stepped onto the elevator.
I poured another scotch and took it to the terrace, leaning over the railing, clutching the glass between my hands. The amber liquid swirled inside the glass with the same intensity as my thoughts. I tipped the drink to my lips, letting the scotch burn down my throat, hoping it would take the edge off my anger. It was almost as if she were mocking me.Put Your Guard Down, Sir. As if it were that simple. As if a self-love gift box could take down the last fourteen years of carefully constructed walls.
My phone rang inside my pocket. Pulling it out, Christine was calling.
“What is it, Christine?” I answered.
“Your tickets arrived for the gala on Saturday night. I put them in the top drawer of your desk.”
“I thought the gala was the following Saturday,” I said.
“No, Damien. It’s this Saturday. Remember, I’m off tomorrow, so don’t forget to take the tickets home.”
“That’s right. Okay. Thanks, Christine. Enjoy your day off tomorrow.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Shit. I needed to let Willa know about the gala. I didn’t want to call her because I wasn’t sure how she’d react after earlier, so I sent her a text.
We’re attending a formal event this Saturday night, so you’ll need a black dress. It’s one of the highlighted events of the year, and the elite of the elite will be there, along with the press. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.
ChapterNineteen