Page 12 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

WILLOW

R ed. It just had to be red.

I look at myself in the mirror and try not to panic.

I’m wearing a full-length dress with a plunging halter neck and a thigh-high slit, not to mention an open back that ends about half an inch lower than I’d like.

What was I thinking borrowing something from Abby?

When she’s not at Silver Hearts, Abby is naturally drawn to more risqué fashion choices than I am. I should have remembered that.

Sure, we might be the same size on paper, but my boobs are trying to burst out of the front of the dress and my round butt is the only thing holding the back of the gown in place.

Now, it’s too late.

I frown at the photo on my open laptop and try very, very hard to tame my thick, wavy red hair into something resembling the French twist I’m seeing on the model going to her own black-tie event, but the claw clip just won’t grab all of my hair and finally gives up and snaps in half while trying.

Fine. I’m going to have to wear it down around my shoulders instead .

I eye the red, strappy, high-heeled sandals Mrs. Baumgartner excitedly unearthed from her closet. Abby and I don’t have the same shoe size. But apparently Mrs. Baumgartner and I do. This was a good thing, I thought, until it occurred to me that I never wear high heels.

Have I ever worn high heels? I wonder to myself. If I have, I can’t remember. Whatever. How hard can it be?

I slip the sandals on, buckling them over my ankle, marveling at how the color matches the dress exactly. Of course, when I lean over to fasten them, my breasts threaten to pop out of the bodice, and I stand up quickly.

And topple into my closet door.

Tiny looks up from where he’s destroying one of my tennis shoes and Rufus and Mingo just stare nonplussed from the bed. They’ve already knocked my phone off the bedside dresser, sending it bouncing under the bed.

My phone! I didn’t think about a clutch.

I can’t exactly carry one of the Dominican purses Juana gave me that her mother made on a backstrap loom many moons ago. That wouldn’t match the dress at all, though I still considered them the most precious purses in my possession.

“Rufus, Mingo, I don’t have a purse!” Neither of them seems to care.

I teeter over to the bed and fish my phone out from underneath it.

Would anyone at the gala notice if I tucked it into the bodice of the dress?

If not, they’d definitely notice me digging around for it anytime I go to use it.

Besides, the added bulk would just make one of my boobs look weird.

I’m still on the floor with my ass in the air when a confident knock at the door announces that Damien is here. I groan. Then, with no other choice, I carry my phone in my hand.

Spike whines when I prepare to open the front door.

“Aw, baby, I’ll be back,” I coo at him. I wobble the rest of the way to my door, hoping my balance will improve over time.

Bracing myself on the frame with one hand, I square my shoulders to assume the most flattering posture and pull the door open.

Damien stands in the corridor, waiting at the threshold of my apartment door and looking the way I dreamed he might.

Handsome, elegant, and entirely out of my league.

Gulp. It looks like it’s on the tip of his tongue to say something, but whatever it is dies on his lips as he looks me over, his jaw going slack.

“Hi,” I say with a smile, gently nudging Spike away from my ankles before he trips me. “Told you I’d be ready on time.”

Damien doesn’t say anything. I kind of like Damien Langley looking speechless as he drinks me in.

And it’s not as if I’m not doing some ogling of my own.

The black suit and crisp white dress shirt he’s wearing are cut perfectly to his body.

And, since I’ve seen him in jeans and a polo shirt before, I know it is quite a fine body.

“Shall we go?” I prompt him when it doesn’t seem like he’s capable of speaking.

At his nod, I step out and close my door behind me before any of my other fur babies decide to attempt their escape from my apartment. Then I sashay over my welcome mat. Or, rather, I try to sashay over it. Whatever I’m doing, it fails in two steps and I end up falling right into Damien’s arms.

He catches me without missing a beat. His strong arms wrap around me and hold me against his muscular body.

If I wasn’t so embarrassed after nearly face-planting right in the building hallway I might be able to appreciate how firm and strong he feels against me, and how incredibly good he smells.

I stare up at him as he holds me, my fingers squeezing his solid biceps.

Jesus, how many hours does he spend in the gym to get a body this hard?

His arms and torso aren’t the only hard things I feel as he cradles me against him.

He looks down at me, then lower at my lips. My lips tingle. Who am I kidding? My entire body is lit up and tingling.

Damien squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are you okay?”

“High heels,” I say with helpless shrug. “Not really my thing.”

“I see.” He holds me a moment longer, then rights me and offers me his arm. “We should go. We don’t want to be late.”

“Heaven forbid we deviate from our schedule,” I tease him, though my mouth is still dry. I wish he’d just kiss me already, honestly. This crackle in the air between us is driving me crazy!

Making our way down the building’s stairwell is precarious, and I curse the broken elevator as my ankles remind me with every step that I am not built for high heels, nor experienced enough with them to try to tackle concrete stairs. Thank goodness for Damien’s steady arm and immoveable support.

He doesn’t poke fun at me for how slow we walk, and when a neighbor in the building passes us, Damien shields me to make sure I don’t get bumped and topple into a head injury. His chivalry and the woodsy, masculine scent of his cologne makes me dizzier than the strappy heels on my feet.

Somehow, I make it down the stairs and to his car. I know he has a driver, but not tonight. He opens the passenger door for me and holds my hand as I lower myself into the seat. Then he carefully tucks in the hem of my long dress so as not to close the door on it.

I can’t tame the swarm of butterflies that take flight as I watch Damien Langley treat me as if we were on a proper date.

Like a proper couple. Maybe he’s just a gentleman to every woman in his company.

Although the warm, lingering smile he gives me as he steps back makes me feel as if I’m the only woman in the world.

“All set?” he asks.

I nod and tuck my wild hair behind my ears. “I’m good.”

He gently closes my door, then strides around the hood of the car and eases into the driver’s seat.

He’s about to pull away from the curb when he pauses to wait for me to put on my seatbelt—a task that shouldn’t be difficult but for some reason was causing me grief as I tried to make sure I didn’t snag the silk fabric of my dress in the buckle.

He reaches over, smoothly takes the clip from me and eases it into place.

His touch is warm and steady and lingers on my hip as the cross section of the belt plays a game of ‘how good is your bra, really?’ between my boobs. Damien’s gaze flicks to my cleavage as the seatbelt accentuates their fullness and his eyes widen a fraction.

His hand moves from my hip back to the steering wheel.

It takes everything in me not to reach over, take his wrist, and guide his touch back to my thigh.

I could never be that bold. But after holding his arm the whole descent down from my apartment, and his hand on my hip a moment ago, all I want is to feel his closeness for a while longer.

Does he feel the same way? Is all of this in my head?

As usual, he’s virtually impossible to read. With a schooled expression, he shifts the car into gear then eases away from the curb. His hands are relaxed on the steering wheel as he maneuvers us through Manhattan to the venue.

I sit beside him, wondering what those strong hands would feel like on other places of my body.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to clear my head.

Silver Hearts. I am giving a small speech about Silver Hearts.

Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you today. As I’m sure you’re all aware....

“Going over your speech?” he asks.

I nod. “I think I’ve worked out the details.”

“I look forward to hearing it.” He glances my way, then quickly back at the road, as if the millisecond glance was dangerous. Finally, he sighs. “Where did you get that dress?”

“Abby. She’s the only person I know who had something doable for black-tie. Why, is there something wrong with it?” I ask anxiously, smoothing my hands over the skirt.

“No,” he says quickly. “Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s stunning. You’re stunning.” He didn’t sound happy about it at all.

I laugh. “Thanks, I guess?”

“I wasn’t prepared for… all of this.” He sighs again. “You’re not making this easy for me, Willow.”

I take a risk and pat his thigh. Good lord, it’s as firm as the rest of him. “Don’t worry. We’ll have dinner. I’ll make a speech. Then you can take me home.”

Damien’s green eyes look at my hand on his leg and smolder when he looks back at me. “Oh, I’d love to take you home.”

He doesn’t mean my home, and we both know it. My breath catches. For all my wondering and doubting, there’s no misreading him now. Damien Langley wants me. Possibly as much as I want him.

But he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he concentrates hard on the road, his knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel.

When we get to the country club, he gets out of the car and comes around to my side to help me out. He then hands the keys to the valet and waits while I smooth out the skirt of my dress and attempt to smooth out my hair. Key word, attempt.