Page 17 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)
I take the stairs two at a time while she mutters something unintelligible behind me.
How my driver, Heinrich, puts up with her is beyond me.
They’ve been married for longer than I’ve been alive.
Sometimes Eliza graces him with the occasional smile—but only sometimes.
My driver still watches her when she’s not looking, though, and I can see the love in his eyes.
Love. Hell. What do I know about that, anyway?
The drive to the office is hectic with Saturday morning traffic.
Or as I like to call it, pre-Sunday traffic.
There are too many people in the city, everyone going somewhere at the same time, and not fast enough for my liking.
Some days, I wish I had a monster truck and could just plow right over them.
The way I’m feeling now, my thoughts still churning over Willow, I wouldn’t mind crushing their cars under my wheels.
Once I get to the Langley Enterprises building, I find Alfred Rothchild and Samuel Parsons in my office. This is not a welcome discovery in the slightest, especially considering all the work I need to get done. My anger ramps up higher. “Yes?” I manage to growl.
“Good morning to you, too, Damien,” Alfred says.
I glower at him. “What do you want?”
“We just wanted to congratulate you on your efforts to salvage your image.” Alfred grins. “Several pictures were taken of you last night at the Alzheimer’s Search for the Cure charity. A few really interesting ones of you kissing the Executive Director of Silver Hearts. Bravo.”
My eye tics at the way he’s gloating over this. “You have a point you’re trying to make here?”
Alfred reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. "Actually, I was just curious about your sudden... dedication to this charity work." He swipes through a few photos before turning the screen toward me.
It's a picture of Willow and me on the red carpet from last night. Her radiant smile lights up the frame while I'm looking at her with an expression I barely recognize on my own face. I look... softer somehow. Christ, I look happy.
"The board is impressed with your sudden change of heart, Damien," Alfred continues, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "We never imagined you’d become so invested in this little demonstration of community service."
He makes it sound slimy, like him. I slide my laptop out of my briefcase, ignoring him. "If that's all, gentlemen, I have work to do."
Samuel Parsons clears his throat. He's always been the more reasonable of the two, which isn't saying much. "The Silver Hearts partnership has generated some excellent publicity, Damien. The rest of the board is very pleased with how this seems to be working out."
"Good to hear," I say flatly, powering on my computer.
"Tell me," Alfred says, leaning forward with a smirk that makes my jaw clench, "how far are you willing to go for this image rehabilitation? Based on last night's performance, it seems like you're going... all in."
I look up from my screen slowly. "What exactly are you implying, Alfred?"
He shrugs, feigning innocence. "Just that you seem to have found a very hands-on approach." He swipes to another photo—this one catching Willow and me in a more intimate moment near the bar, my hand resting at the small of her back, her body angled toward mine.
"Ms. Harper seems quite taken with you," Samuel observes, smiling as he peers at the photo over Alfred's shoulder. "Though I suppose maybe that was part of the plan?"
The implication hangs in the air. I feel my blood pressure rising.
"My relationship with Ms. Harper is professional," I say carefully, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. Even as I say the words, it’s a struggle for me not to imagine Willow naked beneath me last night—or against the door in my foyer.
Alfred chuckles. "Of course it is. I'm sure that's why she was also seen leaving your townhouse earlier this morning wearing the same red dress from last night’s gala." He quirks an eyebrow. "Very dedicated to the cause, aren't you? Willing to really... put yourself deep into your work."
Rage seethes through me like acid as I rise slowly from my chair. "You need to choose your next words very carefully, Alfred."
"Oh, come now, Damien," he says, spreading his hands.
"We're all businessmen here. Using every asset at your disposal is just good strategy.
The board doesn't care how you fix your image problem, as long as it gets fixed.
" His smile turns wolfish. "And that chesty redhead seems like an excellent.
.. asset. Pretty little thing. Bit na?ve perhaps, but I'm sure that makes her easier to handle. "
My vision narrows, a red haze creeping in at the edges. I round the desk in two strides.
"Damien—" Samuel starts, taking a step back.
Alfred stands his ground, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. "I'd love to know how you convinced her to play along. What does someone like her get out of being used by?—"
My fist is clenched and already moving before I even realize it. I stop myself a hair's breadth from his face, knuckles white, arm trembling with the effort it takes not to follow through.
"Don't you dare," I breathe, my voice barely audible even to myself. "Don't you dare talk about her like that."
Alfred's eyes widen slightly, his smug expression faltering for the first time. He didn't expect this reaction.
Neither did I, if I'm being honest.
"You will never speak about Willow Harper again," I continue, lowering my fist but not backing away.
"Not in my presence. Not in board meetings.
Not in the fucking men's room. Her name doesn't cross your lips. If it does, you’re going to have more than a PR problem on your hands. Do I make myself clear?"
The silence in the office is deafening. Samuel looks like he wants to melt into the carpet.
Alfred's shock transitions quickly to calculation. "Well, well," he says softly. "This is unexpected. You actually care about this woman."
I don't answer. I don't trust myself to speak.
"Get out," I say finally, my voice deadly quiet. "Both of you."
Samuel doesn't need to be told twice, already edging toward the door.
Alfred takes his time gathering his things, clearly enjoying the moment.
As he reaches the door, he pauses. "Oh, and Damien?
If I were you, I'd remember that mixing business with pleasure rarely ends well.
Especially when the business part is hanging by a thread. "
The door clicks shut behind them, and I'm left alone with the pounding of my pulse in my ears and the realization that I've just shown my hand in the worst possible way. Alfred now knows exactly which button to push—exactly where I'm vulnerable.
And the most terrifying part? I hadn't realized just how protective I felt toward Willow until this moment.
I sink back into my chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. This morning, I convinced myself that whatever happened between Willow and me last night couldn't be repeated. That I needed to maintain professional distance. That she was a distraction I couldn't afford.
Now I'm threatening board members over her honor like some kind of deranged knight errant.
I open my laptop again, trying to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to Willow's face this morning. The disappointment in her eyes when she realized I was leaving. The hurt she tried to mask when I called Heinrich to drive her home.
I handled things poorly. Very poorly.
And now I've given Alfred Rothchild ammunition he'll be all too happy to use against me if he gets the chance. Against us both.
I pick up my phone, scrolling to Willow's contact. My thumb hovers over her name for a long moment before I set the phone down again.
What would I even say? That I'm sorry for treating her like a one-night stand this morning? That I'm worried Alfred Rothchild might use her to get to me? That despite my best intentions, I can't stop thinking about her?
No. Better to avoid any further entanglements. For her sake as much as mine .
I turn back to my laptop, forcing myself to focus on the spreadsheets and financial reports that have always made sense to me in a way people rarely do. But even as I work, I can't shake the feeling that the best thing I can do for Willow now is keep my distance.