Page 18 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

WILLOW

“ H e’s just busy, that’s all,” I tell myself as I continue to cover for Chelsea, who is out nursing her sick husband who caught her flu.

I drive the new van down familiar streets, smiling at Juana and Roberto who are sitting outside, getting some sun in ancient lawn chairs that are falling apart.

I hope neither of them ends up breaking.

Mr. Katz waves to me from his doorway, his oxygen hose stretched as far as it will go.

I roll down the window. “I’ll tell Mrs. Baumgartner you say ‘hi’!”

“Thank you!” he replies.

With a smile I don’t really feel, I try to focus on my rounds and not on the fact that it’s been three days and Damien still hasn’t even called. Or texted. Or emailed.

I mean, really! How busy can one billionaire CEO be that he can’t even take half a minute to acknowledge what happened between us the night of the gala?

Then again, he seemed to have forgotten all about our amazing night by the time morning rolled around.

God knows, he couldn’t seem to push me out of his house fast enough.

Maybe the sex wasn’t all that great in his opinion. He certainly seemed to be having a good time, but maybe that marathon of orgasms was just par for the course for Damien Langley’s carnal appetites. Maybe he was just scratching an itch that hadn’t been scratched in a while.

Still, that didn’t excuse his lack of communication, especially considering he was supposed to be lending a hand with Silver Hearts.

“Well, I’m busy, too,” I murmur to myself.

I stop at Mrs. Steinburg’s house and the elderly woman, thin as a rail and wearing a threadbare housecoat, comes to the door.

I immediately know something’s wrong when none of her eleven children and foster children come to the door with her. “Mrs. Steinburg?” I ask worriedly.

“Kevin is in the hospital again,” she tells me sadly.

“Oh no.” Kevin, her second-oldest biological son and the reason her husband left her many years ago, has Down Syndrome and has required the care of his mother all his life.

Unfortunately, just about every disease someone with Down Syndrome is particularly susceptible to, Kevin has contracted at one time or another.

He’s a happy-go-lucky guy most of the time and Mrs. Steinburg’s one eldest daughter, two adopted children, and seven foster children all adore him.

“This time, insurance is saying they won’t cover another surgery for his heart condition. The doctors are telling me the procedure is very risky and what they would need to do is experimental. Willow, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Mrs. Steinburg whispers.

I take a deep breath. “I want you to bring the paperwork that says how much the procedure will cost to Abby. You know we don’t usually provide services for adults under the age of sixty-five, but I hope we can make an exception for Kevin. Abby is a wiz at finding and writing grants.”

Mrs. Steinburg grips my hands. “Bless you, Willow. Bless you.”

Kiko, her youngest foster child, suddenly comes zipping to the door. “Dum-Dum?” she asks, giving me the biggest, most convincing smile, I’ve ever seen.

I laugh. “You liked the strawberry Dum-Dum Abby gave you, didn’t you?”

The four-year-old nods.

I put a finger to my lips and pull a lollipop out of my pocket. “Don’t tell the others where this came from.”

Kiko grins, then proceeds to run back into the house yelling, “Dum-Dums!”

Soon, I have six children’s heads poking out the door on top of each other like a totem pole and calling, “Dum-Dum!”

I laugh. “Okay, okay. But I have to go back to the van to get more.”

When I get to the vehicle, I see my phone still has no messages. My heart sinks a little.

I shake myself. No, I will not be one of those women who sit sighing by their phones, waiting for a call. I determinedly flip the phone over screen-down, only to hear it ring. I don’t even look at the ID. It has to be him.

“Hello?” I say brightly.

“Willow, it’s Abby. The toilet at the office just broke,” my assistant replies desperately.

The toilet? I groan. That thing has been hanging on by a thread for nearly two years now. The day has come, apparently. “What do you mean it ‘broke’? What’s it doing?”

“It’s spilling water everywhere!” she all but wails .

I heave a sigh. “Okay, turn the water valve off.”

“I tried! It came off in my hand and now it’s spewing water from there!”

Ugh, just what I don’t need right now. “All right. Call a plumber. We’ll just have to find some extra money in the budget?—”

“I already called. They can’t come until Wednesday. I tried everybody!” she shrieks. I can hear water in the background and know Abby is probably standing ankle-deep in the mess trying to make it stop. What a perfectly disgusting disaster to keep my mind off Damien for a couple hours.

“All right. Don’t panic,” I say calmly, even though I’m panicking now. “Um, just try to contain the water mess. Maybe put a bucket under it or something? Put down some towels. I’ll be back shortly, and we can figure it out together.”

“Okay.” She still sounds desperate. “Don’t be long!”

“I won’t be. I just have Mrs. Baumgartner left. Oh, and the Steinburg kids want lollipops. You’ve created little monsters!”

Abby manages a laugh and I know everything is going to be okay.

“See you soon,” I promise. I quickly gather up six more Dum-Dums and head back to Mrs. Steinburg’s door. “Here you go,” I say to the children, who snatch them out of my hands like adorable little piranhas.

“What do you say to Miss Willow?” Mrs. Steinburg prompts them sternly.

“Thank you!” they say in unison before rushing back into the house.

“I’ll figure something out for Kevin,” I promise. “But right now, I need to go. I think our toilet at the office may have exploded. ”

Mrs. Steinburg’s eyes widen. “Oh dear. Do you have a plumber?”

“No, unfortunately. They’re all busy until Wednesday.” I sigh. In that moment, I consider calling Damien, then dismiss the idea. I can’t go running to him every time there’s a problem. Not only that, but he might think I’m manufacturing an excuse to see him.

If he wanted to reach out, he would have.

If the sex was as good for him as it was for me, he probably would have sent me some sort of text to reassure me somehow or to say he was sorry for packing me up and sending me home via his driver and not taking me himself.

The fact is he hasn’t done any of those things.

Every hour that’s passed stings more and rings with the cold, hard truth.

That night didn’t mean anything to him.

So, I can’t go to him asking for help. Silver Hearts was running fine before him, and it will run fine after he’s gone.

The idea of him being gone sends a pang through my heart. But I push it aside and brighten my smile. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. And if Damien is giving me the brush-off, that will be fine, too. Just like Silver Hearts, I’ve survived worse. And I have always been okay.

“Hmph. That’s not good enough,” Mrs. Steinburg says, pulling me back to reality. She turns her head to call for her eldest over her shoulder. “Charlotte!”

The spitting image of Mrs. Steinburg comes running down the stairs. “What’s wrong, Mom? Did you fall?”

“No. Stop fussing over me. Call your boyfriend and tell him he has no other jobs today. He needs to go to Silver Hearts and fix the toilet.”

I gape at Mrs. Steinburg. “I mean, we have water everywhere, but I’m sure he can’t?— ”

“Nonsense. Fred is a good boy,” Mrs. Baumgartner says.

Charlotte is already on her phone making the call on her mother’s orders.

I think I might cry. Fred isn’t the man I need to show up for me today, but I guess he’s what I’m going to get.

And he’s definitely better than nothing.

I press Mrs. Steinburg’s hand between mine.

“Thank you. Thank you both. I wish you didn’t have to go to the trouble on my account, but I’m really grateful. ”

“He’s on his way,” Charlotte says, interrupting me. I didn’t even hear her conversation end; I was so overwhelmed.

Mrs. Steinburg pats my hand. “See, dear? We take care of each other.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Thank you again.”

“Now, you get that lunch and dinner to Mrs. Baumgartner. I’m sure she’s anxious to get her ‘hello’ from Mr. Katz.” Mrs. Steinburg winks.

“True.” I smile, feeling hope soar to life inside me.

What Mrs. Steinburg said was right—we do take care of each other.

I’m just not used to feeling that care coming back in my direction very often.

I don’t like being the one who needs it, but today, I’m simply grateful.

I wave goodbye and head back to the van.

Before I know it, I’m parked in front of Mrs. Baumgartner’s house. Like Mr. Katz, her oxygen hose is stretched to its limit as she stands impatiently in the doorway. She looks past me when I get out of the van, then frowns. “Where’s Damien?”

His name on her lips hits me in the gut. Or maybe it’s my heart. Either way, it hurts more than I care to admit.

“He’s not volunteering today.” I turn up my smile and hope she believes it. “But I’m here. Oh! And Mr. Katz says ‘hi.’ ”

Mrs. Baumgartner gets a dreamy look on her face, just like a lovesick teenager. “Oh, Irving. That charmer.”

“Are you watching Family Feud with him today?” I ask as I bring her two meal boxes in, one for lunch, one for dinner.

“Of course.” Mrs. Baumgartner smiles. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As if on cue, her phone’s FaceTime rings, and she shuffles quickly over to get it off her TV tray. “Irving, darling!”

Mr. Katz’s eyeball responds to her. “Doris, my love!”

“I was just asking Willow where Damien is. He’s not volunteering today, apparently.” Mrs. Baumgartner sighs in consternation.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Mr. Katz says. “He should volunteer more often.”

“He should!” She tsks back. “Such a handsome, kind young fellow. If I were thirty years younger…”

Irving makes a disgruntled noise on the other end. “I’d fight him for you.”

She laughs. “Oh, pish! I’d still choose you.”

“Good. Then I won’t have to lay him flat,” he growls.

I bite my lip against a chuckle, trying to imagine Mr. Katz, at the very end of his straining oxygen tubing, boxing with Damien. I envision Mr. Katz getting a solid punch in and Damien, very undignified, rubbing his sore cheek.

Would serve him right, I think sourly. My thoughts scold me. Don’t wish bad things on people. Damien is allowed to move on quickly. Maybe you’re just not his cup of tea. Maybe he got what he wanted and now he’s moving on to better things.

Mrs. Baumgartner titters. “You’re so sweet, Irving.”

“Anything for you, my flower,” he responds.

I busy myself in the kitchen, setting her dinner in the fridge and her lunch in the microwave. I think how nice it would be to have something like Mrs. Baumgartner and Mr. Katz have. Maybe not with the forced long distance, but something… sweet and deep and meaningful.

The microwave starts sparking.

My jaw drops. “Oh crap! Tinfoil!”

“What, dear?” Mrs. Baumgartner calls as I wrench open the microwave door.

“I forgot about the tinfoil!” I yell back, horrified. I yank the meal out of the microwave and yelp, dropping it on the floor.

The box explodes from the bottom, sending food flying everywhere. There, in the middle of it all, is a burnt piece of tinfoil.

Mrs. Baumgartner shuffles over to the kitchen, holding the phone. “Oh dear,” she says, looking at the mess.

“What’s ‘oh dear’?” Mr. Katz asks.

“Just a bit of a mess, love. Don’t worry about that, Willow. Cleaning gives me something to do.”

“I can’t possibly leave the floor this way!” I gasp. “Where are your cleaning supplies?”

Mrs. Baumgartner shakes her head. “Kathleen texted me about your bathroom debacle. I’ll take care of this. You go take care of that.”

I watch as a curl of smoke rises from the microwave. When I close the door, the screen is completely dead. I moan, shaking my head. “Oh no… I think I killed it.”

She pats my shoulder. “I’m sure there’s another microwave out there somewhere.

Don’t worry. You’re not the first person to put metal in a microwave, and you won’t be the last. Why, my granddaughter Jenny was babysitting once and decided to make macaroni and cheese.

She put a whole metal pot in the microwave!

” She rubs her chin. “She was never one of my brightest grandchildren, but I love her to death anyway.”

I try to conceal the tightness in my throat by forcing a laugh, but it sounds like the croak of a dying toad. “The whole pot?”

“Oh yes, ingredients and all. Now, this was before Easy Mac, so whatever made her think she could make it without using the stove…” She shakes her head. “Ah Jenny. It’s a good thing she married well, I can tell you that.”

I sniffle. “That’s very old-fashioned of you to say.”

“I’m an old-fashioned kind of lady. Plus, it’s true.” She shuffles and puts her hand on my shoulder. “My dear, whatever is eating you up inside will pass. Take it from an old lady who knows just how quickly things slip through our fingers.”

Her kindness breaks me, and a tear falls free.

I hurriedly wipe it away. If I let another fall, I might not be able to stop them at all, and I don’t want to cry more than one tear for a man who couldn’t be bothered to drive me home or pick up a phone and thank me for a nice evening—or even acknowledge I exist now.

Had I imagined our moment on the dance floor?

Was all of his kindness and support just strategy behind ulterior motives?

Was he using me for business, or to get under my dress?

My fists clench.

Should I be crying? Or should I be angry?

I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth as I look at the mess on the floor. “You’re sure you don’t want me to clean that up?”

She shakes her head and waves me out of the kitchen. “Go see to your leaky bathroom. I’m sure there is a lot more cleanup to do there than here.”

I wince. “I’m afraid there might be.” Impulsively, I give her a hug. “I’ll be back soon. And, Mr. Katz, you need to hold the phone a little bit away from your face.”

“Oh, right.” He adjusts the phone and I see the scraggly hairs on his chin.

“Never mind.” I chuckle softly. “Goodbye, Mrs. Baumgartner.”

Mrs. Baumgartner waves from her doorway as I leave to go face disaster. I might not be able to fix whatever went wrong between Damien and me, but I could fix this. Damien had played his hand, shown his cards, and revealed where he stood.

Going forward, I’ll just meet him where he is. We are temporary business associates, nothing more. He gave me a good night that I will fantasize about for years to come, but to his face, I won’t let on that I’m not over him and that he hurt me.

I’m made of stronger stuff than that.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I head back to my office to face the fresh disaster awaiting me there.