Page 19 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

DAMIEN

C an’t a man have a minute? I think angrily as Rhonda comes up to me with more papers to sign ‘urgently.’ It seems everything I’ve had to do the last few days is ‘urgent.’ When did my schedule become so ‘urgent’ all of a sudden?

All I want to do is call Willow. That’s all. One damn phone call. Is that really too much to ask?

Of course, if I’m honest with myself, I’m always ‘urgently’ busy. I used to like it that way. Now? It’s driving me fucking insane.

I’ve slept in my chair at work for three days straight, using the ensuite shower and dressing from the collection of clothes I keep in a wardrobe at the office.

I’m not getting in my morning workouts. This is also pissing me off to no end.

But not nearly as much as the fact that when I sit down to call or even just text Willow, something comes up. With great ‘urgency.’

I slash my signature across the papers more than sign them, then sit in my chair and pull out my phone.

Me: Willow, I

Rhonda pushes through my door. “Are the papers signed for me?”

I scowl at her. “Yes.”

She is impervious to my scowls. She always has been.

She comes and snatches the papers off my pristine desk—nothing like the chaos of Willow’s—and looms over me.

“Good,” she says after looking them over to make sure I’ve initialed and signed in all the right places.

Not that I could have missed one. She’d sticky-tabbed every single spot.

“There’s a board meeting happening right now. I didn’t have it on your schedule.”

My scowl deepens. “I didn’t call a board meeting.”

“Apparently, Mr. Rothchild did.” Rhonda sounds just about as happy about it as I am. “Someone has to give that man a swift kick in the can.”

What the hell is that asshole up to now? “Oh, trust me, Rhonda. One day, that person’s going to be me.” I vault to my feet, shove my phone back in my suit jacket pocket and start for the door.

“Save me a place in line,” she calls after me.

I stalk to the boardroom and shove open the doors, interrupting Alfred’s little coffee klatch.

Half the board is gathered around him while the other half is staring at the ceiling, or anywhere but at me.

I drag my chair back and sit down, glowering at every single one of them.

“Is there a particular reason I wasn’t invited to this little pow-wow? ”

Gladys at least has the integrity to look a little guilty. “We did tell Rhonda.”

“What? Five minutes ago? Don’t try to bullshit me,” I all but snarl.

Alfred looks very pleased with himself, and I realize I need to calm down. “We were just discussing Guardian Productions.”

“Yes, and?” I ask, my fury building.

“We were thinking maybe we should send someone else to negotiate with them,” he continues smoothly. “After all, your reputation of late?—”

“My reputation is fine. I have it all handled. We’re in the middle of negotiations, as you all know. You want to change up the person who’s dealing with them when it’s going so well?” I ask incredulously.

His expression sours and his minions cower a bit. “We were simply thinking about?—”

“You weren’t thinking, Alfred. And I, for one, am tired of these ‘emergency’ meetings over problems that don’t exist anywhere but in your opportunistic mind.”

Gladys sniffs. “You assured us that negotiations were going poorly. Is that not the case?”

Alfred flinches. “I didn’t exactly say?—”

Another board member, Bartholomew Rush, stands and slams his hands down on the table. “Damn it to hell, Alfred, we all know there’s no affection between you and Damien, but don’t you start wasting our time because of it. Unless there’s a real crisis, I’m not coming back here again!”

Alfred splutters. “He’s not fit! He’s going to blow the whole thing.” He waves his hand in my direction. “Just look at his attitude with all of us!”

Bartholomew looks at me. “Are you going to blow it?”

I unclench my jaw. “No.”

“See that you don’t. Or I will vote you out. I think I can speak for everyone else here as well,” Bartholomew warns. “There, Alfred. Now it’s all taken care of. Let’s go.”

The board rises together and follows Bartholomew out .

I notice Alfred’s case is stuck under the table again. “Hey, Alfred?”

His head comes up, knocking the bottom of the table as it had before. “Ouch!” he hisses, as his combover slips out of its meticulously plastered place on top of his balding head.

I lean down and mock whisper, “You might want to add a little more Brylcreem to that dead thing on your head.” Then I turn on my heel and walk out as well.

In the hall, Rhonda greets me with my iPad. “This thing keeps chirping. If it doesn’t stop, I’m going to throw it out the window soon.”

“Thank you, Rhonda,” I reply, taking it from her before she can murder it. I unlock the screen and see there’s a FaceTime request coming through from Steven Walt, the CEO of Guardian Productions.

So much for texting Willow.

I sigh and go back into my office, answering the call. “Steven, I’m sorry, I was in a board meeting. What can I do for you?”

“That’s fine. I knew I’d be interrupting something. Never enough hours in the day, right?” Steven chuckles.

“Tell me about it. All right, how can I help you today?” I repeat with as much cheerfulness as I can muster. I wished I could channel Willow’s sunny disposition.

“Well, about the San Diego facility…” he begins.

This leads to a three-hour conversation about studio plans. By the end of it, I’m ready to tear my hair out. But I leave him happy and, looking at the clock, I see I still have enough time to get to Silver Hearts for my meeting with Willow. Hell, I’ll even be early.

“No calls,” I tell Rhonda sternly. “No board meetings. If they try to meet again, I want you to set off a stink bomb in the boardroom.”

“Can do, Damien,” she replies. “Have a nice time at Silver Hearts. Really. I like how going there makes you smile. You need more of that.”

I blink at her. “Smile?”

She winks at me. “Yes. But don’t keep her waiting. Go, go!”

A bit thrown by Rhonda’s observations, I nevertheless rush down to my Mercedes and tear out of the building’s parking lot.

I’m not even murderously angry at traffic as I weave through the busy Washington Heights streets.

It doesn’t seem as bad as usual, as though the universe itself is trying to get me to Willow.

Abby greets me at the door. “Hey, I was just leaving. Good to see you, Damien!”

“Good to see you as well,” I say, smiling. “Is Willow in her office?”

“Oh, no, she’s in the activity room. You’ve probably never been there before.” Abby sets her purse down and guides me down a hall to the left of the food storage area. We pass a prep kitchen, then, farther down, I see there’s a second entrance to the building labeled New Day Program.

“She’s just in here,” Abby says, opening the door to a room with beat up chairs and tables set up. Along one side of the room is an extra walker and wheelchair. There are cabinets bursting with games and art supplies at the back of the room.

Willow is laying out blank white cards at about fifteen spots around the tables. She looks up to see me and seems surprised. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hello, Damien.”

“Hi,” I respond, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’m here for our meeting. ”

“Right. Just let me finish up here. I’m almost done.” She lays the last three cards in their places and then jogs to the cabinet.

“I’m early. Please don’t rush on my account.” I rub the back of my neck. As much as I’d been looking forward to seeing Willow, something feels… off.

“I’ll just leave you two to it.” Abby grins and excuses herself.

Then it’s just Willow and me.

“Stickers,” she mutters. “Markers. Stamps.” She teeters on top of a stool that should have been retired years ago as she pulls the requisite items off the top shelf of the cabinet.

“I’m not sure that’s—” I start, but then, as I feared, she begins to teeter right off.

The supplies that were in her hands all go flying, and she shrieks.

I have no idea how I do it, but I get there just in time to catch her. A box of markers and some ink stamps bounce off my head. “Willow! Are you okay?”

She rubs her head, which now has half a butterfly wing stamped on her forehead. “Yeah, thanks.”

We stare at each other for a long time. Then I swallow and set her down on her feet. “That stool is a hazard. Almost as dangerous as high heeled sandals.”

She doesn’t laugh at my admittedly lame attempt at humor. “I know. I’ll get a new one this week,” she says, straightening her clothes.

“You’ll get a new one today,” I reply sternly.

Willow’s eyes flash for a moment, something I’ve never seen happen before. “You can’t fix everything, Damien.”

“I can sure as hell try.”

She gives me a wan smile. “Okay. Well, you can help by cleaning up this mess with me and getting things organized for tomorrow’s activity.”

“Okay. What’s the activity?” I ask, bending to pick up stamps, markers, and stickers that have scattered everywhere.

Willow bends over as well, and I get a very nice view of her backside in her faded jeans. Everything male in me springs to attention as I try not to stare at the luscious curves of her ass and recall how good it looked several nights ago when I was?—

“We’re making cards for veterans,” she says, yanking me back to the present. She stands up, then starts collecting jars and putting markers in them, spreading them evenly around the table.

“Cards for vets? That sounds nice. What’s the occasion?” I ask, scooping stamps into a box and setting it in the middle of the table.

She smiles indulgently and separates out my stamps. “They need to be closer to the seniors so they can reach them easily,” she explains as she sets a bin here and a bin there.

“Ah. Makes sense.” I start gathering up stickers and, taking a lesson from her, lay the stickers at different, reachable points between the seats.

Willow bites her lip, then helps again by rearranging my work. “We need to have a variety of stickers at each spot, and especially alphabet stickers at every spot. Some members have trouble writing.”

“Right.” I feel like a bit of an idiot, but she doesn’t laugh at me.

In fact, she reaches out and touches my arm. “Thank you for your help. And for catching me.”

“You’re welcome.” I stare into her hazel eyes, then down at her sexy lips .

She quickly steps away from me. “So, we should probably go to my office to discuss things.”

I frown slightly. I guess we’re not going to talk about the sex. I’m a little disappointed, but mostly relieved. I’m not sure what it means yet, and that would make a very, very awkward conversation between us. “Yes, let’s go to your office.”

I notice right away that there are folders, paper, and clutter on every surface of the office—except my chair. She’s kept it open for me. Even though she has to remove a stack of folders from hers.

“So, I’ve talked to our clients and so many are ecstatic about making items for the silent auction,” she says as we both sit down.

“Are you sure we can’t let Juana make some of her breads?

She’s going to donate some of her mother’s backstrap weaving, but she’d also like to contribute something of her own. ”

I think of the Health Department, OSHA, liability, and Silver Hearts getting sued. But looking at Willow’s hopeful expression, I simply decide I’ll cover the fallout if there are any problems. “You know, on second thought, I think that’s a great idea. Tell Juana to get her oven ready.”

“Really?” Willow’s smile at that moment could keep the Langley Building running for decades. I don’t care if Juana’s breads send half of Manhattan to the hospital, it’s already worth it just to see that genuine smile on Willow’s face now. “Thanks, Damien.”

“I’d hate to disappoint Juana.” That’s just an excuse. The person I really didn’t want to disappoint is Willow.

We talk for hours about parts of the charity event that are already nailed down. I get the impression neither of us really want to leave. Then I make the mistake of glancing at my watch. “Ah, Christ,” I say .

Willow’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I have to go. It’s past ten and I’m supposed to be approving a PowerPoint presentation for Guardian Productions that’s going to be given in the morning.” I unlock my iPad and see that the proposal was sent to me two hours ago. “Damn it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Okay.” Willow stands.

We glance at each other awkwardly. The air between us thickens and I look at her lips again. It stuns me, how much I ache to kiss her. In fact, I’d like nothing more than to blow off the presentation work, lock her office door, and pick up where we left off several nights ago.

Then I see her extended hand. Was that how cold it felt to her when I offered my hand the morning after we had sex? If so, she must think I’m the world’s biggest jackass.

“Goodnight, Damien,” she says.

I blink at her hand, then quickly shake it. “Goodnight, Willow.”