Page 20 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

WILLOW

A few days later, Damien has decided we need to check out The Plaza’s ballroom to confirm the venue will meet our needs. I told him I’m sure it’s perfect—let’s be real, it’s beyond perfect—but he wants me to see it anyway. At his insistence, he’s picking me up at home to take me there.

I’m nervous at the thought of him coming to my place again, especially after I’ve seen the jaw-dropping palace he calls home.

My cramped little apartment is hardly better than a closet by comparison.

Not to mention the fact that I’m sharing the small space with half a dozen furry roommates.

Maybe that number is closer to a dozen now. I don’t keep count.

I nearly jump out of my skin when my buzzer sounds from the building entrance at street level. Oh, shit. Is he early? Nope. He’s right on time. And I’m running late. What else is new?

Panicking now, I rush to my phone. “Hey,” I say over the intercom, trying to sound calm and in control. “I’m not quite ready yet, but I’ll buzz you in. ”

“You’re not—” Damien replies, but I cut off the rest of what he’s about to say by pressing the button to let him in.

Very shortly, he’s standing at my opened door, frowning. “You’re not ready?” he asks, eyeing the long T-shirt I threw on after I got out of the shower. His nostrils flare as his gaze travels over my braless breasts and bare legs. He clears his throat. “You were supposed to be ready by now.”

I roll my eyes. “Keep your pants on. I’ll only be a couple of minutes. I just have to put on some clothes. I was wrestling with my hair,” I explain.

He glances at my hair and something sparks in his eyes. “I wouldn’t bother wrestling with it. It looks great just the way it—holy shit, what is that?”

Rufus is winding his way between Damien’s ankles, meowing impatiently. After all, a guest has been here for five seconds and has not yet given him a treat or ear scratches. The nerve!

I laugh. “Sorry. This handsome boy is Rufus. He wants chin scratches,” I explain, bending down to oblige him.

“Yes he does. Yes he does, doesn’t he?” I scratch Rufus under his chin and behind the ears.

He purrs loudly and glares up at Damien, making it clear it was Damien’s job to do the cooing and scratching. Fat chance of that, Rufus.

“Uh, hello, Rufus,” Damien says, looking skeptical.

I pop back up and motion Damien inside. “Come in. You can sit on the couch.” I give him a knowing grin. “I even made a space for you.”

Damien very carefully steps over Rufus, who doesn’t make it easy for him, and steps cautiously over to the couch. He lowers himself onto the worn cushion like he’s afraid the whole thing will collapse beneath him. It’s possible there’s a good chance of that, actually .

“Make yourself comfortable,” I tell him, trying not to laugh as several of my menagerie of pets come around to investigate.

Spike, who’s generally afraid of newcomers in his home, has just had an accident on the floor. He steps over to sniff Damien’s leg after Tiny puts his head in Damien’s lap.

Damien looks about ready to jump out of his skin. “Is this a pit bull?”

“Yes. Well, he’s a mixed breed of some kind. They were going to euthanize him, poor thing,” I say, sadness creeping into my voice.

Spike makes a final decision that he approves, and jumps up on the sofa, crawling over Tiny’s head to settle himself in what is left of Damien’s lap. He licks Damien’s chin.

Damien stares at Spike and Tiny. Rufus has gone back to butting his head against Damien’s shins. Mingo…

“Oh no,” I moan just before my other cat, Mingo, creeps up behind Damien’s head and dumps a ceramic cat figure onto him with just a swat of his paw.

Damien jumps. The figurine hits Spike in the head, who yowls.

“Oh, poor baby. Here, let me help you,” I coo, coming over. “Mingo, that was very bad of y—Tiny, no! Drop it!”

Tiny stands with the ceramic figure in his mouth, looking completely innocent.

Damien looks about as uncomfortable as I would’ve guessed he’d be, swarmed by a horde of animals in his expensive clothes. He sighs, but offers me a resigned smile. “How about you go get dressed and I handle all of… this?”

“You sure? Because I can corral them into the bedroom until we leave. ”

He shakes his head. “I’ve already got dog and cat hair on me. Might as well get some slobber, too.”

I blush, not sure if this is an insult to me or not.

But, if he thinks he can handle the situation for a few minutes, I’ll let him.

Besides, it might actually be good for him to be showered in several minutes of unfiltered pet love.

I wonder if he even knows what it’s like to have a pet. If not, I feel a little sorry for him.

I nod and go back in my bedroom, taking off my T-shirt and hunting around for something presentable for a five-star hotel.

In the background, I can hear Damien sternly telling Tiny to drop the cat figurine.

Then some scuffling. I imagine Damien is trying to take it away.

Tiny must think this is the best game ever.

Laughing to myself, I zip up a flowy pastel skirt. The blouse I want to wear with it, however, has buttons up the back that are just beyond my reach.

“Now, Tiny,” I hear Damien saying to my dog. “You’re going to upset your friend here. Do you really want that?”

Tiny whines and there’s a clunk as the figurine drops to the floor. I can’t hide my surprise as I step out of the bedroom with my blouse half-undone. “Did you just reason my dog into dropping his prize? I can’t believe that worked.”

Damien snatches the figurine off the floor and replaces it on the windowsill, his glare daring Mingo to knock it off again. “Honestly, I can’t, either.”

Spike licks Damien’s jacket and, in an act of giving up, Damien finally pets him. Spike is so excited his entire little body shakes with his wagging tail. I catch Damien’s uncertain look and stifle a laugh. “Don’t worry. He’s not having a seizure, he’s just happy. ”

“Let me guess,” Damien sighs, shaking his head. “Another rescue?”

I nod. “His owner got rid of him just because he’s a little incontinent. Who does that to a dog they’ve had for four years? A pet is a lifelong commitment.”

Damien nods. “I agree.” He looks up at me, then at my loose blouse. “Wardrobe malfunction?”

“I can’t button it all the way up,” I reply, exasperated. I grin at him. “Would you mind helping me?”

His attempt at thwarting the interloper having failed, Mingo smacks Damien on the back of the head with his paw and meows loudly.

“Hey, watch it, cat. I’m not too fond of you yet, either.” Damien grunts and stands. He looks at me as his gaze softens. “No. I wouldn’t mind helping you at all.”

“That’s Mingo. Sorry, he’s a bit warier of strangers than the others.” I laugh. I stop laughing when Damien comes up behind me. Without speaking he gathers my hair and moves it over my shoulder to give him better access to my blouse.

"Hold still," he says, his voice low, his breath warm as it skates over my nape.

I try not to react when his fingertips brush against my bare skin, but my body betrays me with a small shiver.

He pauses for a split second. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I manage, grateful he can't see my face.

As he works his way up my spine, each button becomes an exercise in restraint—my own.

His knuckles graze my skin with deliberate precision, professional yet somehow intimate.

I focus on my breathing, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body so close behind me.

All I want to do is lean back and feel him against me again.

I crave the feeling of his arms, his lips. His hardness and his heat .

I'm acutely aware of the last time he touched me. In his bed, our bodies tangled together, his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin. The memory lights a fire in my blood despite my determination to stay composed.

His hands still as he reaches the final button. For a heartbeat, I feel his breath against my neck, warm and uneven. The silence stretches between us, charged with everything we're not saying.

I slowly turn to face him, expecting him to step back, to maintain the careful distance we've both been cultivating. But he doesn't move. His eyes lock with mine, the blue darkening with unmistakable hunger. His jaw tightens as he swallows hard.

"Willow," he says, my name almost a physical caress on his lips.

In that moment, I know he's remembering too—the weight of his body over mine, the sounds I made when he touched me just right. His restraint is fracturing, same as mine.

Without thinking, I reach up to brush away one of Mingo’s hairs from his lapel, my fingers lingering against the fine fabric. His hand catches mine, holding it against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palm.

We're both perfectly still, caught in the gravity of what we're trying to resist. His thumb strokes once across my wrist, finding my pulse.

"We should go," he says, though he makes no move to release my hand.

I nod shakily. "We should," I agree, but I don't step away.

His gaze drops to my mouth. I wet my lips unconsciously, and his pupils dilate in response. The space between us shrinks, all of my senses locked on him. I see the same intensity in his grim expression as he begins to lower his head toward mine.

Then his phone rings. And rings again.

"Fuck." He tears his gaze away from me and pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers impatiently. "What is it?" he snaps.

I hear a woman’s voice on the other end of the phone and feel a pang of jealousy. Who could it be that he’d take his attention away from me so quickly?

“Oh. Sorry, Mother,” Damien says contritely, and I don’t feel jealous anymore. He looks concerned, worried even. “Are you alright? No, no, please stop crying. I’ll come by right away.” He ends the call and turns to me, chagrined. “I’m sorry. I have to delay our outing for today.”

“That was your mom?” I ask, trying not to pry. “Is she okay?”

He nods. “She’ll be fine, but she needs me right now. It shouldn’t take long.”

“That’s fine. I could go with you,” I offer spontaneously. “I mean, if that’s all right with you.”

Damien’s eyebrows draw together with uncertainty. “I’m not sure that’s?—”

“I took the afternoon off from Silver Hearts to go to The Plaza, so it’s not like I have anything else on my busy schedule.” I grin at him. “Besides, if something’s wrong with your mom, maybe I can help. I do have a way with seniors, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He gives me a look that seems halfway between balking and relief. “I’ve noticed,” he says, then shakes his head. “My mother can be… a handful at times. ”

“You say that like I haven’t already met her son.” I wink at him as I step into a pair of flats. “Come on, Damien. Let’s not keep her waiting.”