Page 23 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

DAMIEN

I can't concentrate on the spreadsheets in front of me. My mind keeps drifting back to yesterday, to tea at my parents’ house, to Willow's face as she realized what was happening with my mother's memory.

I've spent years keeping my mother's condition contained within the family.

It wasn't just about protecting her dignity, though that was certainly part of it.

It was about maintaining control, keeping my worlds separate.

Business is business. Personal is personal.

My entire life operates on those boundaries.

Until Willow Harper walked through them as if they weren't even there.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes.

I'd expected pity or awkwardness from her—the usual reactions I've seen from the few people who've witnessed my mother's confusion.

Instead, Willow had shown a grace and understanding that still leaves me stunned.

The way she'd followed my mother's meandering conversation, redirected her gently when needed, and most importantly, treated her with compassion and warmth.

No one else has ever done that. Most people don't know how.

The truth I'm reluctant to admit, even to myself, is that Willow saw me at my most vulnerable yesterday. She saw the reality of my family, my fears, my failures—and she didn't flinch. She didn't run. She stayed, steady and strong, offering quiet support without making me feel weak for needing it.

I've never let anyone that close, not even my sister, Cynthia. Not since my father died. Possibly not even before that.

What unsettles me is how much I want to let Willow closer still.

I turn toward the window, watching the city sprawl beneath the clouds. Willow is becoming something I never anticipated: essential. Not just for the physical connection we share, as undeniable as that is. But for the way she makes me feel less... alone.

My tablet chimes with an incoming message, pulling me reluctantly back to reality.

I have a pending acquisition to handle, meetings scheduled back-to-back, and a board that's watching my every move.

The last thing I should be doing is thinking about Willow Harper's gentle smile or the way her hand felt in mine.

Yet here I am.

Twenty distracted minutes later, I'm looking over plans for a large, orchestral sound studio for Guardian Productions when Alfred Rothchild walks into my office.

I thought I'd sufficiently scared the shit out of him to keep him away, but apparently not.

I begin to doubt his sanity, actually. I'd basically threatened to physically assault him .

"Alfred," I grunt, locking my tablet. "To what do I owe this non-pleasure?"

He grins widely. This is a very bad sign. "I was just talking with Steven Walt at Guardian Productions?—"

I see red at the mere mention of him conferring with my client. "You what?"

"Evidently, he’s seen that tabloid photo of you with your tongue shoved down Willow Harper's throat," Alfred crows.

“That’s an exaggeration, and you know it.” My red rage turns into black fury. "And I thought I told you to keep Willow’s name out of your mouth."

"Either way, Steven was less than approving of your on-camera PDA with the Executive Director of Silver Hearts."

"What I do with Willow is no one’s business but mine and hers," I snap.

Alfred chortles. "You and a few million other gossip rag readers.

Hell, that picture made legitimate news sources.

" He barks out a laugh. "You can't win for losing, Damien. But then, I knew you’d fail. You’d better prepare yourself, son.

You're going to be removed as the CEO of Langley Enterprises—and I'm going to bring the champagne. "

I come around the desk and loom over the greasy little shit.

Apparently, he doesn’t know he's three seconds away from getting belted in his sneering, offensive mouth. My voice comes out in a lethal hiss. "I will succeed, Alfred. My father built this company from the ground up. Not you. Not the board you’re so desperate to pit against me. I’ll be left standing here long after all of you are gone and forgotten. "

Alfred sniffs, indignant. "Your father was a great CEO. You're just a big disappointment."

My fingers itch to grab him by the shirtfront and shake him until his combover runs away.

But I resist. Barely. Assaulting him the way I want to would just be another nail in the coffin he's been preparing for me for months. "I don’t give a fuck what you think, Alfred. As for the rest of the board, I don’t see anyone willing to come all the way over to your side. "

"For now," he says. He swaggers away from me, walking around my office like he already owns the place. "I do like the view from here. It gives one a whole new perspective on the world, doesn’t it?"

I know I should ignore his lame attempt to goad me further, but damn the man is annoying. "Try to ease up on the Brylcreem next time you come to my office. The oily sheen creates quite a blinding glare on the window glass.”

Alfred scowls at me but does run a hand over his combover. "Brylcreem is wax, not oil." He folds his arms over his chest. "Nice hair and a good-looking face aren't going to keep you in this office, Damien."

I smirk. "A backstabbing nature and underhanded dealings aren't going to get you in it, Alfred."

"We'll see." He smirks as my tablet and phone begin to ring at the same time. "I'll bet that's Steven Walt now. I'm sure you have things to discuss. I'll leave you to it." His smile turns sharklike. "Good luck."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," I call after him. I sit down behind my desk and am about to answer Steven's video call, when I suddenly just stop. Full on stop. I stare at the insistent notification and just… ignore it. When it times out, I ignore his second attempt as well.

Have I lost my mind?

All I can think of right now—even after Alfred's warning, even after Steven's calls, even with all the headache of Guardian Productions weighing me down—is Willow.

I need to hear her voice. Maybe because of all of those things, I need a dose of her unique brand of sunshine and optimism.

She has a way of making everything better. Including me.

I try not to examine that thought too closely as I take out my phone. "Call Willow," I tell the device.

"Calling Willow Harper cell phone," the automated female voice chirps.

I put the phone to my ear. It only takes two rings for Willow to answer.

"Hi!" she says, sounding surprised. "Are you all right? Is everything okay with your mom?"

"She’s fine. I'm fine," I respond quickly. "Do I not sound fine?"

She laughs. "Yes, it's just… this call isn't on my schedule. Is it on yours? Did I miss it somehow?"

My cheeks heat up at her lighthearted teasing. "No. Not on the schedule. I just… wanted to hear your voice."

Willow is silent for a moment. "Oh. Okay." She'd lost her teasing tone now. "Damien, are you sure you're okay? You sound… stressed."

"Actually, can I see you?" I ask, shocked at my own spontaneity.

She pauses again. "Of course."

"I mean now," I clarify. "I want to see you now. If you’re available, that is."

"Okay. Um, yeah, okay. I'm doing rounds for Chelsea again. Her husband is still sick with the flu, but?—"

"Where are you at? I can come meet you. Finish your rounds with you."

"Wow. Okay. Um, you can meet me at Mrs. Baumgartner's," she suggests. "I'll be there in about half an hour."

"Great. I'll meet you there." I hang up and toss my tablet into my briefcase. I would leave it here—I would leave it all here—but the Silver Hearts charity event information is on it. As I'm grabbing my suit jacket, Rhonda walks into my office with a stack of papers.

"Mr. Langley, I need—" She stops. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes. Rhonda, please clear my schedule. I'm taking the afternoon off.”

She blinks at me like I just said I was leaving to go rob a bank. "You're… I'm sorry, did you say that you're taking the afternoon off?"

"I did." I button my suit jacket and pick up my briefcase. "Please, no calls. Not even Mr. Walt."

"You're… taking the afternoon off," she repeats, her jaw slack. “The entire afternoon?”

"Yes." I scowl. “Was that not clear?”

Rhonda's shocked expression turns into a wide grin. "Finally! You have a wonderful time, Mr. Langley. Don't come back until at least tomorrow. Maybe the day after."

I chuckle. "Don’t act too excited, or I’ll leave here thinking I must be a terrible boss."

She drops the stack of papers on my desk, but shoos me away from them and toward the door. "This will still be here when you get back. Go on now. Go!"

I make my way to the elevator, people popping their heads over their cubicles like meerkats. Perhaps they've never seen me leaving the office in daylight? It's possible.

Alfred leans over a cubicle, looking down the shirt of one of our customer service agents. She doesn't look comfortable.

I glower at the lech. "Julie, could you go help Rhonda, please? I'm leaving for the day and I'm sure she can use the assistance clearing my schedule. "

Looking infinitely relieved, she stands and hurries away.

Alfred frowns at me. "What do you mean, you're leaving for the day?"

"Just what I said." I push past him.

"But the Guardian project!” he splutters. “Your father would never leave in the middle of the day when we’re in the midst of a potential crisis with one of our biggest clients!"

I step onto the elevator and push the button. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not him."

Alfred takes a step toward the elevator, but the doors close before he can reach me.

I grin at his apoplectic face and give him a one-fingered salute just as the doors close their last inch.

The new Silver Hearts van sits outside Mrs. Baumgartner’s house. When I step out of my Mercedes, Willow hops out of the van. Her smile calms and excites me at the same time. Yes, this is just what I need.

“Willow, thank you for letting me go on your rounds with you. I know it was short notice,” I say.