Page 35 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

WILLOW

"What's wrong?" I extricate myself from the four animals piled onto the bed with me, carefully moving to the edge of the bed so as not to disturb the minions.

"Don't panic," Abby says, which is exactly what you say when someone should definitely panic. "But Mrs. Hollingsworth is having an issue with her table placement for tonight."

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "What kind of issue?"

"She says if she has to sit next to Harold Pemberton, she's pulling her donation."

"But they're both Platinum sponsors! They have to sit at the main table." I stare at the ceiling, trying to remember why Mrs. Hollingsworth hates Harold Pemberton. Something about a yacht club incident in 1987? "Can't we just?— "

"Already tried everything. She's adamant, Willow. And her donation is fifty thousand dollars."

Like I need the reminder. I bolt upright. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

As I rush through my shower, I can't help but think about how Damien would handle this. Probably with a spreadsheet and perfect logic. Unlike me, currently shampooing with conditioner in my panic. Shit!

The week has been a blur of final preparations, with Damien stopping by the office now and then to help with last-minute details.

He's even shown up after long days at his company, tie loosened, and shirt sleeves rolled up over his sexy forearms. It’s embarrassing how hot the veins under his golden skin can make me, but what can I do? Everything about the man turns me on.

Not the least of which being how genuinely invested he is in the Silver Hearts fundraiser. He’s been determined to help despite his own packed schedule. It's dangerous how good he looks sitting on my office floor, organizing sponsorship packets while insisting I take a break.

God, I'm falling for him so hard. The realization really hit me a few nights ago when he fixed our office label printer—the one that's been jamming for months.

Damien had this look of intense concentration, tongue between his teeth, and when the machine finally worked he grinned at me like he'd just closed a multibillion-dollar deal.

Who gets butterflies from office equipment repair? Apparently, me.

Yup. There’s no point in trying to deny it. I’m falling in love with Damien Langley.

Already there, if I’m being honest with myself.

By the time I reach the office, three more crises have materialized. The auction items from the Berkshire artists are stuck in transit due to a truck breakdown. The photographer fractured his hand at a bar last night. And someone from The Plaza is calling about our permits.

"Deep breaths," Abby says, handing me coffee. "We can fix this."

"Right. Fix this. Absolutely." I take a sip and immediately burn my tongue. "Ow! Why is everything going wrong?"

Abby winces. "Mercury in retrograde? Murphy's Law? Though I prefer to think of it as the universe testing us."

"Well, the universe needs to find a new hobby." I grab my phone as it rings again. "Silver Hearts, Willow speaking."

"Ms. Harper? This is Janet from Artistic Arrangements. I'm afraid there's been an accident with your centerpiece delivery."

This cannot be happening. My heart sinks. Those centerpieces feature handmade items from our seniors—Mrs. Inoue’s origami cranes, Mr. Rodriguez's miniature paintings, Betty's crocheted flowers. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try not to cry. "What kind of accident are we talking about?"

"The delivery truck hit a pothole. Several boxes were damaged. We're trying to salvage what we can, but?—"

"I'll be right there." I hang up and look at Abby. "I need you to handle Mrs. Hollingsworth. Tell her we'll put the dessert table between her and Harold. Create a buffer zone."

"On it." Abby's already dialing. "What about the photographer?"

"I'll... figure something out." My phone buzzes with another text. Right. The Plaza needs to see our permits. Because of course they do.

As I drive to the florist, my mind drifts to Damien again.

More and more, I find my attention turning to him when I need calm or a sense of reassurance that everything will be okay.

Somehow, he’s become my emotional anchor, my safe harbor.

Damien Langley, the uptight grump with the perma-scowl and the schedule so rigid it may as well have been carved in stone.

Except, that’s who he used to be. It’s not who I see when I look at him now.

And the way he looks at me…

The way his gaze holds me, the way I felt when he was watching me in that boutique earlier this week, like I was the only woman in the world. I’ve never had a man look at me that way before. As if I matter to him—truly matter. As if I mean something to him.

Am I only imagining it? Am I just feeling something I wish could be true?

The midnight blue dress Damien bought me hangs in my closet, taunting me all week with questions I’m afraid to have answered.

Tonight's the fundraiser. After that, our arrangement officially ends.

His PR problem has been smoothed over with Guardian Productions and the public in general.

His obligation to Silver Hearts—and me—ends tonight.

What if Damien goes back to his regular life and forgets all about crazy Willow Harper and her chaotic world of rescue pets and broken senior center toilets? That was the deal, after all. Everything else between us—none of that was supposed to happen.

Now I’ve gone and fallen in love with him when I may never see him again after tonight.

No. Stop that. One crisis at a time. I have bigger things to worry about right now than the likelihood of my broken heart.

Unfortunately, the centerpiece situation is worse than I imagined. Half the arrangements are crushed, delicate origami cranes crumpled beyond recognition. Mrs. Inoue spent weeks on those cranes.

"We can remake some of them," Janet offers weakly. "But there's not enough time to replace everything."

I kneel beside the salvageable pieces, carefully extracting a miraculously intact miniature painting. "We'll make it work. Mix the damaged pieces with fresh flowers. Call it... deconstructed art."

"Is that a thing?"

"It is now." I manage a laugh only because I’m on the verge of crying. I start sorting through the wreckage. "Do you have baby's breath? We’re going to need lots of it. We'll create cloud-like settings for the surviving pieces."

My phone rings again. This time it's Samuel from The Plaza. "Ms. Harper, we need to discuss your silent auction setup. The fire marshal has concerns about the display placement."

"I have all the permits?—"

"Yes, but they need to be updated to reflect the new layout. Can you come by?"

I check the time. It's not even 9 AM and I already feel like I've run a marathon. "Sure. I'll be there by ten."

Janet and I spend the next hour reconstructing centerpieces. They're different from what I planned, but maybe better—more organic, more real. Like everything about Silver Hearts.

When I finally make it to The Plaza, Samuel meets me with a tablet and a concerned expression. "The good news is, we can approve your layout with minor modifications. The bad news is, you need three additional signatures by 2 PM."

"Of course I do." I manage a smile. "Where do I get these signatures? "

He hands me a list. Three different city offices. Because naturally, they couldn't all be in one building.

As I race across town, my phone rings. It's Dr. Martinez from Mount Sinai. "Willow? I'm afraid Mr. Fitzgerald had a fall this morning. He's stable, but he won't be able to attend tonight."

My heart clenches. Mr. Fitzgerald was supposed to give one of our client speeches about how Silver Hearts helped him stay independent after his wife died. "Is he okay?"

"Bruised ribs, mostly his pride. He's devastated about missing the event."

"Tell him not to worry. He needs to focus on getting better." I hang up and immediately dial Abby. "We need a new client speaker. What about Mrs. Patterson?"

"In Florida visiting her daughter. Mrs. Young?"

"Cataract surgery yesterday." I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. "What about Juana?"

"Available, but her English?—"

"Is perfect when she's passionate about something,” I insist. “Call her. Right now. Tell her we need her story tonight."

The permit offices are their own special hell. By the time I escape with the necessary signatures, it's past noon and I haven't eaten anything except the half a Pop-Tart I found in my car.

My phone shows seven missed calls and half as many texts. I dial Abby first.

"Don't panic," she starts again.

"Abby, I swear every time you say that?—"

"The Berkshires delivery is back on track. Auction items will arrive by 3 PM. And Mrs. Hollingsworth agreed to the dessert buffer. Also, Juana said yes, but she's nervous. "

Some of the tension in my shoulders eases. "Okay. Good. What about the photographer?"

"Still working on it. But I did confirm the band, the caterer, and the volunteers."

"You're a lifesaver." I merge into traffic, heading back to the office. "I still need to?—"

"Shower, eat, and get ready?" Abby interrupts. "Already blocked your calendar from 4 PM on. What about the pets tonight?"

"Oh God, I forgot about?—"

"No problem. I'll pet-sit. Already figured you might need that."

"Abby, I could kiss you."

"Save it for Damien," she teases. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start." But I'm smiling despite myself. "I’m nervous without thinking about how tonight's officially our last obligation to each other."

"But?"

"But I'm hopeless." I pull into the office parking lot. "I've completely fallen for him, Abby. Somewhere between him fixing Mrs. Baumgartner's stove and suffering through bingo night, I fell hard."

"And you think he doesn't feel the same?"

I turn off the engine, sitting in the sudden silence. "I think Damien Langley could have any woman he wants in this city or anywhere else. Why would he want someone whose life is held together with duct tape and good intentions?"

"Because," Abby says firmly, "maybe that's exactly what he needs. Someone real. Someone who makes him smile."

"He does smile more now," I admit. "You should have seen him at the boutique. He looked physically pained every time I tried on a dress. "

"In a good way?"

"In a very good way." I grin at the memory. "He used a throw pillow to hide his... appreciation."

Abby cackles. "And you don't think this man is crazy about you?"

"I know he's attracted to me. But after tonight..."

"Stop." Abby's voice is firm. "Tonight is going to be perfect. You're going to wear that gorgeous blue dress and Louboutins he bought you, save Silver Hearts from financial disaster, and knock Damien Langley's socks off. Tomorrow's problems can wait until tomorrow."

She's right. Of course she's right. "Okay. I hear you. One thing at a time."

"Exactly. Now we have three more fires to put out before you can transform into Cinderella."

I’m laughing as I leave my car and enter our little office.

The afternoon flies by in a whirlwind of problem-solving.

The auction items arrive just as promised.

We find a photography student desperate for portfolio pieces who agrees to shoot the event for cost. Juana practices her speech with me, her words bringing tears to my eyes.

By four o'clock, I'm exhausted but oddly exhilarated. Everything's coming together. Not perfectly, not according to plan, but in that uniquely Silver Hearts way where chaos becomes magic.

"Go," Abby orders, practically shoving me out the door. "I'll handle the rest. Your apartment keys?"

I hand them over. "Don't let Tiny guilt you into extra treats. He's on a diet."

"Sure he is." Abby winks. "Now go make yourself gorgeous. Not that you need much help."

As I drive home to shower and change, my phone buzzes with a text from Damien.

Damien: Busy day here. Everything under control there?

Me: Define "control"

Damien: Do you need me to come early?

My heart squeezes. Even with his own preparations, he's thinking of me.

Me: I've got it handled. See you at 7?

Damien: Wouldn't miss it.

I stare at those three words longer than necessary. Tonight might be an ending, but maybe—just maybe—it could be a beginning too.

Time to stop worrying and start getting ready. After all, I have a billionaire to dazzle, seniors to celebrate, and a fundraiser to host.