Page 36 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

DAMIEN

W illow's apartment door swings open before I can knock, and every coherent thought evaporates from my mind.

The midnight blue dress I bought her fits like it was painted on, hugging every curve I've memorized with my hands and mouth.

Her wild red hair is swept up in an elegant twist that probably took her an hour to achieve and will take me five seconds to destroy later tonight.

If I have my way, that is.

"You look..." I start, but there aren't words for how stunning she is. How she manages to be both sophisticated and utterly herself at the same time.

"Like I might actually belong at The Plaza?" She smooths her hands down the dress nervously. "I keep checking the mirror to make sure it's really me."

"You look like you belong anywhere you want to be." I step inside, careful not to touch her yet. If I start now, we'll never make it to the fundraiser. "The committee chairs are going to be very disappointed. "

"Why?" Her brow furrows with worry, and it’s fucking adorable.

I reach out and gently touch her cheek. "Because every donor is going to be too busy staring at you to bid on anything."

She laughs, and I realize that bright sound has become essential to my day. "Smooth talker,” she says, lightly smacking her palm against my chest. “I’ll bet you say that to all the nervous nonprofit directors."

"Nope. Just one." I pull the Tiffany box from my jacket pocket. "Speaking of which, I have something for you."

Her eyes widen as she sees the unmistakable blue box. "Damien, you already bought me this dress and these shoes that cost more than my rent?—"

"This is different." I open the box, revealing the pearl and diamond necklace I spent three hours selecting earlier today.

Not because I couldn't decide, but because I kept imagining how each one would look against her gorgeous skin.

"These are for tonight, but also... for you. For everything you do."

She stares at the necklace, then up at me. "I can't?—"

"You can." I move behind her with the glimmering gems. The necklace settles perfectly against her throat, the pearls luminous against her skin. I fasten the clasp, letting my fingers linger on the velvety nape of her neck. "Do you know what amazes me most about you?"

"My ability to avoid getting pet hair on this dress?" She's deflecting with humor, the way she does when she's overwhelmed.

"Your dedication." I gently turn her to face me, keeping my hands on her shoulders.

"I've watched you spend hours making sure Mrs. Baumgartner gets to her doctor's appointments.

Seen you stay late because Mr. Callahan needed someone to talk to about his late wife.

You gave up your lunch break last week to help Mrs. Steinburg fill out Medicare forms for her son, Kevin. "

"That's just doing my job?—"

"No." I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "That's who you are, Willow. You see people others ignore. You make everyone feel valued. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

Her eyes shimmer. "You're going to make me cry and ruin my mascara that took me twenty minutes to get right."

"Can't have that." I brush my thumbs under her eyes, catching tears that haven't fallen yet. "Though you're beautiful either way."

Tiny chooses that moment to barrel into my legs, nearly knocking me over. He's got what looks like one of Willow's shoes in his mouth.

"Tiny, no!" Willow lunges for him, but he dodges, tail wagging furiously. "That's my backup pair! Don't laugh, this is a crisis!"

But I am laughing as I corner the dog against the couch. "Drop it," I command in my best boardroom voice.

To my amazement, he does. I shoot a shocked look over my shoulder at Willow. “I think I’m getting the hang of this pet thing.”

"My hero." Willow retrieves the slightly damp pump. "I swear he has a shoe fetish."

"At least he has good taste." I scratch behind Tiny's ears, getting enthusiastic face licks in return. Six weeks ago, this would have sent me running for hand sanitizer. Now it's just part of being in Willow's orbit.

I play a quick game of tug-of-war with him using one of his rope toys while Willow does a final mirror check.

Spike waddles over for attention too, and I find myself sitting on her couch with both dogs vying for ear scratches.

Before I know it, Mingo and Rufus have joined us, one cat prowling the back of the couch behind my head, the other forcing its way onto my lap between Tiny and Spike.

Willow emerges from the bathroom and breaks out with a laugh. "I can't believe Damien Langley is sitting on my secondhand couch risking his tux to make my little herd of wild animals happy."

"It's just a tux." I give them all one last pat and stand, brushing off the worst of the fur. "Besides, they say dog hair is a fashion accessory in some circles."

She arches a brow at me. "What circles would that be?"

"The only ones worth being part of." I offer her my arm. "Ready?"

She takes it, not even wobbling a little bit on her high heels. "As ready as I'll ever be. Thank you, Damien. For the necklace, for everything. For letting me be part of your life these past weeks."

The words hit strangely. She's thanking me for letting her into my life? She's got it completely backward. "Thank you for completely disrupting mine," I say, meaning it as the highest compliment.

She’s smiling as we make our way carefully down her building's stairs, her hand lightly gripping my arm for balance. Once we're settled in my car and pulling into traffic, she lets out a long breath.

"Everything okay?" I ask, reaching over to take her hand.

"Just thinking about all the things that could go wrong tonight." She laughs shakily. "We had roughly seventeen disasters today alone."

"Tell me about them." I genuinely want to know, and listening to her might calm her nerves .

As she recounts the day's chaos—damaged centerpieces, permit issues, a last-minute client speaker change—I'm struck again by how she turns disasters into solutions. She doesn't even realize how remarkable that is.

"You're incredible, you know that?" I tell her when she finishes. "Most people would have given up."

"I had some excellent help." She squeezes my hand. "Abby's pet-sitting tonight, by the way. I figured I might be out late."

"Good thinking." I try not to read too much into that statement but hope flares in my chest anyway.

"How's your mom doing?" Willow asks, changing the subject. "You haven’t mentioned her since our visit to her house last week."

The question catches me off guard, especially considering this is Willow’s night.

Yet here she is thinking about my mother when most people politely ignore her condition.

Normally, I’m grateful for that avoidance, but having Willow privy to the problem is a comfort in some ways.

There’s no need to pretend with her. No need to put up the mask I’m so used to wearing in public.

"She's... it's progressing." I keep my eyes on the road. "She called me Carter three times this week."

"I'm sorry." Her thumb strokes over my knuckles. "That must be so hard."

"Dr. Morrison, her specialist, thinks we need to consider full-time care soon. She's becoming a danger to herself. Last week she tried to cook and forgot she'd turned on the stove."

"Oh, Damien." Willow's voice is soft with understanding. "Have you and your sister looked into facilities?"

"I've been putting it off." The admission feels like failure. "Keep thinking if I hire more help, adjust her medications, maybe... "

"That maybe she'll get better?" Willow finishes gently. "I understand how you’re feeling. But sometimes the kindest thing is accepting the new reality."

I glance at her, this woman who deals with aging and loss every day. "How do you do it? Watch people you care about decline?"

"By focusing on what they can still do, not what they've lost." She shifts to face me better. "Your mother may not remember your father's death, but she remembers loving him. That's not nothing."

"I never thought of it that way."

"I know some excellent facilities, if you want recommendations. Places that understand memory care, that treat residents with dignity." She pauses. "I could go with you to visit them, if you'd like."

The offer hits me harder than it should. In my world, people offer business connections or investment opportunities. They don't offer to hold your hand through heartbreak.

"You'd do that?"

"Of course I would." She sounds surprised I'd even question it. "That's what I’m good at, Damien. Really, I’m happy to help in any way if I can. I mean, after all, we’re… friends."

Friends. The word settles like a weight in my chest, heavier than it should be. I keep my expression neutral, focusing on the traffic ahead while my mind races. Is that what we are to her? Is that all she wants us to be after tonight?

She's using that word so deliberately, so carefully. Like she's already drawing lines, creating distance before our arrangement officially ends. The thought makes something twist painfully in my chest.

"Thank you," I manage, squeezing her hand gently. "That means a lot. And it helps, being able to talk about it with someone who understands."

"Always," she says softly. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm here for you."

I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles as I navigate the final turn toward The Plaza. "I know," I murmur against her skin. "Same goes for you."

Willow is more than a friend to me. She's swiftly become something much deeper than that. She’s…

everything. But if she's already positioning us as friends, already pulling back before this night is even over, maybe I've been misreading all the signs.

Maybe what feels like forever to me is just temporary to her.

The thought sits heavy in my chest as the bright lights of The Plaza come into view. Whatever happens after tonight, whatever Willow wants us to be, I'll take it. Even if being her friend is all she'll allow, it's better than losing her completely.

But God, I want so much more than that.