Page 43 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

DAMIEN

I stare at Steven Walt's email on my screen, reading his notes from our video meeting earlier today for the third time without absorbing a word.

The Guardian Productions CEO has sent several important questions about acoustic specifications that require my immediate input, but my mind keeps drifting to images of Willow.

If I’m being honest, I’ve thought of little else all day—her fiery hair spread across my pillow, her naked body moving beneath mine, the sexy little sounds she made as I explored every inch of her with my fingers, lips, and tongue.

Even now, hours later, I can still feel the phantom warmth of her skin against my palms. I shift in my desk chair, trying to adjust for the inappropriate hard-on I’m sporting in my suit pants.

"Mr. Langley?"

I blink, finding Rhonda standing in my doorway with a folder. "Yes?"

"The quarterly projections you requested." She sets them on my desk, eyeing me with a mixture of concern and amusement. " And Mr. Rothchild has called for a special governance committee meeting tomorrow morning.”

I frown. “A meeting tomorrow? What the hell for?”

Rhonda gives me a nervous look. “He's circulating a memo about 'commitment to core business' and suggesting the board needs to review your recent allocation of time and resources."

I bite off a sharp curse. “A review of my recent allocation of time and resources?”

Of course he has. After his scheme to sabotage my public image and the Guardian Productions deal backfired, Alfred's been relentless—questioning my expenses, suggesting I've lost focus, even trying to redefine which decisions require board approval.

His latest move is a thinly veiled attempt to penalize me for the time I've spent with Silver Hearts, despite the positive PR it's generated for the company. Ironic, considering he’s the reason I have anything to do with Silver Hearts in the first place.

The conniving son of a bitch.

"Forward me the memo he's circulating," I say, returning my attention to Steven Walt's email.

The Guardian CEO and the rest of his family have been exceptionally accommodating since Willow unintentionally helped salvage our meeting last week.

"And schedule a call with legal to review the bylaws regarding governance committee authority. "

"Already done, sir." Rhonda's expression turns knowing. "Also, the flowers you sent to Silver Hearts were delivered. I thought you’d like to know."

“Thank you, Rhonda.” The flowers had been an impulse buy, just a little something that I hoped would make Willow smile today. I would have preferred to deliver them in person, but I’ve barely had time to leave my office chair since I sat down in it this morning.

"Will there be anything else?" Rhonda asks, lingering by the door.

"No, that's all."

She nods, but doesn't immediately leave. "If I may, you seem... different today."

"Different how?"

"Centered. At peace somehow." She offers a small smile. "It’s a good look on you."

I don't dignify that with a response, but the knowing look she gives me as she leaves suggests my attempt at professionalism isn't as convincing as I'd like. Once alone, I close my office door and pull out my phone.

I hesitate for just a moment before dialing Willow’s number. This is new territory, calling a woman in the middle of a workday simply because I want to hear her voice. But after last night, after everything we shared, the usual rules don't seem to apply.

She answers on the fourth ring, just as I'm preparing for voicemail.

"Damien?" She sounds surprised but pleased. "Hi."

"Hi." Just hearing her voice loosens something in my chest. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's—" There's a clatter in the background, followed by muffled voices. "Well, kind of. I'm at the hospital with Mrs. Reynolds. I’ve been here all day. Turns out she broke her hip, and they're prepping her for surgery."

I straighten in my chair. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything you need?"

"That's sweet of you to offer, but we've got it covered. Her daughter just arrived from Connecticut, so I was actually about to head back to the office." She pauses. "It's nice that you called. I wasn't sure..."

She doesn't finish the thought, but I understand. After our hasty goodbye this morning, she wasn't certain where we stood.

"I told you I would," I say simply.

"You did." I can hear the smile in her voice. "How's your day going? Did the Guardian Productions situation get sorted out?"

"In progress. Alfred's been particularly determined to make my life difficult today."

"Ah, the infamous Alfred. Speaking of difficult, Jane has been hounding me about final donation numbers from the fundraiser. Apparently, we're still getting contributions pouring in. We've crossed the million-dollar mark."

Pride surges through me. "That's great, Willow. You should be very proud."

" We should be proud," she corrects. "We make a good team."

The words settle warmly in my chest. "Yes, we do."

There's another commotion on her end, and I hear someone calling her name.

"Sorry, I need to go," she says quickly. "The nurse needs me to sign some paperwork before I leave."

"Of course." I hesitate, not wanting to end the call but recognizing the timing is poor for both of us. "Let's have lunch this week."

"I'd love that. Wednesday?"

I check my calendar and groan. "I've got a client meeting that will run through lunch. Thursday?"

"Thursday I'm delivering meals in Queens all day." She sighs. "What about Friday?"

"Damn it. Board meeting. All day." I frown, unused to having this much difficulty arranging a simple lunch date. "Let me see if I can move something."

"Don't worry about it," she says quickly. "We're both busy. It happens."

But I can hear the disappointment beneath her light tone, and it mirrors my own frustration. Before Willow, my schedule was sacred, immutable. Now I find myself resenting the very structure I've always relied on.

"We'll make it work this weekend," I say firmly. "I'll clear my calendar. We can spend the whole day together on Saturday. Whatever you want to do."

"This weekend?" There's a pause. "But remember, I'm heading to the Catskills this weekend to visit my family."

Shit. I'd completely forgotten.

"It's just for two nights," she continues, clearly expecting me to withdraw the offer. "I promised I'd go up for my niece's birthday. But we could do something when I get back on Sunday evening, maybe dinner?"

An idea forms, crystallizing with surprising clarity. I think of what she told me last night—six siblings, financial struggles, parents who tried their best but couldn't always provide. I think of her describing herself as "the clown," the one who diverted attention to protect her younger sister.

I think of Wyatt's joke last week at Ambrosia, about me joining her on a family visit. When he’d said it then, I’d recoiled at the idea of being paraded in front of Willow’s parents and siblings—which had been the whole point of my friend’s suggestion. But now I’m actually considering it.

No, not considering. Deciding.

"Why don't I come with you?" I suggest, the words emerging with more confidence than I feel. This is uncharted territory for me—I've never met a woman's family before. Never wanted to, truth be told. But I want to know this part of Willow's life, to understand the people who shaped her.

The silence that follows is so profound I briefly wonder if the call dropped. “Willow?”

"You… you really want to come to the Catskills with me?" she finally asks, her voice pitched higher than usual. "To meet my family?"

"Unless you'd rather I didn't," I say, suddenly aware this might be moving too fast.

"No! I mean, yes, I'd love for you to come." Her excitement is palpable. "I just didn't think... I mean, it's not exactly The Plaza Hotel. My parents' place is pretty rustic."

"I've stayed in rustic accommodations before." This is technically true, though my definition of "rustic" might differ significantly from hers. "Don't worry about me. I’d love to come if you want me to."

"Wow. Okay." She laughs, the sound equal parts delighted and incredulous. "So... we're doing this? You're coming to meet my family?"

"I am." The decision feels right, even as I acknowledge the complexity it adds to our relationship. "Text me the details and I'll drive us up."

"Are you sure? It's about a three-hour drive, and?—"

"I'm sure, Willow."

"Okay." Her voice softens. "I'm really glad, Damien. They'll love you."

Will they? I wonder. Will they see a corporate CEO, a man whose world couldn't be more different from theirs? Or will they see what Willow somehow sees in me?

"I should get back to Mrs. Reynolds," she says. "But thank you for calling. And for... well, for wanting to meet my family. It means a lot. "

"I'll see you Saturday morning, then."

"Saturday morning," she confirms, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "I can't wait."

After we hang up, I sit for a moment, processing what I've just committed to. A weekend in the Catskills, meeting Willow's sprawling family. It's a significant step, one I've never taken with anyone before.

But as I turn back to my computer, preparing to open Alfred’s forwarded memo, I realize I'm looking forward to getting away.

Not just to spending time with Willow, but to seeing this other part of her life.

To understanding more about the woman who's managed to work her way past every defense I've built.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. It's Willow, already sending the weekend details. I can't help but smile at her efficiency, so at odds with her usual chaos. At the end of her message is a single heart emoji.

I stare at it for a moment, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spread through me. Then, after a brief hesitation, I send one back before setting my phone aside and refocusing on the work demands awaiting me.

The weekend can't come soon enough.