Page 47 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

DAMIEN

T he following week, after taking Willow out for an elegant dinner in the city, I make a detour from the usual route to my townhouse and instead pull up in front of The Retreat.

She glances at me from the passenger seat, looking stunning in a black cocktail dress and the diamonds-and-pearls necklace I never tire of seeing on her.

“What’s this?” Through the windows of my Mercedes, the impressive old building with its limestone facade is lit up against the evening sky, its classic architecture hinting at the wealth and power concentrated within. “Is this where you used to disappear to on poker nights with your friends?”

I merely smile in confirmation. “I need to make a quick stop to settle a debt.”

“A debt?” She frowns, giving me a curious tilt of her head. “Does this have anything to do with a certain wager Wyatt teased you about the night of the Silver Hearts fundraiser?”

“Smart girl,” I reply, chuckling under my breath. “I’ll have to remember there’s no getting anything past you.”

She arches a delicate brow. “You better not even try. ”

Leaning across the car’s interior, I wrap my hand around her nape and pull her toward me for a kiss. “Never.”

I could have gone on kissing her, but the uniformed doorman steps forward and I draw back. “Shall we go inside?”

“If you think it’s okay for me to be here,” she jokes. “Poker night at The Retreat sounds like a sacred thing. You sure girls are allowed in there?”

“You’re not just any girl. You’re my girl.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I like the sound of that.”

We get out of the car and I hand my key fob to the doorman for the valet. He takes it with a polite nod. "Mr. Langley. Good evening."

"Bernie, this is Willow Harper."

If he's surprised to see me with a woman, he hides it well. "A pleasure, Ms. Harper. The gentlemen are already assembled in the card room."

We step into the hushed elegance of The Retreat, with its dark wood paneling, oriental rugs, and oil paintings of stern-faced men from another era. The lighting is deliberately low, the atmosphere one of old money and carefully guarded tradition.

"I feel like I should whisper," Willow murmurs as we pass the main lounge where a few older members read newspapers in leather wingback chairs.

"Don't worry. They're mostly deaf anyway," I whisper back, guiding her toward the private card room at the back of the club.

I pause before the closed door, my hand resting on the handle.

The weight of the cashier's check in my inner pocket feels significant in a way I hadn't anticipated. It’s not about the money. It’s about the fact that tonight I’m closing a door on my old life in favor of a new one.

I know I’ll still see the men I consider my closest friends, possibly even on the occasional poker night here at The Retreat.

But in a lot of other ways, I’m leaving them behind starting tonight.

"Having second thoughts?" Willow asks, noticing my hesitation.

"Not at all," I answer truthfully. "Just enjoying our last moment of peace before they start their insufferable gloating."

I take her hand, and we step into the lion's den together. Five heads turn as we enter, conversations halting mid-sentence.

"Well, well, well," Wyatt Reed drawls from his position by the bar. "Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

"And he brought reinforcements," adds Brad Hayes, raising his glass in Willow's direction. "Hello, Willow."

“Hi,” she says, nodding in greeting to all of my friends.

Alec Beckett, sprawled in what has always been his chair at the table, regards us with a calculating expression that doesn't quite hide his amusement. "Damien. We were starting to think you'd gone soft and retired to some tropical island like Mason."

"Not yet," I reply, guiding Willow further into the room. "Though I did spend a very enjoyable weekend in the Catskills. I highly recommend it."

I glance at Willow just in time to catch the slight blush that sweeps into her cheeks.

Finn Bardot, the youngest of our group, rises to his feet with a broad grin. "Willow, lovely to see you again. Can I get you a drink? I already know what Damien will want."

"Whiskey, please. Neat," she answers without hesitation.

"A woman after my own heart," Gabe Sinclair says appreciatively from his place at the table, where he's methodically sorting poker chips. "Damien, you might have found the only woman in Manhattan who doesn't order a vodka soda or some pink abomination."

"I'm full of surprises," Willow responds with a smile, accepting the glass Finn hands her. He’s poured the same for me, which I take from him with a nod of thanks.

I guide Willow to an empty spot at the table, pulling out a chair for her before taking my own seat. From my pocket, I withdraw a folded document and place it on the green felt surface alongside a cashier's check.

"What's this?" Alec asks, leaning forward.

"My formal withdrawal from our bet," I announce, pushing the check toward the center of the table. "One million dollars, as agreed."

A charged silence falls over the room as my friends exchange glances.

"Well, shit," Brad finally says. "He's actually doing it."

I clear my throat and glance at Willow to explain. "The night our friend Mason Steele announced his elopement with Lucy Pembroke, a woman he fell for after having just met her, we all made a wager. Last man standing—or more accurately, last man to fall in love—takes the pot. Six million dollars."

Her eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly. "And you're... withdrawing?"

"I am." I meet her gaze steadily, aware of my friends watching us with astonishment. "Because I've known almost from the day I met you that I was going to lose this bet. And do so gladly."

The flush returns to her cheeks, but she holds my gaze.

"Damn, Langley," Wyatt murmurs, chuckling. "You've got it bad, my friend. "

"Worse than bad," I agree, not looking away from Willow. "Terminal, I'd say."

Alec reaches for the check, examining it with exaggerated scrutiny. "Well, that’s one man down, five to go. That leaves more for me when I’m the last one to fall."

His boast earns a round of chortles and ball-busting from the other men at the table, myself included.

After a moment, Brad raises his glass in my direction. "To Damien, then. First official casualty of the Last Billionaire Standing."

"To Damien," the others echo, raising their drinks.

I shake my head, pivoting to the woman seated beside me. “To Willow.”

“To Willow,” they all agree in unison.

We sip our cocktails, then Willow glances between me and the other men. "A million dollar penalty for falling in love? That's quite a price to pay."

"It's just money," I reply, surprised to discover I actually mean it.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Damien Langley?" she whispers, eyes twinkling.

"I believe you're responsible for that particular transformation." I brush a strand of hair from her face, momentarily forgetting our audience.

"Christ, you two. Get a room already," Alec complains loudly.

Laughter breaks the moment, and I turn back to face my friends, keeping my arm draped casually around Willow's chair.

"How's that empire of yours doing, Beckett?” I fire back. “Still sleeping with your spreadsheets?"

Alec leans in his chair, a picture of smug confidence. "My empire is keeping me more than satisfied, thank you very much. Some of us don't need the distraction of relationship drama."

"Is that what I am?" Willow asks innocently. "A distraction?"

"The best kind," I murmur, earning an eye roll from Alec.

"My work is my best girl," he continues. "Reliable, rewarding, and doesn't ask me about my feelings."

Willow studies him thoughtfully. "You really think relationships are that bad?"

He shrugs. "I've spent years building Beckett Technologies from the ground up, into what it is today. Why would I risk that for something as unpredictable as..." He gestures vaguely between Willow and me.

"Love?" Finn supplies helpfully.

"Emotions," Alec says dismissively. "They complicate things."

"Emotions are everything. And life is better when you can share it with someone who truly cares about you," Willow counters with a smile that's both sweet and somehow challenging. "But I suspect you already know that, deep down."

Alec's eyes narrow slightly. "I know my priorities."

I grunt. "I thought I did too," I interject. "Until a beautiful woman with no respect for schedules or five-year plans bulldozed right through them. Straight into my heart."

"Don't worry about Alec," Finn tells Willow. "He'll understand once the right woman knocks him on his ass too."

"That'll be the day," he scoffs. "Well, your loss is my gain. Literally. With you and Mason out, the odds have improved for the rest of us."

"We'll see." I smirk at him from across the table. "But remember what they say about the best-laid plans. "

"I don't make plans," Alec replies confidently. "I make strategies. Much more effective."

I laugh, remembering when I shared that same certainty. "Keep telling yourself that, Beckett."

We finish our drinks and get up to leave my friends to resume their game.

As Willow says her goodbyes, accepting hugs from Finn and Wyatt, handshakes from Gabe and Brad, and a respectful nod from Alec, I can't help but reflect on how much has changed in such a short time.

Just a few weeks ago, I was sitting at this same table, confident in my invulnerability to precisely this situation.

Now I’m looking forward to a future with the woman who’s made my life infinitely better. Made me better too.

"Ready to go?" Willow asks, appearing at my side and slipping her hand into mine.

"Almost." I turn to address my friends. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure losing to you tonight. Now, I’d like to take Willow home and revel in my so-called losses."

"We'll drink to your memory," Brad promises solemnly.

Finn grins. "And when the time comes for me to claim the title of Last Billionaire Standing, I promise to spend your million wisely."

"By 'wisely' he means 'on something ridiculously fast or life-endangering that’ll make him eventually regret his life choices,'" Gabe clarifies.

"As is tradition," Wyatt agrees, raising his glass. "To Damien and Willow."

"To Damien and Willow," the others echo.

As we turn to leave, Alec calls out, "Langley."

I pause and glance back, waiting for yet another good-natured jab .

"You look..." he searches for the right word, "happy." He says it as though diagnosing a peculiar condition.

"I am," I confirm simply.

Something like curiosity flickers across his face before his usual mask of sardonic detachment returns. "Well, someone has to win this bet. Might as well be me."

"We'll see," Willow says with a mysterious smile. "You could meet the right woman when you least expect it."

"Not a chance," Alec replies confidently. "Some of us are immune."

As we walk out, I whisper into Willow’s ear, "That's exactly what I used to say."

Thank you for reading my book!