Page 5 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

WILLOW

“ I t’s you!” I gape at the grumpy man in the expensive suit.

Oh my god, is he delicious! I have to stare for a minute because I hadn’t gotten the chance to before.

I’d been too worried about poor little Pixie.

Now? I can hardly glance away from him. Dark hair, emerald-green eyes, sharp, square jawline.

If it weren’t for his scowl, he’d be truly handsome.

I wonder what he looks like when he smiles?

He’s standing, towering, really, which kind of figures. Mrs. Steinburg had all eleven of her grandchildren here this morning, or so Abby texted me, and Abby gave all of them Dum-Dums. Sucker sticky is all over the place. I can even clearly see fingerprints on the front window.

I can’t help but laugh. “So, this is the appointment you were late for? Turns out, I’m late, too. What a coincidence!”

He clearly doesn’t find this as funny as I do. He straightens his expensive-looking tie and holds out a hand to me. “Damien Langley, CEO of Langley Enterprises.”

“Willow Harper, Executive Director of Silver Hearts,” I reply, biting down on my lip so I don’t laugh again.

So formal! I can’t help myself; I look him up and down.

While he looks good enough to eat in his smart suit, tie, and honest-to-God cufflinks, I’m not quite sure how he’s going to get any work done today.

He blinks slowly at me as though confused, giving me the once-over as well. “You’re the executive director?”

I grin and point to the door to my small office. “Yep, that’s my name right over there on the door.”

Damien glances at the door, then at me, then back to the door. “The name plaque is mounted crooked,” he mumbles.

I laugh. “You’re so funny. I think Mrs. Steinburg’s youngest was playing with it again. I promise it’s not always cattywampus.”

He frowns. “Catty… what?”

“Wampus. You don’t know what that means?”

He clears his throat and gathers himself. “Of course I do. I just never expected it to come out of an executive director’s mouth.”

Ouch. Harsh. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Well, I never expected they’d send someone here in a suit to pass out meals.”

Damien chokes. “Come again?”

“We’re delivering meals today,” I say slowly. “Didn’t they tell you?”

He grumbles something that sounds like ‘Alfred’ under his breath, then raises that sharp, squared chin. “There must be some mistake. I’m here to plan a fundraiser event.”

He sounds put out, yet I’m the one doing him the favor. “Look. Your company was adamant that I hire you and passing out meals is part of the job. You need to meet the people we serve, anyway, if we’re going to plan this event right. So, suck it up, buttercup. We’re delivering meals today.”

“Buttercup?” He looks so offended I almost apologize, but he did just insult my language skills, so I hold back. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “I suppose we’re going to hitch a wagon behind your bicycle?”

“Of course not.” I laugh. “We’ll use the van.”

“Van?”

“You really think I deliver meals dragging a Radio Flyer behind my bike?” I grin at him. “I just use that to get around.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this,” he mutters, “but why do you ride a bicycle around when you have a van?”

I tick the points off on my fingers. “It saves gas, it’s good exercise, and I live near here so there’s really no reason for me to have a car of my own. The van belongs to Silver Hearts.”

“I see.” I can hear the silent scream in his mind from here.

“If you’re not going to be serious about the work, Mr. Langley, then I suggest you go back to your corporate tower. I’ve spent most of my adult life caring for these people. I won’t have you upsetting my applecart.”

“Perish the thought,” he grunts. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Where do I start?”

“We have to load meals into the van. Then we can take them to the different homes we need to visit.”

“We’re just doing deliveries?” he asks cautiously.

I nod. “That’s what’s on the agenda right now.”

“And after?”

“After, we see what else needs to be done. We play it by ear.”

I swear his eye twitches. “You… don’t have a set daily schedule?”

“I wouldn’t get done what needs to get done if I did.” I want to frown at him, but it’s just not something I usually do. I can’t make my muscles pull in that direction.

He doesn’t have the same trouble. In fact, he nearly scowls. “No schedule at all?” he repeats.

“Yes, you heard me correctly. I mean, I know what needs to be done, but I work with people. Everything takes the time it’s going to take. You’ll see,” I reassure him.

Damien does not look reassured at all. In fact, I think he might be ill. “I’ll… see then,” he manages with a grimace.

I give him my sunniest smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll love the people. Come on, let’s go load the van.” I take him through to the back of the office where our refrigerators are lined up.

He sighs when I open the first one and he sees the boxed meals carefully packed by volunteers stacked inside. “I guess I’ll get right to it, then.” He takes off his jacket, revealing a shirt starched within an inch of its life that still can’t hide the amazing muscles he has.

“Do you work out?” I blurt without thinking.

Damien looks at me over the stack of boxes he’s about to carry to the van. “Yes. Every day, six a.m. sharp. It’s on my schedule.”

Schedule. Ugh.

A brief memory of an old lady shaking a wooden spoon at me while I’m in bed just as the sun is coming up flits across my mind. I roughly push it away and simply add more wattage to my smile. “I see.”

He nods and starts out the open back door to where our older model van with the Silver Hearts logo peeling off the side is parked.

The last repair to the transmission nearly killed us, so I’m not even bothering with the paint job.

A new van was one of our pie-in-the-sky needs.

We just can’t afford a new vehicle right now. Maybe the fundraiser will help ?

Three of our five fridges are hiccupping as well. Crossed fingers and a very understanding technician are the only things keeping them running.

But those are problems for another day. Today, meals.

Well, for now it’s meals. Maybe a tenants’ meeting later, or we could actually start planning the fundraiser.

But only if Mr. Powers’ tenants don’t need reassuring.

The evil bastard sent another notice, which caused Mr. Khan to need his pacemaker recalibrated.

Assholes who throw people out of their homes should all have to live in a cardboard box for a month.

I’m so stuck in my thoughts that I don’t realize Damien is going for the back door handle of the van. “Wait!” I cry.

But it’s too late. He wrenches the door open and it falls right off its hinges, landing on the ground. Luckily, he didn’t drop any meals.

“What the hell?” He gapes at the fallen door in horror.

“Sorry,” I say, running over. “It’s a bit touchy…”

“Touchy? It fell right off!” he snaps. “Someone could break their foot, and then you’d have a lawsuit.”

I wince. “Yeah, I know, I know. But all the volunteers know about it and we’re really careful.”

He scans the van with a critical eye, from the fallen door to the peeling logo, to the rust, to the duct-taped muffler. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. He steps into the van with the meals and starts stacking them up on shelves, still shaking his head. “You need a new van.”

“The refrigeration in it still works,” I tell him. “It’s impossible to get a van in our price range with the refrigeration still?—”

“How much?” he asks.

I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“How much would it cost to get you a new one? ”

“Well, I mean… after the fundraiser…” I rub the back of my neck. “I mean…”

“This can’t wait until after the fundraiser. It’s a liability and a hazard. I’ll have someone get you a new van,” he says.

My jaw drops. “J-Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he replies. He goes back into the back room and picks up more meals.

I take a moment to recover. “Okay, converting this one cost about fifteen-thousand dollars.”

Damien raises an eyebrow at me. “‘Converting’?”

“It’s cheaper than buying one that’s already set up for refrigeration,” I explain.

“You’re getting a new one. No arguments.” He steps up on the bumper and wobbles when it bends a bit.

“But they can run up to sixty-thousand dollars for one this size!” I protest.

He snorts. “More than worth it. You’ll have it tomorrow. Now? I guess we’re stuck with this old piece of trash.”

My spine stiffens and I cross my arms over my chest. “Bessie has been a real trooper for almost ten years now.”

Damien stops midway through shelving and stares at me. “‘Bessie’?”

“Yes. Don’t insult her. She might stall on the road if you’re not nice to her,” I say in all seriousness.

His expression is incredulous. “You’re not kidding.”

I shrug. “Peter called her old once and one of her axles broke.”

“She is old! This model Ford is at least twenty years old,” he says.

With a groan, I pat Bessie’s side.

The other back door falls off its hinges .

“Well, at least we can get those back on before we leave.” I sigh.

His eye tics. I’m sure of it this time. “How long is that going to take?”

“Depends on how fast we can do it between the two of us,” I respond.

Damien thumps his forehead against the inside wall of the van. “I’ll need to send a few texts while we’re on our way.”

I nod. “That’s fine.” I help him finish loading the van, then, together, we get the doors back on.

When we’re finally underway, it’s ten a.m. Damien texts furiously—and I’m pretty sure he’s actually furious—while I drive to our stops. He shows little interest in bringing the meals to our clients and stays on his phone. It frustrates me and I start to lose some of my cheerfulness.

“Mr. Langley.” I finally interrupt his texting. “Don’t you think you should at least meet one client before you go home?”

“I’ll have to work late tonight,” he grumbles. “There’s no way around it. I’m going to be working until at least midnight.” His tone drops and he mumbles something along the lines of ‘damn you, Alfred.’ “This is taking all day!”

“Like I told you, Mr. Langley, it takes as long as it takes.” I sigh.

“Look. Just one house. This is a wonderful woman named Mrs. Baumgartner. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.

” Mrs. Baumgartner was a good choice because she likes to meet everyone.

Not even Mr. Grumpy-Pants would be able to sway her from being the ideal hostess.

He heaves a huge sigh. “I suppose.”

As we stop in front of Mrs. Baumgartner’s house, Damien finally puts his phone back in the pocket of his expensive suit pants. “Let’s go,” he says testily .

I give him my most shining smile ever and go back to carefully open one of the van doors and take out two meals for Mrs. Baumgartner. “Here.” I place it in his hands. “This’ll help break the ice.”

Damien mutters something about ‘Alfred’ again, then pastes on a smile that’s more of a grimace before knocking on Mrs. Baumgartner’s door.

There’s some shuffling inside, then she opens the door, her oxygen tubing stretched almost to its limit. “Willow! How lovely to see you. Please, come in.” She looks Damien up and down, not missing his muscular figure and gives a low whistle. “Who is this handsome fellow?”

“Mrs. Baumgartner, this is Damien Langley,” I introduce them.

She gives him a wide grin. “Damien, if I were forty years younger…”

He coughs and holds out the meals.

Mrs. Baumgartner inclines her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Just put them in the fridge, love.”

“O-kay,” he says, not sounding happy about it. He stomps off to the kitchen.

She takes my arm and I help her back to the sofa. “You two make such a lovely couple,” she sighs wistfully. “Just like my Irving and me.”