Page 6 of Just The Way You Aren’t (Last Billionaire Standing #1)

DAMIEN

“ W hat?” I say, hearing Mrs. Baumgartner’s comment as I’m coming out of the kitchen after her refrigerator tried to eat my hand. “No. Oh, God no, we’re not... No. ”

The old woman with hair so silver it’s almost lilac frowns at the two of us. Willow is also looking shocked, her jaw slack. “You’re not together?”

“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “Absolutely not, ma’am.”

“Hmph.” She looks us over then shrugs, upsetting the cannula under her nose. “Well, you will be. Oh, and do please call me Doris, young man.”

“Doris,” I repeat gruffly, and she giggles while Willow arranges her cannula back where it’s supposed to be. Honestly, it’s the woman’s lifeline and she lets it fall so casually? Without a hint of panic? Odd.

Doris shuffles back to the plastic-covered sofa and sits down with a groan. “If I’d known I was having company, I would have uncovered the furniture,” she says apologetically .

“Don’t worry about it. We won’t be here long,” I reply, glaring at Willow.

We’ve been at it all day, sending my entire schedule into chaos.

In fact, I’d spent the entire time texting Rhonda in the van, telling her to clear this and that meeting off my schedule as the day had progressed.

That and making arrangements for a new van.

It was exhausting trying to manage my schedule and help Willow at the same time.

And now some blue-haired old biddy thinks we’re together? As in, a couple?

What complete and utter nonsense. Willow looks as though she’s just escaped from a hippy commune, while I am, admittedly, overdressed for the occasion. But I’d been assured I was just going to help plan a fundraiser.

Now I was in the stale-smelling home of… all right, a perfectly lovely old lady, but even she is getting in the way of my meetings. Surely, being inside with her this time, I could rush Willow along?

A cell phone suddenly plays, “Moon River.” I didn’t know people still used ringtones.

“Oh! It’s Irving,” Doris says excitedly. She frowns and hunts around the couch plastic for her phone. “Dear me, what have I done with it this time?”

“I found it!” Willow and I say together, looking at a nearby TV tray. We reach for it at the same time and our hands brush.

Electricity shoots right up my arm, and when I glance at her, I can tell Willow felt it, too. We both drop the phone like it’s on fire.

“Hello?” a voice calls from the screen.

I look down and see a massive amount of nasal hair.

“Mr. Katz,” Willow says, picking up the phone and hurrying over to Doris. “Sorry, she’s right here.”

“Irving, darling,” Doris gushes like a young schoolgirl .

“Doris, my love,” Irving replies.

Willow sighs happily and moves to the side, her hands clutched to her chest as she listens to their interaction.

“Irving.” Doris laughs. “You’ve got the phone too close to your face again. We’re on the FaceTime.”

“Oh. Right.”

I imagine the nose hair has disappeared and a little old man has appeared on the screen, but I can’t see from where I’m standing.

“You two are so adorable,” Willow breathes.

Doris beams at her. “Did you hear that, Irving? Willow thinks we’re adorable.”

“Of course she does. And she’s right, my scrumptious angel food cake,” Irving says.

What fresh timewasting hell have I been caught up in now? Are we really going to stand here for their entire phone call?

“I think we should go,” I grunt to Willow. “This sounds like a private conversation.”

“Not at all.” Doris waves a hand. “Irving and I were just going to watch the Game Show Network. Do you like Family Feud?”

“Family what now?” I ask.

Willow rolls her eyes. “Doris, I’m not sure he knows what TV is. He’s a very busy, important businessman.”

“Oh. Oh! Then you’ll know how to fix my stove!” Doris says excitedly.

How did we go from ‘businessman’ to ‘handyman’? “I think you might be a little confused,” I begin, trying, and failing, to not sound like I’m speaking to someone who has lost a few marbles.

“Mr. Langley,” Willow hisses, coming up beside me so she can whisper in my ear. “She’s not senile, and even if she were, you shouldn’t talk to grown adults that way.”

“Okay, fine.” Doris is looking at me expectantly and I sigh. “I’ll go check the stove.”

“You’re such a dear. Isn’t he a dear, Irving?” Doris says.

“Not if he’s my new competition,” Irving replies sullenly.

Admittedly, there is something touching about them, but these people are really wasting my time now. I stalk into the kitchen and eye the stove balefully, daring it to malfunction on me.

The electric stove is not impressed and gives me the appliance version of the finger when I try to turn it on.

The burner coils don’t heat up one bit. With a growl of frustration, I look behind the stove to ensure it’s plugged in, finding more dust in the process. This woman really needs a housekeeper.

“Well?” Willow asks, coming up behind me.

I jump in surprise and hit my head on the exhaust fan. “Ouch!”

“Sorry.” She winces on my behalf. “I don’t suppose you know what’s wrong?”

I’m about to tell her I have no damn clue but would be happy to call a repairman if it got us out of here any sooner, then I notice the microwave clock is also blank. I open the door, and the light doesn’t go on.

“What?” Willow asks when I give a small, knowing smile.

“This one, I can fix.” I poke my head out of the kitchen to see Doris making kissy faces at Irving. “Doris? Could you tell me where your fuse box is?”

“It’s in the furnace room!” she calls back.

I open a few doors, coming upon closets and a bathroom, then finally find what I’m looking for. I pop the panel and nod to myself .

“What is it?” Willow asks.

“She’s blown a fuse.” I see on a nearby shelf there is a dusty pair of pliers and an ancient box of fuses. Once upon a time, there had been someone in this home doing upkeep. I take the pliers and remove the blown fuse, then replace it with a new one from the box.

After that, I go back to the kitchen and, lo and behold, the stove starts to heat up and the microwave clock blinks twelve o’clock, waiting to be properly set.

Doris shuffles over and claps in delight. “How wonderful! Thank you, Damien.”

“What? What’s happened?” Irving asks from the phone that she left back in the living room.

“Damien has fixed my stove! Now I won’t need to call that odious Mr. Powers,” Doris yells toward the sofa.

“As if he’d actually come,” Irving snorts.

We all walk back into the living room. “Well,” I say, edging my way toward the door. “It’s been lovely to meet you, but Willow and I really must leave.”

“So soon?” Doris asks sadly.

“Don’t worry about him, my lovely, I’m still here,” Irving says.

Doris’s smile returns. “Shall we watch Family Feud?”

“Yes, dearest. Let’s,” he responds.

Willow frowns at me, but walks out when I pointedly hold the door open for her. “I would have liked to stay longer.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re kind of a killjoy, you know that?”

“Yes,” I reply tersely. “And this killjoy needs to get some work done today, so if you don’t mind, can we get on with it?”

“Mrs. Baumgartner was our last stop.” She smiles at me. “It wasn’t too difficult, was it? Plus, you got to be the hero of the day.”

Reluctantly, I have to admit I was rather proud of myself. “Yeah, well, before the wiring was redone in our family estate, we’d blow fuses quite often. It got to the point where Mother, Father, and I all knew how to change one. The Langley estate is quite old, you see.”

“Ah.” She didn’t comment, but there was something disapproving in her tone. “All right. You wanted to start planning the fundraiser. Let’s go back to my office and start planning.”

“Finally.” I sigh. I get in the van. She hops in behind the wheel.

Willow turns the key, but nothing happens.

“What?” I ask when she glares at me.

“I told you not to insult Bessie.” She gets out and opens the hood.

“What is it?” I ask again when she groans.

“I think it’s her alternator, or maybe the poor girl needs new spark plugs,” she says.

Jesus Christ. Will this day never end? I stifle a growl and pull out my phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asks.

“A taxi. And a junkyard,” I respond angrily. “This is unbelievable.”

Willow gets back into the van. She pulls my phone away. “Let’s just talk here, then. I’ll call Abby and she’ll send someone. And Carl has always been good about coming to get Bessie and fixing her up. Just settle down.”

Settle down? I squeeze my eyes shut and count backward from ten. Then twenty. Then thirty. “Fine.”

She smiles and calls Abby to make arrangements. Then she turns to me. “So, about the fundraiser… ”

Left with little choice now, I listen to her enthusiastic ideas, nodding along.

Most of them are surprisingly good. The woman might not be able to keep to a schedule to save her soul, but she’s certainly creative and able to think outside the box.

“We’re going to have a silent auction for crafts our clients have made,” she says excitedly.

“And a raffle for, well, I haven’t quite figured out what for, but I’m getting there. The only problem is the caterer.”

Her phone dings and she picks it up, her smile fading as she reads a text. “Okay, the caterer and the venue.”

“What’s wrong now?” I ask, leaning in to see her phone.

“They both want a deposit. And, I mean, we can afford it, but then we won’t be able to afford to serve our clients. The senior center needs new chairs. Bessie needs gas. We have to be able to buy food for meals.” She counts the different problems on her fingers.

I frown at the angry language the venue used in their text. It doesn’t seem to be the proper way to respond to potential business prospects, especially a charity. “I see.” I smell strawberry again and realize we’re so close our foreheads are nearly touching.

All I want to do is continue breathing her in, especially when those big, beautiful hazel eyes meet my gaze.

She’s not my type, I remind myself sternly.

We spring apart at the same time, both of us looking everywhere but at each other.

“So, yeah.” She puts her phone away.

“I’ll put down the money for the venue and the caterer,” I say, deciding the easiest way to deal with the problems is to simply solve them and move on with my life. Even—and especially—the problem of my attraction to her.

To my surprise, she shakes her head. “No. ”

“What do you mean, no?” I ask, feeling my forehead furrow in confusion.

“You’re not going to come here and ‘fix things,’ then leave us hanging afterward,” she says firmly.

She might as well have slapped me. “I would never do that.”

“Uh-huh.”

I’m about to argue my case, or at the very least defend my character, but she’s already moved on.

“I’ll let you get the van. But that’s all.” She even seems bothered by that small concession. “If you want to save the world in a day, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

I purse my lips. “So, I can buy the van, but not help you with your deposits?”

“That’s right,” she replies proudly.

Pride. Ah, that’s it. “You know, you’re going to have to learn how to accept help if you’re having a fundraiser. People will be donating.”

“I know that.” She folds her arms over her chest and looks out the window.

Something is bothering her, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is. “Okay,” I say. “I don’t like the tone of that venue’s communication. I’ll tell you what. You won’t let me donate money, but I have connections at a local hotel and I think they can help us out.”

She perks up. “That’s great. See? Now you’re thinking like a real organizer.”

I bite back the comment that a real organizer would be delighted to accept my money. I give her a tight smile instead.

A rusty old tow truck coughs its way down the street and her smile widens. “That’s Carl. We’re saved! ”

Carl’s rig looks even less reliable than Bessie. But I don’t comment on that, either.

He does get me back to my Mercedes, which, mercifully, still has all four tires. The whole way there, however, and after I say goodbye and start home, my mind is occupied by one thing and one thing only.

Willow Harper.