Page 40 of Just The Way You Aren't

"Damien—" Samuel starts, taking a step back.

Alfred stands his ground, that infuriating smirk stillplastered on his face. "I'd love to know how you convinced her to play along. What does someone like her get out of being used by?—"

My fist is clenched and already moving before I even realize it. I stop myself a hair's breadth from his face, knuckles white, arm trembling with the effort it takes not to follow through.

"Don't you dare," I breathe, my voice barely audible even to myself. "Don't you dare talk about her like that."

Alfred's eyes widen slightly, his smug expression faltering for the first time. He didn't expect this reaction.

Neither did I, if I'm being honest.

"You will never speak about Willow Harper again," I continue, lowering my fist but not backing away. "Not in my presence. Not in board meetings. Not in the fucking men's room. Her name doesn't cross your lips. If it does, you’re going to have more than a PR problem on your hands. Do I make myself clear?"

The silence in the office is deafening. Samuel looks like he wants to melt into the carpet.

Alfred's shock transitions quickly to calculation. "Well, well," he says softly. "This is unexpected. You actually care about this woman."

I don't answer. I don't trust myself to speak.

"Get out," I say finally, my voice deadly quiet. "Both of you."

Samuel doesn't need to be told twice, already edging toward the door. Alfred takes his time gathering his things, clearly enjoying the moment. As he reaches the door, he pauses. "Oh, and Damien? If I were you, I'd remember that mixing business with pleasure rarely ends well. Especially when the business part is hanging by a thread."

The door clicks shut behind them, and I'm left alone withthe pounding of my pulse in my ears and the realization that I've just shown my hand in the worst possible way. Alfred now knows exactly which button to push—exactly where I'm vulnerable.

And the most terrifying part? I hadn't realized just how protective I felt toward Willow until this moment.

I sink back into my chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. This morning, I convinced myself that whatever happened between Willow and me last night couldn't be repeated. That I needed to maintain professional distance. That she was a distraction I couldn't afford.

Now I'm threatening board members over her honor like some kind of deranged knight errant.

I open my laptop again, trying to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to Willow's face this morning. The disappointment in her eyes when she realized I was leaving. The hurt she tried to mask when I called Heinrich to drive her home.

I handled things poorly. Very poorly.

And now I've given Alfred Rothchild ammunition he'll be all too happy to use against me if he gets the chance. Against us both.

I pick up my phone, scrolling to Willow's contact. My thumb hovers over her name for a long moment before I set the phone down again.

What would I even say? That I'm sorry for treating her like a one-night stand this morning? That I'm worried Alfred Rothchild might use her to get to me? That despite my best intentions, I can't stop thinking about her?

No. Better to avoid any further entanglements. For her sake as much as mine.

I turn back to my laptop, forcing myself to focus on the spreadsheets and financial reports that have always made sense to me in a way people rarely do. But even as I work, I can't shake the feeling that the best thing I can do for Willow now is keep my distance.

CHAPTER 14

WILLOW

“He’s just busy, that’s all,” I tell myself as I continue to cover for Chelsea, who is out nursing her sick husband who caught her flu. I drive the new van down familiar streets, smiling at Juana and Roberto who are sitting outside, getting some sun in ancient lawn chairs that are falling apart. I hope neither of them ends up breaking.

Mr. Katz waves to me from his doorway, his oxygen hose stretched as far as it will go.

I roll down the window. “I’ll tell Mrs. Baumgartner you say ‘hi’!”

“Thank you!” he replies.

With a smile I don’t really feel, I try to focus on my rounds and not on the fact that it’s been three days and Damien still hasn’t even called. Or texted. Or emailed.

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