Page 53 of Just The Way You Aren't

Until Willow Harper walked through them as if they weren't even there.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. I'd expected pity or awkwardness from her—the usual reactions I've seen from the few people who've witnessed my mother's confusion. Instead, Willow had shown a grace and understanding that still leaves me stunned. The way she'd followed my mother's meandering conversation, redirected her gently when needed,and most importantly, treated her with compassion and warmth.

No one else has ever done that. Most people don't know how.

The truth I'm reluctant to admit, even to myself, is that Willow saw me at my most vulnerable yesterday. She saw the reality of my family, my fears, my failures—and she didn't flinch. She didn't run. She stayed, steady and strong, offering quiet support without making me feel weak for needing it.

I've never let anyone that close, not even my sister, Cynthia. Not since my father died. Possibly not even before that.

What unsettles me is how much I want to let Willow closer still.

I turn toward the window, watching the city sprawl beneath the clouds. Willow is becoming something I never anticipated: essential. Not just for the physical connection we share, as undeniable as that is. But for the way she makes me feel less... alone.

My tablet chimes with an incoming message, pulling me reluctantly back to reality. I have a pending acquisition to handle, meetings scheduled back-to-back, and a board that's watching my every move. The last thing I should be doing is thinking about Willow Harper's gentle smile or the way her hand felt in mine.

Yet here I am.

Twenty distracted minutes later, I'm looking over plans for a large, orchestral sound studio for Guardian Productions when Alfred Rothchild walks into my office. I thought I'd sufficiently scared the shit out of him to keep him away, but apparently not. I begin to doubt his sanity, actually. I'd basically threatened to physically assault him.

"Alfred," I grunt, locking my tablet. "To what do I owe this non-pleasure?"

He grins widely. This is a very bad sign. "I was just talking with Steven Walt at Guardian Productions?—"

I see red at the mere mention of him conferring with my client. "You what?"

"Evidently, he’s seen that tabloid photo of you with your tongue shoved down Willow Harper's throat," Alfred crows.

“That’s an exaggeration, and you know it.” My red rage turns into black fury. "And I thought I told you to keep Willow’s name out of your mouth."

"Either way, Steven was less than approving of your on-camera PDA with the Executive Director of Silver Hearts."

"What I do with Willow is no one’s business but mine and hers," I snap.

Alfred chortles. "You and a few million other gossip rag readers. Hell, that picture made legitimate news sources." He barks out a laugh. "You can't win for losing, Damien. But then, I knew you’d fail. You’d better prepare yourself, son. You're going to be removed as the CEO of Langley Enterprises—and I'm going to bring the champagne."

I come around the desk and loom over the greasy little shit. Apparently, he doesn’t know he's three seconds away from getting belted in his sneering, offensive mouth. My voice comes out in a lethal hiss. "I will succeed, Alfred. My father built this company from the ground up. Not you. Not the board you’re so desperate to pit against me. I’ll be left standing here long after all of you are gone and forgotten."

Alfred sniffs, indignant. "Your father was a great CEO. You're just a big disappointment."

My fingers itch to grab him by the shirtfront and shake him until his combover runs away. But I resist. Barely.Assaulting him the way I want to would just be another nail in the coffin he's been preparing for me for months. "I don’t give a fuck what you think, Alfred. As for the rest of the board, I don’t see anyone willing to come all the way over to your side."

"For now," he says. He swaggers away from me, walking around my office like he already owns the place. "I do like the view from here. It gives one a whole new perspective on the world, doesn’t it?"

I know I should ignore his lame attempt to goad me further, but damn the man is annoying. "Try to ease up on the Brylcreem next time you come to my office. The oily sheen creates quite a blinding glare on the window glass.”

Alfred scowls at me but does run a hand over his combover. "Brylcreem is wax, not oil." He folds his arms over his chest. "Nice hair and a good-looking face aren't going to keep you in this office, Damien."

I smirk. "A backstabbing nature and underhanded dealings aren't going to get you in it, Alfred."

"We'll see." He smirks as my tablet and phone begin to ring at the same time. "I'll bet that's Steven Walt now. I'm sure you have things to discuss. I'll leave you to it." His smile turns sharklike. "Good luck."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," I call after him. I sit down behind my desk and am about to answer Steven's video call, when I suddenly just stop. Full on stop. I stare at the insistent notification and just… ignore it. When it times out, I ignore his second attempt as well.

Have I lost my mind?

All I can think of right now—even after Alfred's warning, even after Steven's calls, even with all the headache of Guardian Productions weighing me down—is Willow. I needto hear her voice. Maybe because of all of those things, I need a dose of her unique brand of sunshine and optimism. She has a way of making everything better. Including me.

I try not to examine that thought too closely as I take out my phone. "Call Willow," I tell the device.

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