Page 68 of Just The Way You Aren't

The question sobers me a bit. "I used to laugh more. Before all this." I gesture vaguely, encompassing my life. "Before my father died."

Her teasing expression softens. "That must've been really hard for you, and the rest of your family. What was he like?"

"Brilliant. Demanding. Never satisfied unless something was perfect." I pause, thinking. "But fair, too. He didn't exactlygive me a choice about joining the family business, but he made sure I was prepared for it. Sent me to the best schools, introduced me to the right people."

"So you always knew you'd be CEO of Langley Enterprises?"

"It was more like... understood. The expectation was there from the day I was born, I think." I lean back against the couch. "Langleys run Langley Enterprises. That's just how it works."

"That's a lot of pressure, especially for a kid."

"I was groomed for it. Prep school, Ivy League, internships every summer at the company." I shrug. "It's not like I'm complaining. I was privileged beyond belief. I just... sometimes wonder what would have happened if I'd wanted to be, I don't know, a marine biologist or something."

"A marine biologist?" She laughs. "Really?"

"I liked the ocean documentaries," I admit sheepishly.

"I bet you would have been the world's most organized marine biologist. Color-coded coral samples, a strict minute-by-minute schedule for every dive..."

"Hey, organization is key in any field," I protest, but I'm grinning.

"Speaking of organization," she says, getting up to clear our plates, "did you notice my silverware drawer? It's held together with a rubber band and hope."

I follow her into the kitchen, watching the sway of her hips as she moves. God, I want her again. Right now. On this counter, against that wall, wherever she'll let me have her.

"Your whole apartment is held together with rubber bands and hope."

She laughs. "And duct tape. Don't forget the duct tape. But it's home." She turns to face me, leaning against the counter. "A far cry from your childhood home full of servants and crystal chandeliers, right?"

The morning light catches her hair, making it glow like fire. I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching out and touching it.

"Not to mention a cook, a housekeeper, a butler, a driver... Too many people to count," I admit. She's quiet for a moment, and I notice she's avoiding eye contact now. "What about you, Willow? Where'd you grow up?"

"Here and there," she says, turning back to the sink. "I moved around a lot when I was a kid."

"Just you?"

Something haunted flickers across her expression, there and gone before I can decipher it. "My family… struggled a lot. There were six of us kids."

"Six?" I repeat, genuinely shocked. "Seriously?"

"Summer, Maya, Hannah, Harper, and Cole," she lists off, sounding wistful somehow.

I do a double-take. "Wait—Harper Harper?"

She finally turns, giving me a guarded smile. "I guess my parents weren't feeling particularly creative by the time the fifth of us arrived. Cole and I are the middle children, so at least we got normal names."

"Jesus. Six kids," I repeat, trying to imagine it. "That must have been..."

"Chaotic," she finishes. "Really chaotic. You couldn't get a word in edgewise at dinner. If you could even get to the table in time to get food, that is."

Is that why she's so generous with others? Because she knows what it's like to go without? The thought makes my chest tight.

There's something in her voice that makes me study her more carefully. "Sounds intense."

"Intense is a good word for it." She turns back to the sink, busying herself with unnecessary tasks. "But you learn to adapt. To make do with what you have."

I notice she's avoiding eye contact again. "Willow..."

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