Page 76 of Just The Way You Aren't

I lean back in my chair, content to watch her enjoy it. This is what I've been missing, I realize—this simple pleasure of watching someone else's happiness.

"The big night will be here in no time," she says, setting down her fork. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply. "What about you?"

"Nervous," she admits. "What if nobody shows up? What if the auction items don't sell? What if?—"

I reach across the table and take her hand. "It's going to be perfect. Trust me."

She squeezes my fingers. "I do trust you. That's the surprising part."

The intensity of her gaze makes something shift in my chest.

Trust. She trusts me. The word echoes in my mind, carrying more weight than it should. When was the last timesomeone trusted me for anything beyond making money or closing deals?

"Good," I say, my throat suddenly tight. I clear it, reaching for my water glass to buy time. "Speaking of the fundraiser, I’m sorry you didn’t have any luck at Bella’s. Do you know what you’ll be doing for a dress?"

"Oh, I'll figure something out," she says, waving dismissively. "Maybe I'll check out one of those department stores. Or there's this vintage boutique in my neighborhood?—"

"Absolutely not." The words come out more forcefully than I intend. I soften my tone. "You're not showing up to a black-tie gala at The Plaza in a vintage dress from a thrift shop."

She raises an eyebrow. "There's nothing wrong with vintage."

"Not for everyday wear, no. But this is different." I signal for the check. "Come on. I know just the place. It’ll be my treat"

"Damien, really, I can handle?—"

"I know you can." I stand and offer her my hand. "But you singlehandedly saved the Guardian account today. Buying you something nice to wear to your fundraiser is the least I can do."

She takes my hand with a small sigh. "You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Have you ever known me to back down from something I want?"

“Fair enough,” she says, grinning at me.

Twenty minutes later, we're standing outside Maison Delacroix, a boutique so exclusive it doesn't even have a sign—just a discreet brass plaque beside an unmarked door.

"This looks..." Willow pauses, searching for the right word. "Intimidating."

"It's just a dress shop," I assure her, though I understand her hesitation. The pristine black facade with its single, artfully lit window displaying a lone gown would intimidate anyone not accustomed to this level of luxury.

I press the doorbell, and moments later, we're buzzed in. The interior is all white marble and soft lighting, with only a handful of dresses on display, each one a work of art.

"Monsieur Langley!" An impeccably dressed woman glides toward us. "What a pleasure to see you. And Mademoiselle?—"

"Willow Harper," Willow supplies before I have a chance to introduce her. She offers her hand with that natural warmth that makes everyone fall instantly in love with her. "It's lovely to meet you."

"Francine Moreau," the woman replies, clearly charmed. "The pleasure is mine. How may we assist you today?"

"Miss Harper needs a gown for an event at The Plaza this Saturday. She’s the director of Silver Hearts, and we’re hosting a fundraiser for the organization."

Francine's eyes light up. "Ah, yes! I've been reading about this event in the society pages. Such wonderful work you're doing with the elderly, Miss Harper."

Willow blushes modestly. "Thank you. Though I have to admit, I'm a bit out of my element here. Your boutique is gorgeous."

"You're very kind." Francine studies Willow with a professional eye. "I have several pieces that would be perfect for you. Shall we start with champagne? Or perhaps emerald to complement those lovely eyes?"

As Francine leads Willow to the dressing area, I settle onto one of the plush velvet sofas, feeling like a linebacker who's accidentally wandered into a dollhouse. Everything here is delicate, feminine, pristine white. I spread my arms across thesofa back, trying to take up less space but somehow managing to take up more.

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