Page 78 of Just The Way You Aren't

"I think I’m actually getting the hang of walking in these things," Willow says, completely unaware that she's slowly killing me.

She charms Francine and the floor assistant, making them laugh over little things, and asking about their families. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here like a smitten fool, trying not to think about the night when I'll see her in this dress again. When I'llbe able to touch her, dance with her, hopefully peel every beautiful piece off of her...

"Damien?" Willow's voice pulls me from my increasingly inappropriate thoughts. "Are you okay? You look a little flushed."

"Fine," I lie, standing carefully with the pillow still strategically placed. "Just... warm in here."

Francine looks concerned. "Shall I adjust the temperature?"

"No, no." I move toward the register, using the pillow to gesture casually before setting it down. "Let's just finish up."

As Francine rings up our purchases, Willow stands beside me biting her lip at the small fortune I’ve just spent on her dress and shoes. I don’t care about the money. It’s nothing, considering the size of my bank account. I’d gladly spend everything I have in order to see her smiling the way she was this afternoon.

Of course, that's when reality hits me like a bucket of ice water. After the fundraiser ends, our arrangement ends. This—watching her spin in beautiful dresses, seeing her smile at me like I've given her the moon—all of this ends.

Fuck. How can I possibly go back to my regular life again? The one that doesn’t include her?

"Damien?" Willow touches my arm. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"About what?"

She motions to the bag now grasped in her hand. “About this. The dress, the shoes… It’s too much.”

“No, it isn’t.” I touch her cheek. “And it’s not too much. Not for you.”

Her eyes warm with relief and something else. Something deeper, something that makes me want to pull her into myarms right here in the middle of the boutique and kiss her senseless. "Thank you,” she says softly. “For this. For everything."

"My pleasure." The words feel inadequate. What I really want to say is: Don't leave. Stay with me. Let me buy you beautiful dresses every day just to see you smile.

But I don't. Instead, I take the large bag from her while Willow gushes to Francine one more time about how perfect everything is and how much she appreciated her help.

As we leave Maison Delacroix, Willow practically bouncing with excitement beside me, I push down the growing dread in my chest. The fundraiser this weekend should be a triumph—the culmination of weeks of planning, a potential victory over Alfred and the board.

Instead, all I can think about is how empty my life is going to feel when Willow’s no longer in it.

CHAPTER 24

WILLOW

Saturday I wake up to my phone buzzing like an angry hornet at 6 AM, which is never a good sign. When I see Abby's name on the screen, my stomach drops.

"What's wrong?" I extricate myself from the four animals piled onto the bed with me, carefully moving to the edge of the bed so as not to disturb the minions.

"Don't panic," Abby says, which is exactly what you say when someone should definitely panic. "But Mrs. Hollingsworth is having an issue with her table placement for tonight."

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "What kind of issue?"

"She says if she has to sit next to Harold Pemberton, she's pulling her donation."

"But they're both Platinum sponsors! They have to sit at the main table." I stare at the ceiling, trying to remember why Mrs. Hollingsworth hates Harold Pemberton. Something about a yacht club incident in 1987? "Can't we just?—"

"Already tried everything. She's adamant, Willow. And her donation is fifty thousand dollars."

Like I need the reminder. I bolt upright. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

As I rush through my shower, I can't help but think about how Damien would handle this. Probably with a spreadsheet and perfect logic. Unlike me, currently shampooing with conditioner in my panic.Shit!

The week has been a blur of final preparations, with Damien stopping by the office now and then to help with last-minute details. He's even shown up after long days at his company, tie loosened, and shirt sleeves rolled up over his sexy forearms. It’s embarrassing how hot the veins under his golden skin can make me, but what can I do? Everything about the man turns me on.

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