Page 1 of The Damaged Billionaire

CHAPTER ONE - WILLOW VALENTINE

Our heels click on the dark wooden floor as we walk out of the elevator and into the elegant lobby of this five-star hotel in Soho.

“Okay, I am off,” my sister, Saide, says with a big grin.

“Wait, what? Aren’t we going for a drink?” I ask her, my steps toward the hotel bar faltering as I frown in confusion. I dressed up tonight. Heels, tight red dress, shiny hair, perfected makeup—the whole shebang.

“I have a date.” Her smile dazzles with her admission.

“A date? What do you mean, a date?”

“You know, a date. Maybe it’s hard for you to remember. It’s one of those things that people do. They go for drinks or dinner, laugh and talk, then maybe end up having amazing sex throughout the night. A date.” Her grin is still a mile wide, so I find it hard to take offense that my baby sister is ditching me so last minute.

“Saide, this is supposed to be a girls’ night away. Just the two of us.” I look at her almost pleadingly because I was really looking forward to tonight. I haven’t had a night off work for months. My job is so demanding; I have trouble remembering what day it is most weeks.

“But Jacob just texted me… He is in town…” she purrs, trying to look innocent, whereas my teeth start grinding at the mention of his name.

“Saide…” I growl in warning.

“It is only one night. I haven’t seen him in weeks,” she moans like a petulant child.

“That’s because he is married and has probably been home with his wife.”

She has been having an affair with a married pilot, and I don’t approve. Not one bit.

“Listen, don’t wait up. I’m not sure what time I will be back.” She completely disregards my comment, stepping away toward the door. Seeing the back of her is becoming a common occurrence now. Her high-flying life as an air stewardess keeps her from me more and more.

“What am I meant to do now?” I call after her.

“Go to the bar. Meet a man. Have slutty sex all night. God knows you need it!” she yells across the hotel foyer, and I don’t miss the doorman as he looks my way.

I sigh and rub my head. She drives me crazy sometimes. If I knew my sister was going to bail on me tonight, I would have stayed in, got room service, relaxed in the big tub with a glass of wine, and had an early night. I need that kind of night. I deserve it.

Spinning on my heel, I walk two paces back to the elevator bank, when the bar sign catches my eye.

“One drink won’t hurt,” I mumble to myself and put all my frustrations with my sister into my step as I strut into the space. It’s just how I predicted—dark and seductive, with soft music adding to the moody ambiance. I make a beeline for the warm lowlights that illuminate the back of the bar.

“A glass of white wine, please,” I quip to the bartender as I grab the nearest seat and throw my handbag on the bartop.

“Wait, no, not wine. I think I need a cocktail. Can I get a margarita? On the rocks, with extra salt?” The cute bartender gives me a small smile as he nods and gets busy making my concoction. I blow out a breath, groaning to myself at how this night took a turn.

“Doesn’t look like you need extra salt,” a deep voice says from beside me, and I look across to meet the most soulful eyes I have ever seen. I’m only now realizing I have perched myself on a stool right next to a man who is currently eyeing me over the top of a glass of what looks to be whiskey.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, my question sounding sharper than I intend. It's been a long day of Saide and I shopping and eating our way around New York. This girl time was much needed, even though we head home tomorrow.

“You seem salty enough. Have a bad day?” he asks in a softer tone, and I sigh. It isn’t his fault that my baby sister acts like she is still seventeen rather than twenty-four.

“Family troubles,” I murmur.

He huffs, nodding. “I know all about those.” As he takes a sip of his drink, I take the opportunity to look at him further. I always find it so sexy when men drink that smooth amber liquor, especially over a beer or countless shots. It’s the kind of drink you don’t rush consuming, the tumbler you swirl as you sit and ponder instead of rage on. When his Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, I find myself swallowing too. He has a slight shadow of stubble on his jaw, his brown hair falling a little over his forehead. I watch his large hand grasp his glass, wondering what it would feel like on my body. He is by far the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.

“My little sister is having an affair with a married man,” I blurt out, then wish I could take it back. I haven’t even had a sip of alcohol yet. I suppose I needed to get it off my chest.

Seemingly interested in my story, he turns my way, looking at me like he’s waiting for the rest of whatever’s on my mind. Thankfully, before I can think to say anything more, the bartender drops my drink in front of me, and I grab my bag.

“On my tab,” the man next to me says quickly, waving the bartender off, him leaving almost instantaneously.

“You don't have to do that.”

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