Page 12 of The Damaged Billionaire

“And you also have an excellent lawyer in Ben, who is currently trying to spend as much time with his new daughter as possible, maybe even thinking about extending his family. But he’s finding it hard to put them first when he spends all of his weekends calling every social publication and media influencer in the city, trying to take down photos and videos that people take of you doing things you shouldn’t be.” Tennyson's eyes widen before landing on Ben.

“It isn’t every weekend,” Tennyson quips, tilting his head in question.

“Every Sunday, without fail. I usually have to miss Rosie’s swimming lessons,” Ben admits, sadness in his tone, and Tennyson's brow crumples.

“I can go on if you need me to. There is the obvious issue of your mother and her antics that the media also love to dig up,” I offer, and the look on his face would cause a wildfire, there is so much anger in it. I straighten my spine, because my good cop act is now done. I need to bring bad cop out to drive my point home.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” his grits out and he steps toward me slightly, almost in challenge. I can’t back down. He needs to know I am his boss, and for the next few months, he has to listen to me, do as I say. He may have been able to control our night together months ago, had me in every way imaginable, but he won’t be able to go anywhere or do anything moving forward without clearing it with me.

“If the shoe fits,” I sass, and his eyes flame.

“Your kid gave me a migraine,” he says as he steps closer to me, his eyes squinting, appearing to accuse me of something I am not yet sure of. We are now almost chest to chest. There is an undercurrent of electricity humming, my body more on edge than usual. I am stepping way out of my comfort zone here, my skin prickling as his eyes look deep into mine.

“Maybe he should have kicked harder and knocked some sense into you.” I see his lips quirk, and I know I have won this round. Our banter is natural, just like that night in New York. His eyes lower down my body, taking me in as he looks from my eyes down to my feet and back again. I see appreciation in his gaze, and warmth spreads through me before I tamp down any wayward thoughts.

“So you're going to follow me around, then?” he asks, his face now softening into a cheeky smile, giving me a new insight into the infamous Tennyson Rothschild.

“You have enough women doing that. You don’t need another,” I offer, and disappointment flickers in his eyes.

“But you do have to do everything I say for the next few months, including laying off the whiskey, lightening your spending, and keeping your bed empty.” His nostrils flare, not liking his options.

“Do we have a deal?” I ask, tone stern and ready for pushback.

He looks around the room at his brothers before looking back at me, his expression now dancing with delight that should concern me.

“We have a deal, Willow Valentine. I just hope you can keep up,” he says before he walks back to the bar, grabs the glass of whiskey, and swallows it in one gulp, giving me a wink in the process.

CHAPTER TEN - TENNYSON

My assistant, Melody, puts a steamy cup of coffee on my desk and gives me a look I haven’t seen before.

“What is that look for?” I question her, taking a sip of the warm liquid and peering at her over the edge of the cup. It has been exactly twenty-four hours since the intervention at Ben’s house and exactly twenty-four hours since my last drink. I didn’t even have my regular nightcap because my thoughts were consumed by her. Willow Valentine. At least I now know who she is. I was shocked to see her at my brother's house, and I wanted to do so many things with her, but one look at her, and I knew she meant business. So I will toe the line. For now.

“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Melody says with a wide grin, and I keep my face blank, even though I have thought of nothing else but the beautiful pocket rocket since our night together. Her teasing smile and sassy personality heighten my senses. Her long dark hair and her lustful eyes—I fell asleep thinking about that vision last night, and for the first time in a long time, I slept for more than a few hours.

“I did some research, and she is supposed to be the person to go to for personal branding. She has even worked with the White House!” Melody offers, obviously excited about Willow’s experience, and my eyebrows shoot to my hairline. I am intrigued, if not a little pissed off that Harrison has arranged her for me. The last thing I need is a woman telling me what to do, regardless of her good looks or the way her body curves in all the right places.

“Hmmm, let’s see what she says when she gets here,” I murmur, keeping my cards close to my chest, not giving anything away, and Melody purses her lips.

“Well, I will send her in when she arrives. She already called this morning, and we have synced diaries, so she now has a full visual of all your activities and whereabouts,” Melody says as she stands and rushes out the door, closing it behind her before I can respond. Beth mentioned Willow needed all my contact details and social media access, but diary oversight is something new.

My eyes lower to the screen in front of me as I look over The Society News, our local Baltimore social paper, where my brothers and I often grace the pages. Today is no different. There are shots of us all from an event we went to on Friday night and from a ladies’ lunch that was held on Sunday, where my mother’s face makes an appearance. Just the look of her makes my shoulders stiffen.

I click to the next page and see an image of me, my shirt ruffled and untucked from yesterday when I was making my way out of the Four Seasons before I went to Ben’s. I had no idea the cameras were there; my mind so preoccupied with racing to my brothers, I paid little attention.

My brows furrow. I look like shit.

“Tennyson, Miss Valentine is here to see you,” Melody’s voice interrupts my thoughts through the speaker.

“Send her in,” I mumble as I flatten my tie and clear my throat, trying to rein in my insane desire for this woman.

There is a knock at my office door before it opens, and I look up to see the woman who has been on my mind for months. I grit my back molars so I don’t open my mouth in awe.

She is stunning. Breathtakingly so. Her long hair is down and wavy, and she’s wearing a simple yet elegant pair of black tailored trousers with a black satin shirt that ties at the neck with a bow. The contrast between the black clothing and her complexion is striking.

“Good morning, Tennyson!” she singsongs, her smile contagious. After the intervention yesterday, I thought she was on my side. But the compassion in her eyes disappeared quickly as she stepped into the tough businesswoman she is obviously known for.

“Morning,” I say slowly, drinking her in, my eyes wasting no time going back over her body.

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