Page 15 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Have you seen my pink top?” Saide yells at me from down the hallway, where she is packing for another trip.

“I ironed it and put it on the laundry countertop,” I yell back as I sit at the kitchen table with a hot water bottle on my stomach, wishing I could curl up in bed and get through the pain. But I need to finish off the social media strategy for my new client—Tennyson Rothschild.

I only saw him this morning, yet just the thought of him has my pulse racing. I tried to be professional, when all I really wanted to do was crash into his arms. The thought alone unsettles me. I have never been like this. I have a borderline crush on my client, and I need to get my head in the game. I roll my neck, the stress of the situation building. I forcefully had to remove the thought of how good it would be to have him peel the clothes from my body and put me on his desk. Just watching his big hands wrap around his coffee cup had me forcing myself back into the chair, because I know what they feel like on my skin and I really wanted to feel that again.

“Thank you. You are such a lifesaver,” my younger sister says as she waltzes past me and into the kitchen. The two of us have lived together ever since we moved out to the East Coast from small-town Wyoming as soon as we finished college.

“Oh, period pain again?” she asks me, looking concerned.

“Just the usual,” I moan, because I have PCOS and my hormones are all over the place. As are my periods. Sometimes they come, sometimes they don’t. I get pain, I don’t get pain. It is exhausting, not to mention almost debilitating sometimes. But I am somewhat used to it, as I have had these issues my whole life.

“What are you working on?” she asks, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and getting herself a juice.

“Just finishing the strategy for his digital presence.” My eyes stay glued to the screen in concentration.

“I can’t believe Josh kicked the ball into his head,” she snorts. I told her all about the weekend and my new client. She also knows all about the night I left Tennyson asleep in that penthouse at four a.m. after our night of sexual escapades, having to quickly grab my things and take a car straight to DC for work. I didn’t lie when I said I was married to my job. That early morning escape was evidence of that fact.

I rub my hand to my temple as I relive that morning. To say that day was one of the longest in my life would be an understatement. The regret of sneaking out without so much as a goodbye still stings to this day.

Saide gathers her things and moves around the house like a tornado. We have lived here for years, in a small cottage with a yard, a mile away from the business of the city. It is my sanctuary, and when I found it for sale a few years ago, I didn’t hesitate. My sister, however, prefers a busier life. Younger than me by a few years, she’s used to the rich and powerful. An international air hostess who manages the first-class cabins, Saide has seen the best and the worst of them.

“Where are you flying this week?” Every week she is in a different country. Last week was Brazil, the week before France.

“Australia,” she states, leaving her dirty glass near the sink and the open bottle of juice on the counter. “I am staying there for a while because I need a break. I won’t be back until later next week, at the earliest.” My eyes narrow at her, because I know why she is staying longer, and it has everything to do with aligning with Jacob’s schedule and very little to do with a break in one spot for a while.

“Ohhh, is that him? He is gorgeous. Is he single?” she asks as she looks at the photo of Tennyson I have up on my laptop. Her question makes me bristle. My sister is beautiful and has men falling at her feet on the regular. At last count, she has had over five marriage proposals, and that number doesn’t include the one from Eastern Europe, where I was offered two camels as a dowry a few years ago.

“Yes. If you don’t count the endless models who fall into his bed every weekend,” I offer, feeling sick at the thought, before I close my screen and look at her.

“Well, given how good you said he was, he had to learn it all somewhere. I wish he was on one of my flights. He is serious eye candy. You should ask him out!” She flicks her hair, and I see her blemish-free skin shine in the late morning sun. Jealousy coils in my stomach as I look over my own appearance. Messy topknot, college sweatshirt that really needs to be thrown out, my pen sticking in my hair and my glasses on, contact lenses not needed today.

“I can’t ask him out; he is my client. Besides, our history is exactly that. History,” I state, drawing a firm line in the sand.

“Willow. I can’t even remember the last boyfriend you had. You have been married to your job for years. You said you had a fantastic night with him in New York, so why don’t you go back for round two?” My little sister starts lecturing me, and I sigh.

As I think about what I know of Tennyson, from my research and his brothers, I know he would be perfect for someone like my sister. But all kinds of wrong for a girl like me. I like the simple life at home. Saide is a jetsetter. I prefer a good book on the couch over a night out on the town. I like my work, and Saide likes to party. I’ve seen too many lives upended due to that type of lifestyle, and I am more of a white picket fence girl. That is why I am more like a mother to Saide. I wash her clothes, clean up after her, and pay for this entire house, even though she lives here too. I hold the responsibility, and Saide throws it all out the window, but I love her. She is my best friend.

“I don’t need to date. I need to work,” I say, pretending to tap a few keys and get back to it, even though my mind is now somewhere else.

“You need to start dating again, Willow. In fact, you just need to start dating period,” Saide harps on the point, and I know she won't let it go.

“Fine. I will go on a date.” I offer her the only words she wants to hear. I don’t particularly want to date right now. I don’t have the time for one. But also, every man I meet is never a good fit. Some don’t even turn up to the dates. Others just want to get in my pants. It is exhausting. But it may help to get my mind off Tennyson. It will also help cement that personal boundary. I wonder what his reaction would be if I told him I had a date?

“I want photographic evidence,” she demands, making my eyes flick to hers, and I see that she is serious.

“Fine. I will go on a date and provide you with photographic evidence.” She smiles, seemingly appeased. It sounds too easy. Find a date, have a nice meal, please my sister… and get Tennyson off my mind, potentially showing him I am unavailable, thereby he’ll lose interest in me, allowing me to reinstate professional boundaries and focus on the job I am hired to do.

“So what have you found out about tall, dark, and dreamy?” she asks, looking over my shoulder at my screen again.

“Well, now that I have access to his socials, I can see messages every day from women, all offering him something, none of it good,” I say, getting a sore hand from blocking them constantly, their blatant sexual advances more than I have ever come across before.

“Believe me, a guy like that would be getting offers multiple times a day, I am sure. So what are you up to this weekend?” Thankfully she changes the subject, folding some clothes nearby as she finishes packing.

“This weekend is work and spending time with Betty,” I say with a smile as the stray cat I have unofficially adopted walks tentatively around my kitchen, sniffing our feet.

“You're not going to turn into a cat lady, are you?” she teases me, but it is highly likely.

“There are worse things in the world.”

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