Page 54 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Willow, it’s Beth,” her voice soothes down the line. We have spoken a few times this past week. She is such a good friend.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t recognize the number.”

“I'm in the office, on the landline. How are things going?” she asks, and I launch into work specifics.

“Media is calming, the story is blowing over. I am sure you are aware of the legal and paternity issues,” I say.

“Yes, I am aware of it all, but how are you? Harrison mentioned that Tennyson is missing you terribly.” I hold my breath for a beat. While Beth and I have spoken, I haven’t delved into the personal nature of my relationship with Tennyson.

“I’m fine. It was a shock, obviously. There was a lot of work to do to get a strategy in place and I feel bad that I let this happen on my watch. But personally…” My voice drifts off, and Beth stays quiet, waiting for me to finish. “Personally, I think I am okay now,” I say, resolve in my tone, and I almost feel relief at admitting it out loud.

“You are a strong woman, Willow. But I know Tennyson is hurting too. I hope you guys are talking?” she asks, and that is Beth, always looking out for everyone else too. I smile even though she can’t see me.

“We will. I’ll speak to him tonight.” And we will. I’m resolved to figure this out with him.

“Okay, well, I need to run. Let’s catch up in the next few days when you are ready?” Beth asks, but I know her calendar is busier than mine, so I huff a laugh.

“I would love that,” I say before we say our goodbyes, and I sink back into the sofa. The phone rings again immediately. It is another unknown number, and I laugh.

“What did you forget this time?” I say to Beth with a laugh. But it isn’t Beth on the phone.

“Is this Miss Valentine?” a stern female voice says from the other end of the phone.

“Yes, this is Willow Valentine,” I say, sitting up, now on high alert.

“This is Diane Rothschild. I believe you are managing my son's affairs?” My eyebrows rise. This wasn’t a phone call I was expecting.

“I am working with all your sons, Mrs. Rothschild.” Harrison is already recruiting me to be on his team. Ben and I speak to each other about five times per day, and Eddie calls me every morning and every night just to check in.

“Yes. Well, I need you to stop,” she says, and I still.

“Excuse me?” I must have misheard.

“I need you to stop. Tennyson is very vulnerable right now. He is going to be a father, and he needs to be with the mother so they can raise this baby together. Be a family. Do the right thing.” With every word, my heart feels heavier.

“There is a very real possibility that he is not the father of this baby, Mrs. Rothschild.”

“So?” she snarks, and my stomach clenches at what that could mean.

“So, we need to wait for paternity before we can—” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“Tsk. There will be no paternity test. Tennyson will be the father of this baby. Please make it happen.” I smile in disbelief. This woman is unbelievable.

“Mrs. Rothschild—”

“Just listen to me…” she says, her voice now almost hissing. “Katerina Newcomb is one of the wealthiest business heiresses in the country. Tennyson will be the father of this baby. No paternity test is needed.” I feel sick. I have heard about Mrs. Rothschild, but I didn’t expect this. How can a mother do this to her son? Set his life up merely for public display rather than for love. Why the hell would she want to throw her son to the wolves to live a life that is not what he wants? No wonder he needs me. He doesn’t even have a mother who cares. In this moment, I swear to myself that I will talk to him and make things right. He doesn’t deserve this. None of it. I take a deep breath as the anger starts to swirl. This week has been a mess and now I have had enough.

“No, you listen to me,” I bite out, feeling a little bad to be taking this tone, but I know enough about her to not have her boss me around. “There is a firm strategy in place for Tennyson and all the Rothschild brothers. I am not privy to communicate that strategy to you, as I work with your sons. I would suggest that if you are trying to manipulate this situation, like you tried with your other two sons, then you back down now, because you won’t be successful.” My heart picks up pace. I can’t believe this is Tennyson's mother.

“How dare you—” I don’t let her finish.

“No, how dare you, Mrs. Rothschild!” My voice rises, my body burning in anger.

“Well, I have never been spoken to like this in my entire life! Do you have any idea who I am!” she screeches, clearly not happy.

“Oh, I know exactly who I am talking to right now. But the question you need to ask yourself is, do you?” I am not taking her bullshit. Someone has to stand up to this woman, and that someone appears to be me. I will protect Tennyson from her, even if it is with my last dying breath.

“Why you—” I hang up before she can finish. I have had enough, and there are not any more words that can be spoken rationally. I toss my phone onto the sofa and jump up, needing to move my body. I pace the living room, my blood boiling. What an evil, evil woman. She obviously doesn’t know that we are connected romantically, because if she did, then I think the phone conversation would have gone differently. Or at least, I’d hope so.

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