Page 9 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Hoity-toity,” he says, firm in his assessment.

“Hoity-toity?” I ask, trying hard not to laugh. “What does hoity-toity mean?”

“Stuck-up snobs.” I don’t need to ask where he learned that phrase from. His mother is Australian; it runs in his blood.

“Not all of them look snobby. What about her over there?” I point to a woman who is talking to the kids. Dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, her hair is tied back, and she has a wide smile on her face. I recognize her from my research. She is Emily Carr, a schoolteacher who’s engaged to Benjamin Rothschild, owner of this estate I find myself in today.

“She’s okay. But look over there.” He points, and I see our governor. The man who invited me here today. Dressed in a shirt and suit pants, I assume he has come from a meeting or something, because he is not really dressed for a family fun day. He is watching me from afar. In fact, the other two men standing with him are as well. Obviously, all three Rothschild men are discussing how today will go. I give them a small, reassuring smile and wave. We have already said our quick hellos, but I am sure there will be lots more to talk about later. Surprisingly, all three of them have their faces painted like the Ninja Turtles, looking equal parts ridiculous and kind of endearing.

“What, you don’t like the ninja turtles?” I tease, because he grew out of cartoons years ago. Josh is more likely to watch the BBC global world news with me now than kid shows.

“Pfft. They don’t even realize that there are four turtles, so their attempt at being cool with painted faces is severely underwhelming,” he says with a bored sigh before he continues kicking the soccer ball and we walk farther into the crowd of kids.

“What about him? He looks okay.” I nod toward an older man helping the kids. Beth introduced me to him earlier as George, who’s friends with the Rothschilds via Emily Carr, and he also happens to be the principal of the school that’s here today, enjoying the life that being wealthy brings.

“He looks cool,” Josh concedes with a shrug, having already lost interest in dissecting the adults, his eyes now firmly on his soccer ball. I watch him bounce and bounce the ball, changing it from his knee to his feet and back again. He is far enough away from people that it isn’t harming anyone, but I know he is itching to kick it.

“Hey, Willow,” a man’s voice says from beside me, and I turn and look up. These Rothschild men are so tall and broad compared to me, my neck is already cramped from my chin rising so far.

“Governor, or should I say, Donatello?” I try not to laugh, but my smile is wide. The face painter actually did a really good job.

“Yes, well, it is a good cause. We try our best to help where we can. Tennyson should be here soon. Do you have any questions?” he asks, looking a little nervous, and that only reignites my own nerves. I have no idea what to expect, but if I had to guess, I think there will be yelling and probably some hostility between the brothers. I again wonder if he will have any recognition when he sees me. But as soon as the thought comes, I lock it away. I am a professional on a job, and that is how I need to remain.

“About babysitting your brother, you mean?” I quip. After a few days of research, I have come to the conclusion that Harrison and Beth’s breakdown was spot-on. Tennyson Rothschild is a self-indulgent party boy who beds a different woman every weekend, maybe two. Parties too much, loves to flash his wealth, and he’s currently in the bullseye of every media outlet because he gives them exactly what they need to feed more gossip. “Don’t worry, Harrison. I will do my best to tidy up your black sheep. Your reputation will stay clean.” This is my bread and butter. I do this type of reputational management all the time. Usually after one of our esteemed politicians gets caught doing something that is unbecoming. I now have a small team, all of us working remotely across the country. I love having my own business, but I am confident that it won’t stay small for long. There are many people who need my skill set and it is growing by the day.

“Believe me when I tell you we have tried everything. But Tennyson is his own man, who does things his way. Which is good. But his spending, womanizing, and party boy ways need to stop.” I nod, pushing my lips together in a tight smile. It’s getting harder not to show my nerves as the minutes pass. He could show up at any time now.

“Well, I am sure he is going to be thrilled by the surprise intervention that you have planned today,” I say sarcastically, raising my eyebrows.

“Hmmm,” Harrison says, looking at me before his eyes flick up again. “All right, well, he is finally here. I will let you know when we need you.” My head whips around to where he was looking so quickly, I almost trip over my own feet.

“We will stick around here,” I murmur in agreement as he stalks off to the side of the house, where Tennyson has just walked out, carrying a tray of food. My eyes remain glued to the man I will be managing. He looks the same. Handsome, strong, tall, in control, and I push my nails into my palm to wake me up from my dreaming, restoring order in my limbs. He puts the tray down before one of the kids grabs his hand and pulls him to the face painter. I huff a small laugh as I watch the interaction. Tennyson, with his dark sunglasses on and his hair ruffled, looking possibly hungover and like he got ready in a hurry. He has a scowl on his face, but he goes with the kid willingly.

I watch as he sits in front of the female face painter and removes his sunglasses, and I think I see her swoon from here. I scoff to myself. Clearly, he has a way with the ladies, and like an idiot all those months ago, I fell for his charms. I wonder how many other women he has picked up in bars. She gets busy on his face while he watches the kids as they all talk over each other while trying to tell him things.

His dark hair falls a little over his face, and as my gaze drifts down, I take in how he fills out his shirt all too well. He looks casual, with a don't-mess-with-me air about him. The kind of look that I am sure attracts women in droves. The face painter is quick, probably because he looks like he would rather be anywhere else. Once she’s done, he stands, rolling his shoulders back before slowly walking toward his brothers, the four ninja turtles now complete.

“Hey, Willow, check this out,” Josh says from beside me, and I look at him just in time to see him take a big kick. He has been itching to do it since he arrived and saw the massive green space. Normally, I encourage his physical activity, as kids playing sports is important. But as I watch the soccer ball fly through the air, it moves in slow motion, soaring across the green lawn, and my eyes widen as I see where it is going to land.

“Watch out!” I yell, but I am too late. This is not going to be good.

CHAPTER EIGHT - TENNYSON

The kids are too loud, this face paint is itchy, and if I don’t eat something in the next ten minutes, I feel like I am going to turn into the Hulk.

“Glad you could make it,” Harrison says, his purple painted eyes staring at me, the sarcasm dripping in his tone not something I miss.

“I slept in.” I shrug, wondering if Ben has any whiskey around here.

“You’re late.” Eddie punches his words, and the headache I had before starts to come back again.

“I made it, though, like I said I would. What time did you all get here?” I ask, taking a swig of the bottle of water I grabbed on the way through. My eyes flick between them all, knowing it is midday and surely, they only just arrived themselves.

“Nine. We had a big breakfast for the kids before playtime. Their day is almost over,” Ben says accusingly, and I cringe a little.

“Sorry, I thought it was lunch,” I murmur, feeling like a sack of shit for letting him down.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Harrison asks as his eyes pin me. It is a question he has asked before. I huff out a laugh as I straighten my shoulders, trying to stand up to his pointed question. He looks concerned.

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