Page 14 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Because my mother will be there. That alone warrants whiskey,” I huff out.

“Yes, I have learned a little about your mother over the weekend. Do you have a good relationship with her?” she asks, sitting forward slightly.

“Hell no. I fucking hate her,” I admit a little too quickly and see her eyebrows rise.

“Well, still no drinking, because we don’t need any images or gossip featuring you anymore. We need you to be boring, home in bed at ten p.m., sensible, straitlaced, while doing it all with a wide smile on your face.” She looks at me with her beautiful big blue eyes, and I almost crumble.

Go alone. No alcohol. How the hell will I deal with my mother if I can’t drink?

“Fine. Will you be there?” I really hope she will be. That might get me through.

“Yes, actually, I will be. Beth has asked me to come along, to get to know the Baltimore scene a bit better,” she says with a smile, and the tension in my shoulders eases a little.

“Fine. I will not drink. I’ll leave before the after-party, and I’ll leave with no women,” I say, already not wanting to even go, but knowing I have to. This event is something that Harrison and Beth have arranged. But I can’t remember the last time I was sober and in the same room as my mother. I need the alcohol to drown out the memories that seeing her continue to raise.

“Great, I am sure yo—” she starts to say before an alarm sounds on her phone. She grabs her cell and taps the screen, her brow furrowed slightly.

“Everything all right?” I ask as she looks slightly panicked.

“Oh, yes, it’s just Betty,” she says, sounding relieved.

“Betty?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in question.

“Yes, the neighborhood cat that loves my food.” She’s smiling to herself as she puts her phone back into her bag and looks at me in a way that makes the world feel a little off-kilter.

“So that’s what you do, huh?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” she asks me, confusion written on her face.

“You take in broken things and fix them? Me, the stray cat, your sister who is having an affair with a married man?” I offer her more of my memory of that night, putting the pieces together on how she might like to operate.

“I like helping people, helping animals. I enjoy looking after things. It is probably why I fell into personal brand management and now enjoy my job. What about you? Did you always want to work in construction? It seems at odds with your behavior.” I forgot how quick and easy our banter was.

“My behavior?” I question as I sit forward a little more, interested in her assessment of me.

“Well, yes. Construction is about building, developing, creating something that, for the most part, is bigger and better than what was there before. But that is in contrast to your personal life, it seems, from what your brothers and the media tell me, which is all about drama and social gossip that your behavior feeds. It keeps expectations of you low, when you are so much more. Your work alone speaks volumes about your talents, Tennyson. You build massive shopping centers and apartment buildings that have not only provided your family immeasurable income for years, but also won awards in design, and you have even received environmental accolades. But all of that is totally overshadowed by stories and gossip of your personal life, resulting in the myriad of social media messages that are now burned into my eyes from a night of trying to clean up your overflowing inbox.”

Not for the first time, this woman makes me stop and think. She is not cold or opinionated about any of it; she just holds up a mirror to my behavior. I don’t usually consider my achievements. I’m too busy trying to build the business, ignore my mother, and just enjoy life. But the way Willow highlights it all, I feel accomplished. I feel proud and even happier that she notices.

“I think we both know that I was unaware of the impact my behavior was having. I always thought I was flying under the radar, although not anymore, it appears,” I murmur, still digesting what she just said.

“We need to let everyone else see what I can already see,” she says, making me want to grab her and put her firmly on my lap and not let her go.

“What’s that?” I ask, and I hold my breath for her response.

“That underneath this devastatingly handsome, charismatic man, there is a very smart businessman who has single-handedly tripled his family's bank balance and brought in more money than both the governor and lawyer combined over the past three years.” Her blue eyes are now twinkling just for me.

“You think I’m handsome?” I ask with a broad grin, and she rolls her eyes at my teasing. Although I don't miss that her cheeks tint, and she doesn’t refute the comment.

“I will leave you to it for the week, and I will come back on Thursday to go through the social media plan and discuss some key media opportunities for the next few weeks.” She shuts down our friendly banter, her tone now back to being professional as she stands and grabs her handbag.

I lean back in my chair and watch her. Every inch of her is elegant perfection. Her black patent leather heels are high, the kind that I really want wrapped around my neck again.

“See you then,” she says, her cheeks now flaming brighter at my open ogle before I watch her swallow roughly, then turn and walk out the door.

I sit in the quiet of my office for a beat, eyes on the door, thinking about our interaction. She is everything I remember and more. My parents showed me exactly why not to get involved with anyone. But she is tempting me. I close my eyes, the vision of her naked dancing in my mind. My hands on her body, my lips on hers, her moans, her pants, the feeling of her in my arms… I shake my head of the thoughts and gulp down the remainder of my now cold coffee and get to work. The fire in my belly that I didn’t think existed is now burning brighter today than it has in a very long time.

CHAPTER ELEVEN - WILLOW

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