Page 48 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Getting cuter…” he singsongs as his legs nearly trip over each other, his hands landing on the back of my sofa.

“Tennyson!” I huff, frustrated, as my hands find my hips, my anger at this situation starting to build.

“So fucking cute,” he murmurs, his hand reaching out to cup my face. His touch is warm, and it feels nice, but his eyes are hazy. He isn’t focusing on me; he has no idea what is going on.

“I cannot believe this.” I shake my head, but his hands hold my gaze on his.

“Why aren't you dressed?” he asks, suddenly taking in my appearance, like he is looking at me for the first time. My hair is high in a bun, the towel tucked in tight under my arms, barely covering my butt.

“I was having a relaxing bath,” I state, but he just looks at me lovingly, his eyes almost slitted.

“Oh great, I will join you.” He kicks off his shoes and takes off his jacket, throwing them all across the floor.

“Wait. What? No!” I say, my mind jumbled, as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“So fucking adorable.” He flashes me his grin, and I melt a little.

“Tenn, why did you drink so much?” I ask him, using his nickname for the first time. This man just digs into my chest further and further every time I see him. He struggles with his shirt. My anger subsides a little as I watch him trying to rip it from his arms like a raging toddler.

“Oh, I'm going to be a dad, and I can’t even remember the mother…” he says, and I jolt.

“What?” My eyes wide, my heart starts racing, and I wonder if I heard him right.

“Adorable,” he mumbles before he loses his footing and falls onto the sofa behind him.

“I don’t understand,” I say on a shaky breath, walking toward him, looking down at him as he lies on the cushions, his feet bare, hanging over the edge, his shirt off and his belt half undone.

“I love you, Willow. Don’t ever leave me,” he murmurs before he is out cold.

I’m scared to move. Is this happening? Is this real? Dread swirls in my stomach as I slowly think about his words. A father? Tennyson is going to be a father? I have never seen him this drunk, and I know then and there that what he says is the truth. Tennyson is going to be a father. I grip the sofa so I don’t fall into a mess on the floor.

Because father is a title that I can never give him.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE - TENNYSON

I hear noises. The sun is bright against my eyes, and I squint them to keep them closed. My head thumps, and I feel like there is a jackhammer against the front of my skull. I try to swallow but can’t. There is no moisture in my mouth, and I stick out my tongue to lick my dry lips, the exercise completely futile.

“Hmmmm,” I mumble as I feel warmth on my chest, and I think of Willow tucked up next to me. I try not to move too much, not wanting to wake her. I feel short, sharp jolts on my forehead and lift my hand to rub it away, something grabbing my finger as they pass over my skin.

“What the…” I say as I open my eyes and immediately regret it with the bright sun streaming in. I know I am not in my bed, that much I can tell, so I try to gather my thoughts to figure out where I am. I take a breath and I smell baked goods and come to the conclusion that I am at Willow’s. Lowering my hand, I reach out to her. I’m hard and I can think of nothing better than delving into her warm, wet center, but as my hand reaches for her, I get a handful of fur. Another ping hits my forehead, and I open my eyes, trying to understand what is going on.

“You need to leave.” My eyes flick to the kid sitting in the armchair opposite me. Currently holding an industrial sized staple gun in the air, aimed in my direction.

Ping.

“What the hell?” I say as I get a sharp sting to the forehead again. He’s shooting me with staples. What the fuck is wrong with this kid?

“What did you do to her?” he demands. He looks upset, and I look to my side where I thought Willow was and see Betty, whose nails are starting to come out as she stretches, the prick of them marking my skin on the underside of my arm. It burns, and I pull away from her quickly, which has her launching up, arching her back before she attacks my bare bicep.

“Shit! Betty!” I groan, pushing the cat away, my skin now coated in red scratches. She hisses at me like it is my fault before she jumps from the sofa and runs to the kitchen. What the hell is going on with everyone this morning?

Ping.

The sharp prick hits my forehead again, and I turn my head sharply, too quickly, the pain shooting in my temples. Rubbing my head, I try to ease the sting, and as I pull my hands away, I notice blood.

“What the fuck. Stop it, punk,” I grit out to the kid, my head now throbbing and my heart feeling heavy.

“Oh, I haven't even started…” the kid warns. His eyes are evil as he looks at me sharply. I wonder if he has watched too many Marvel movies. My eyes lower to the gun, and I see him clench it, and I wonder how he knows how to hold it like that. Strong and steady in his hand. The staple gun is still raised, and he fires another shot, hitting me right between the eyes.

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