Page 50 of The Damaged Billionaire

I turn back to Willow who is still standing there, and she slowly places the bowl on the counter and turns around. She is stressed, not meeting my eye, and I rack my brain to try to think about what has happened, before dread flows over me, along with the memories.

“Willow?” I croak, the pain in my chest now spreading, opening my chest cavity wide. A pain I haven’t felt in a very long time blooms.

“I called Harrison. He will be here in five minutes to pick you up,” she says, her hands by her sides gripping on to the counter. Her knuckles are white, and I see her swallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Willow. We need to talk.” Looking at her, I see her professional mask slip on, and the pain inside me explodes. I don’t want professional Willow, I want my Willow. My sassy, sexy Willow. This can’t be happening. I need her. Can’t she see I need her? Panic fills my veins as I rub my head, trying to get a handle on this situation.

“I have my team blocking any paparazzi, as they are camped at your apartment. It seems Katerina has already gone to the media. She got a quick jump on us. Lucky for me, they don’t know you are here. Harrison is taking you to Ben’s estate. You will stay there for the next two weeks. You won’t use social media, and you won’t be seen anywhere.” She gives the orders like a boss, but not my girl. She is straight down the line.

I’m losing her. I can’t lose her. Not now. I have only just found her.

“Willow, I need you,” I beg, stepping closer to her, my heart in my throat. My voice is almost breaking. It’s like I can feel her pulling away, and even though I reach for her, I can’t catch her.

“My team and I are here for anything you need. We will deal with the press, and we will assist Ben with the legal ramifications, if there are any.” My knees start to feel weak, and I swallow roughly because she still won’t even look at me.

“Willow! Goddammit, look at me!” I am about to get on my knees. I will do anything. Anything.

“I can’t!” she screams back, and I still, shocked for a moment at her outburst, but even though I don’t like to hear the pain in her voice, at least I know she is not a robot. I hurt her, but I can fix hurt. I can’t fix anything if she blocks me out.

The doorbell rings. Fuck. Harrison is here.

“You need to leave,” the kid says, pushing off the wall and coming to Willow’s side. I might hate the kid, but I can’t hate that he protects her. I can respect him for that.

“It was before, Willow. It all happened before you came back into my life,” I say desperately, looking at her, and she gives me a nod, but her lips are thin. She is hanging on by a thread too.

“I know. I just need to do my job now, Tennyson. And you need to let me.” I see her take a big shaky breath. I hate myself. I hate that I did this to her. I hate that I did this to us.

The doorbell sounds again. I look to the side and see my shoes, shirt, and jacket hanging neatly near the door. Washed and pressed to perfection. When I look back at the kitchen, understanding washes over me that she must have been up all night. To bake like this, wash my things, and to also have her team already in action, along with my brothers. All while I was blackout drunk on her sofa. I slowly walk over and grab my things.

“Willow…” I say one last time, and her eyes flick to meet mine. I pull in a sharp breath at the pain there. I’ve fucked up a lot in my life. Disappointed many people, but hurting Willow like this is by far going to be my biggest regret of my life. I remain silent and so does she. Giving her a nod, I retreat to the door.

I will do everything she asks of me. Because I never want to feel like this again.

CHAPTER THIRTY - WILLOW

I sit on the sofa quietly. The house is now empty since I sent my bodyguard home to his mother and left Betty outside. I sigh. I, of all people, know how things turn from wonderful to damaged in an instant. It is what makes me good at what I do. It is what makes me so in-demand with my skill set. But I ignored the signs. If I wasn’t so caught up in Tennyson and our outrageously amazing sex life, I would have figured this out, and I could have mitigated all of it. It is my fault that I now have a client in lockdown. It is my fault that his whole reputation is back in the toilet. The local media is having a field day. My only blessing is that no one outside of Baltimore seems to care too much, meaning the Rothschild name isn’t too tarnished, and Tennyson’s business interests remain unaffected. But I am sure Katerina’s father isn’t going to be happy, and if I know anything about business, it is that it is a dog-eat-dog world, and he will use this crisis to his full advantage. I have prepared for that, though.

Now, after thinking about it for the past hour in the quiet of my home, I knew there were signs. Katerina at the business dinner a few weeks ago should have been my first signal, given that Harrison has since told me she wasn’t even invited. Something I probably should have investigated at the time. The constant social media harassment from her. I should have picked that up straightaway. A familiar name, an ongoing daily barrage of messages. Sure, it could have been nothing, but it warrants some digging. And I didn’t do that either.

I slump on the sofa and cuddle the cushion. I smell him, his scent mixed with whiskey. No wonder he had a drinking session with his brothers. Finding out that you are going to have a child is a big deal. Harrison explained it all to me on the phone while Tennyson was passed out on my sofa. I sat in the armchair and looked at him for half the night, disappointed I let him down, disappointed that he could be a father of a child he didn’t plan to have. The deep pain in my gut at the last thought sears me the worst.

“I came home as soon as I heard!” Saide says as she pushes through the front door and eyes the mess in the kitchen. She was out all night and no doubt had a similar fate to that of Tennyson and probably slept on her friend’s sofa. But she looks refreshed.

“You didn’t have to,” I say, pushing my shoulders back, determined to make this right. Professionally, at least. Personally, I have no idea where I stand with Tennyson or what to do. All I know is that I can’t focus on that until this mess is sorted.

“I saw the news on social media this morning. Are you okay?” she asks softly, coming to sit next to me. We have always been close, but it is usually me who does the mothering. This side of Saide is completely new. But I need it.

“I will get it sorted. I am sure I can get this to blow over in a couple of days, a week tops, and then have him back to being a poster child in no time,” I say, not looking at her, but nodding, reinforcing it all to myself. I can do it; I know I can.

“Willow…” Saide says, and I can’t look at her, so I remain quiet, staring straight ahead.

“Willow, look at me.” My eyes immediately find hers at the gentle tone of her voice.

“It’s okay to be upset.”

“I’m fine. Stupid, but fine,” I mutter.

“You are not stupid,” Saide says, flabbergasted.

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