Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Damien
Pulling out a pocket-sized leather journal, I noticed the embossed message on the front: This is not a contract. It’s for your feelings . Opening it, I found a handwritten page. What are you afraid would happen if you let someone love all of you? Write it all down.
“Oh look, a candle. It’s dark amber and smoked sandalwood. Wow, this smells good. What the fuck?” Charlie laughed. “ Light it up and let shit go .”
“What’s this?” Christine stuck her hand in the box and pulled out a small silver tin. “ Emotional Baggage Blend . Soothing chamomile and mint. Pairs well with vulnerability and long talks on the couch. Damien, who would send you this?”
I inhaled a sharp breath, for I knew exactly who sent this.
“Is that a chocolate bar?” Charlie asked, pulling it from the box. “ Because letting your walls down deserves a reward .” He laughed.
Pulling out another stock card, I noticed it had a QR code and was labeled, Don’t fight it —a playlist of music.
“Oh, lavender spray!” Christine said. “ In case sleeping alone in your big fancy penthouse starts to suck .” She laughed. “Oh my God, Damien. This is epic.”
When I reached down into the box, I pulled out a small plush fox with a small stock card taped to it, saying, Just in case you need to hold onto something that doesn’t bite back.
“Jesus Christ.” I shook my head. I pulled out the last of the items: a handwritten card that said:
You don’t always have to be the strong one. Not with me. I don’t need perfect. I just need real. And right now, you’re it.
~W
My stomach clenched as I sat down in my chair and rubbed my forehead.
“God, I love your wife.” Charlie chuckled.
“Be quiet.” I sighed.
After he and Christine left my office, I turned my chair around and stared at the city. I was livid that Willa sent me that box like I was going through some shit and needed her. I didn’t need her or her stupid as fuck boxes. I was pissed. Grabbing my phone, I called her.
“Hello.”
“It’s me. Why did you send me that box?”
“Why not? I thought you could use it after our talk on Saturday. Do you like it?”
“No, Willa. I don’t!” I shouted. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No. Not at all, Damien.”
“I don’t need some box of—what even is this stuff? Tea, a feelings journal, chocolate, a playlist? Really, Willa? What am I supposed to do with this shit?” I loudly voiced. “I don’t need this. What made you think it was a good idea to send me a box labeled Put Your Guard Down, Sir ? It’s patronizing.”
“It’s a self-care package, Damien.”
“I don’t give a fuck what it is. I cannot believe you sent this to me.”
“You’re wounded. After our talk on Saturday?—”
“Wounded?” I interrupted. “I am far from wounded, Willa. You know what? You’re nuts. Has anyone ever told you that?”
There was silence on the other end.
“Well?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It won’t happen again.”
“Damn right, it won’t. I have to go.” I ended the call.
* * *
Willa
I sat on the couch, staring at my phone screen in disbelief at that man. How dare he speak to me that way. Tears stung my eyes. If he even remotely liked me, that was out the window now. The anger and hatred in his voice told me everything. And all over a stupid box because I cared enough and wanted to help him.
“Fuck you, Blackwood.” I threw my phone across the room as Matt walked through the door.
“Whoa. Darling, what are you doing?” He set his briefcase down.
“You were right.”
“Right about what?” He noticed the tears in my eyes.
“Damien hated the box and just got done yelling at me over the phone about it. He told me I was nuts.” I brought my knees up to my chest.
“Aw, Willa.” Matt hooked his arm around me and pulled me into him. “I’m sorry.”
“He called what I sent him shit.”
“You know Damien isn’t your average guy.” His grip around me tightened.
“You know what the worst part is?”
“What, darling?”
“I’m in love with my husband,” I cried. “I’ve tried not to be. God, I tried so hard, but it’s there, so many feelings.”
“You need to distance yourself from him, Willa.”
“How can I? We’re still married, and I’m obligated to do what he says until the merger is finalized.”
“Then do your wifely duties when needed, and that’s it. Don’t call him and don’t text him. Listen, Willa. You’re starting your own business, and that’s what you need to focus on. Curated Chaos is your livelihood, not Damien Blackwood. So, dry your tears, put your heart back together, and only focus on your business. This is your future, not some grumpy billionaire who can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
“You’re right,” I sniffled.
“I’m always right, darling.” He kissed the side of my head. “Come on. Let’s go make some breakup boxes.”
* * *
Damien
I stepped out of the elevator and set the box on the island in the kitchen.
“You’re home early,” Connie said.
“The office was chaotic today, and I can get more work done here. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“I’m on my way out now. What’s in the box?”
“Just some shit Willa sent to the office.”
“May I?” She pointed to the box.
“Go ahead.” I walked into the living room and poured a scotch.
“This stuff is adorable. She’s a very creative person.”
“She’s crazy.”
“Why is she crazy? Because she’s challenging you to explore a side of yourself you never have?” Her brow arched.
“No. She’s emotionally ambushing me, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“I’ve never seen you so bothered by a woman before.”
“She has a knack for getting under people’s skin.” I threw back my drink.
“From what I’ve seen, everyone who meets her loves her. You seem to be the only one fighting it. I have to get home. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” She grabbed her purse and her bag and stepped onto the elevator.
I poured another scotch and took it to the terrace, leaning over the railing, clutching the glass between my hands. The amber liquid swirled inside the glass with the same intensity as my thoughts. I tipped the drink to my lips, letting the scotch burn down my throat, hoping it would take the edge off my anger. It was almost as if she were mocking me. Put Your Guard Down, Sir . As if it were that simple. As if a self-love gift box could take down the last fourteen years of carefully constructed walls.
My phone rang inside my pocket. Pulling it out, Christine was calling.
“What is it, Christine?” I answered.
“Your tickets arrived for the gala on Saturday night. I put them in the top drawer of your desk.”
“I thought the gala was the following Saturday,” I said.
“No, Damien. It’s this Saturday. Remember, I’m off tomorrow, so don’t forget to take the tickets home.”
“That’s right. Okay. Thanks, Christine. Enjoy your day off tomorrow.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Shit. I needed to let Willa know about the gala. I didn’t want to call her because I wasn’t sure how she’d react after earlier, so I sent her a text.
We’re attending a formal event this Saturday night, so you’ll need a black dress. It’s one of the highlighted events of the year, and the elite of the elite will be there, along with the press. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.