Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

“You’re welcome. Now you know she won’t ding you for clothes.” And that makes me happy and proud. Pablo’s a great guy. He’s smart, loving and protective—really, a ten out of ten. He just needs a little help so this date of his will have a chance to see his amazing heart.

He laughs, then says, “You look good,” because he knows that complimenting me is the first step in thanking me properly for rescuing him from committing a fashion faux pas.

“I do, don’t I?” I grin. “I spent some extra time today because I have a party to go to after I dress you.” The burgundy silk Dior I’m in isn’t exactly tight, but it clings in all the right places, emphasizing my breasts and butt. You can’t wear any underwear with it, but I’m quite confident my fashion-ignorant brother hasn’t noticed…nor will he.

“What party?” he says, suddenly straightening his shoulders and back, like he’s about to punch somebody out, probably some guy I’m going to meet.

“An heiress from Korea invited me to a party at Anthony Blackwood’s mansion. I couldn’t say no, especially since it’s to celebrate Kim finally getting her work bonus.” My best friend has slaved for five years for it. She deserves an awesome party.

“Oh.” Pablo deflates a little. “Well, okay. That’s good. Kim’ll keep you safe.”

By “safe,” he means “away from sex.” He, just like my eldest brother Rafael and all my cousins, either doesn’t understand or refuses to accept that I’m not a virgin. Haven’t been for ages.

But it’s easier to just let him have his delusion than argue. Not to mention I might as well be a virgin at the moment. Depressingly enough, I haven’t slept with anybody in months, not since I broke up with Aaron. He was fun and laid-back when we first met, but then morphed into a clingy mess within a few months of us starting to date. He still keeps calling and texting, saying he knows I haven’t been with anyone and it’s time we get back together. Ugh. I need to find a way to get myself out of this state of dickpression. Maybe that’ll make Aaron realize it’s really over.

“Gotta go,” I say, waving at Pablo.

“Hey, don’t you want to take the rest with you?” He gestures at the bags on the floor.

“Keep ’em. You’re going to need something for your second date…assuming you can get one.” I wink to take the sting out of the comment. “Good luck!”

Then, before he can try to give me “safety” tips—and maybe a can of Mace he bought just for this kind of occasion—I rush out and hop into my Lexus.

Normally I’m not this excited about parties. I’ve been to my share—a big chunk of my clients are celebrities, and many of them have become friends. But I’m hyped up about this one, and it isn’t just because of Kim’s professional success. It’s also because I’ve been unbearably curious about the brand-new mansion Anthony Blackwood built for his wife.

How they met, fell in love and married made the headlines. And I’m certain none of the publicity was by choice, because Anthony is so private that nobody knew why he left his family in Louisiana to move to Los Angeles…until all the articles about his family scandal came out.

The media probably didn’t report everything truthfully, though. They always try to make stories as sensational as possible, and if omitting a few facts can enhance the sensationalism, they do exactly that. Probably half my clients complain about it.

And even though I got to work for Anthony’s wife Ivy twice, introduced through Elizabeth Pryce-King, I never got to go to the mansion. That’s unusual; my clients generally prefer that I go to their homes because it’s more convenient for them. But not Ivy. I can’t decide if it’s because she’s a private person too, if she just isn’t used to bossing people around, or if there are secrets in the mansion. Then I laugh, because of course there aren’t any secrets. They just built the place…and this isn’t some messed-up fairytale.

The security panel at the edge of the estate accepts my guest code, and the wrought-iron gates part majestically to let me through. I park my car to one side, where other vehicles are, and climb out. The air smells of fresh flowers from an impressive garden, and the breeze is refreshing.

I take my time and admire the gorgeous landscape, complete with a huge water garden with mini tea candles floating on the calm surface. So many small lights glow in the evening, making the home look like a castle for fairies. It’s really lovely.

At the main door, I run into Yuna Hae, the party’s hostess. Her auburn hair is down, and she is in the cutest Chanel dress and shoes. I’ve never seen her look or dress badly—not that I’ve known her for long—and nothing hides her bubbly personality.

She hugs me. “Hey, you made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” I say, hugging her back. “Is Kim here yet?”

“Nope. She’s being fashionably late, no doubt. But that doesn’t mean we don’t get to hang out and have fun! Come on, let me introduce you to some people.” She gestures, pulling me toward the center of the foyer. “You have no idea how thrilled I am because all of my favorite people are here, even Edgar.”

“Edgar?”

“Edgar Blackwood. Tony’s older brother. He spends almost all his time running the family business in Louisiana, you know. But I bet he wanted the special treat I prepared!” She waggles her eyebrows.

“A special treat? Like…a cake or something?”

“Oh, you’ll be amazed. It’s awesome.” She taps the back of a tall, dark-haired man. He’s talking with someone, but he turns around, green eyes sharp with interest.

I recognize him instantly. Anthony Blackwood. He’s pretty famous—and infamous—and not only due to his family scandal. He owns some of the best and most popular clubs in the world, including Z here in L.A.

He doesn’t seem as cold as his reputation would suggest, although he’s just as well dressed as the pictures I’ve seen. He’s very handsome, his features finely carved. If it weren’t for the firm lines of his lips and jaw, he’d be pretty.

“Tony, say hello to my friend, Jo Martinez. Jo, Anthony Blackwood.”

He shakes my hand firmly. “Anthony. Pleasure to meet you.”