Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

He looks away for a moment. “It isn’t exactly a secret, Jo.”

That’s true. Hell, Hugo might’ve told him to save me from Aaron.

The intercom turns off. It does that after a certain set time. Maybe Edgar will get the hint that I’m not into seeing visitors today and get going with whatever he’s doing in the neighborhood. There’s a very nice café. Excellent coffee and chocolate chip scones.

But nope. The intercom buzzes again.

“Yes?” I say.

“Can I come up?”

“No!” My place is the same mess it was when Hugo visited. Actually, slightly worse, because I have even more clothes and purses. But it isn’t my fault that all these Dior bags were screaming my name.

Then, from the raised eyebrows on the intercom screen, I realize my “no” was too emphatic. Maybe even slightly psychotic or panicked.

I inhale deeply, calming myself. No need to make him think I’m hiding something, because I’m not. It’s only going to want to make him come up more.

He looked up where I lived and made an effort to come all the way here. He isn’t going to go away when he knows I’m home. I’m going to have to see him to get rid of him.

You can do it, Jo. Just make sure he doesn’t surprise-kiss you again.

Right.

“Give me about an hour.” I haven’t even showered yet. I need that much time to get ready. “I’ll come down.”

Now he’s outright frowning. What did I say?

“There’s a café next door. Why don’t you have some coffee while you wait?”

There. That’s as nice as I can get when I’m ambushed by non-family. I hit the off button on the panel and run to the bathroom. Must. Wash. Now.

I take a super-fast shower, then blow-dry my hair. Why, oh why did he have to show up unannounced like this? Not even Kim or Hilary have been inside my apartment. It’s too messy, and I’m too lazy and usually too tired from work to clean it for company.

Besides, if I want to see somebody, there are Starbucks, shops, boutiques, all kinds of options. It doesn’t have to be my place.

I do my makeup. This I don’t rush. How I look is the best advertisement for my business. I grab a hot-pink halter-neck Versace dress, pair it with a modern and elegant silver metal belt and slip my feet into my beloved Chanel stilettos. They look fantastic on me and have never led me wrong. I’ll need to find a maternity go-to set soon, though. It’s an art form to look fabulous and in charge when you’re sporting a watermelon-sized belly and puking your guts out.

Since my hair isn’t curled, I twist it into an updo, then pin it in place with sparkly butterfly pins. A pair of glittery chandelier earrings and a matching diamond tennis bracelet later, I’m ready.

Fifty-five minutes. Hell yeah.

I grab my purse and head out. By the time I reach the café, it’s going to be exactly one hour. I’m so good.

Smug and satisfied, I take the elevator to the lobby then walk out to go to the café. Instead of enjoying a cup of coffee like I asked him to, Edgar’s standing outside the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. When he sees me, he checks the time.

“One hour. Impressive.” His voice is too even to be sarcastic.

“Told you,” I say primly.

“I can never tell with most women.”

“I’m not most women. Why are you out here instead of at the café?”

He isn’t the first person to pull this move. I’m not going to be made to feel bad about the fact that I didn’t invite him into my home. It isn’t my fault he didn’t take my suggestion.

“Breaking and entering isn’t really my style.”

“I didn’t ask you to rob the place, just—”