Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

My eyes open automatically, as usual. I don’t have to check my phone on the stand next to the bed to know it’s around five in the morning.

I should get up, but Jo feels too good wrapped around me. Her arm is draped over my chest, and her leg is twisted around mine. She’s still deep in sleep, her breathing slow and even.

As much as I love that nightgown on her, I wish she’d worn something comfy, like Hugo said. The way he spoke of it didn’t indicate that her “relaxing at home” outfit is anything as thought out as what she’s wearing. If I didn’t know better, I might’ve thought she was trying to seduce me, but she was a bit too tense last night for that.

She probably doesn’t see this place as her home yet. Once she puts her own stamp on it—with colors she likes, furniture she picks—she’ll be better.

I give myself ten more minutes to hold her, then, reluctantly and very carefully, leave the bed. I tuck her in, pulling the sheet tight around her, then take my phone and head toward one of the extra bedrooms. I’ve set it up as a temporary office with a desk and rolling chair.

After hitting the button to boot my laptop, I go to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee. Hmm… The place is rather large and empty. Perhaps I should hire a live-in housekeeper. We had a few growing up in Tempérane. It’s such a pampered pleasure to wake up to coffee and breakfast. Jo would probably enjoy the perk.

I take the coffee to the office and check my email. Susan sent me a couple messages with summaries of what’s been going on at Blackwood Energy HQ since the unpleasant meeting yesterday.

My phone rings. Dad. My muscles tighten instantly, like a well-trained police dog when it senses something wrong.

Do I want to answer it when I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee?

And is he calling me as my father, or as head of the board of directors?

If I don’t handle it now, he’s going to try again. Sighing, I pick it up.

“Edgar.” My voice is rough.

“Did you just get up?” Dad says.

“I am still in California.”

“When are you coming back?” Impatience vibrates like a poorly tuned violin in his tone, grating and annoying.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? You should be here by now. You have a duty to the family and business. We employ all these people. We have a responsibility to the town.”

My lips twist. I don’t need to finish my coffee to understand what he’s really saying.

We employ all these people.

Our responsibility to the town.

They’re socially acceptable phrases to say the family cannot and will not loosen its control over Tempérane and its people. The company has always given us enormous power. It provides so many jobs, so much money for every organization. Even if somebody hates us, they don’t dare show it out of fear.

The economic benefits the company brings to the town are, of course, a big plus. It’s how Blackwood Energy should be, and the people work hard for their pay. But I resent Dad’s attitude that it entitles us to be more—a sort of untouchable aristocracy.

“Are you being petty because of the project yesterday?” he asks when I don’t respond.

“Do you think you did something to make me react pettily?” My tone is utterly controlled, even though resentment is surging back at the reminder.

“I put your favorite boy on the team after we spoke.”

Let me kiss your feet in gratitude, then! “Heath earned it.” I hired him four years ago because he’s a literal genius. “Why did you reject Nora?”

“Her again?” He breathes out loudly enough for me to hear it over the line. “Are you screwing her?”

So like him to assume her sole merit exists between her legs. “For the tenth time, no. I simply think that she’s good at her job and deserves better.”

“One of her kids is in a drama club, and she’s busy with that. She doesn’t have the time to do it,” Dad adds, sounding mildly conciliatory. He isn’t totally oblivious to my mood.

“Why not let her decide that? She asked me specifically for the opportunity.”