Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

But she recoils like she can’t bear the sight of me. “You said you took care of Aaron’s video,” she says bitterly.

Why is she talking about that now? But at least it’s something I know I’ve done right. “Yes.”

“Then how come your mother has it?”

Furious shock explodes in my head, and I stare at her, unsure if I heard right.

“She’s blackmailing me to fix the broken relationship between you and her. What I don’t get is why any of this is my problem. If your family is a mess, you guys should fix it and leave me out. It isn’t like I matter.”

Panic tightens its grip around my throat. “Of course you matter.”

“Right. You care about a woman who you can’t even love. The only thing you care about is the baby. I should’ve known better than to think this”—she gestures between us—“could become more—like something my parents have.”

The warm, happy scenes from her family lunch play in my mind like a movie reel. A yearning for what I found among her family pulses through me. But as the longing grows deeper, the fear grows icier.

She picks up her purse and stands straight. She’s putting on a brave face, but I know she’s only a breath away from shattering. She’s even paler now, more unshed tears glinting in her bloodshot eyes.

She’s walking away. I have to stop her, but for the first time in my life, terror immobilizes me. What if I cause more damage with a wrong move? I’ve made too many mistakes. I can’t harm us any more than I’ve already done.

“Wait!” I say, my brain finally sputtering to life again. “Don’t go. You should stay here.”

Most of her things are here. Although she didn’t bring everything from her apartment yet, she has what she needs to be comfortable in the penthouse, which means her apartment doesn’t have it.

“No,” she says, her voice thick. “I can’t be with you.”

“I’ll leave, then.” I grab my phone and laptop and walk past her. Part of me wants to reach out and touch her, make sure she’s okay. But I know I don’t have the right to touch her, not right now.

She doesn’t stop me. She stands there like a hurt and wary creature, her wounded eyes following me.

Walking away is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every step I take from her makes me colder and colder, until I feel like I’ll never be warm again.

Chapter Fifty-One

Jo

When Edgar’s out the door, I drag myself to the bedroom and collapse on the bed. Now that I’m alone, the tears flow freely, wetting the soft sheets that smell like us.

The reminder of what we had is slicing me to ribbons.

I was so mad after dealing with Edgar’s mom, but I eventually realized it wasn’t really all Edgar’s fault. The woman’s obviously devious and mean. The tabloid articles probably went easy on her because they were afraid of getting sued.

But I wanted to talk about it with Edgar. The sex tape is a problem that still hasn’t been resolved, and I want to know what to do about his mother and her persistent stalking to get me to fix things between her and Edgar. I was going to tell Edgar that I prefer he inform his mom I don’t clean up other people’s messes, and if she burned a bridge, she can rebuild it herself.

Instead of all that, though…

Jo is perfect, precisely because I’ll never love her. Ever.

I don’t know who Edgar was talking to. I only heard his voice, and couldn’t make out what he was saying until I got closer to his office, where the door was ajar like always.

Does it matter who was on the phone with Edgar? He said what he said. He was dead serious, too. And contempt and disgust vibrated in every word. I couldn’t find my balance, like I was in the middle of an earthquake.

How could he have acted and spoken so much like Mr. Right? I can’t believe he faked the hot lust I felt when we made love. Or the warm friendliness he displayed toward my family.

Maybe this is just more proof I’m terrible at picking men.

People with bad fashion sense can go to the most exclusive boutiques and somehow still manage to leave with clothes that are all wrong for them. Maybe I’m the same way. There’s something fundamentally wrong with my man radar. I could be in the middle of anywhere—among homeless bums or the most eligible bachelors. I’ll still leave with somebody totally wrong.

Edgar being different from my exes doesn’t matter. Actually, it’s worse that Edgar’s so unlike any of the men I’ve ever dated. I had such high hopes, and now that they’ve been dashed, it hurts. Like my heart’s breaking into tiny pieces I might never be able to put together again.